#in her good old Irish way

[thelingering]

My heart feels at home in the song Toora-Loora-Looral

it doesn't matter by whom, it could be (and is best by) my own dad and his beautiful singing voice

though I do prefer the Irish Tenors' version of it, but that's just because I was raised on that song

ah, a lullaby from my ancestral lands

and it's the most beautiful thing

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I missed you so much" you pout.

"Missed how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

"I missed you too" he whispers out, getting tired.

He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

[intheholler]

the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

[starsjulia]

spoilt rotten // leah williamson

masterlist

a/n : i flipping love writing leah x spoilt reader so here’s another one

warnings : fluff, playful teasing, kinda suggestive at the end

Leah Williamson was known for her unwavering focus on the pitch—sharp, commanding, and completely in control. As Arsenal’s vice captain, she knew how to lead, how to push her teammates to be the best, and how to give everything for the badge. But when it came to you? Well, Leah was nothing short of head over heels, and everyone knew it.

You were, simply put, breathtaking. A model with a body that could stop traffic, and a face so stunning it made people stare. Your presence was captivating, whether you were at a glamorous event or just lounging at home in one of Leah’s old hoodies. And Leah? She couldn’t help but spoil you rotten, constantly doting on you, treating you like a princess. It was something her teammates never let her forget.

The latest round of teasing came after a grueling win for Arsenal. The team was in high spirits, buzzing from the post-match high as they headed out for a team bonding dinner at one of London’s trendiest restaurants. The private room was filled with laughter and chatter, but all eyes turned when you walked in, your arm linked with Leah’s, her hand resting possessively on your lower back.

Dressed in a sleek outfit that hugged your curves perfectly, you looked every bit the model you were—effortlessly chic, and drop-dead gorgeous.

Leah, as always, couldn’t take her eyes off you. She was practically glued to your side, her thumb tracing gentle circles against the small of your back. Her teammates, well, they were all too used to it by now, but it didn’t stop them from throwing their usual jabs.

“Oh, here she is—our very own supermodel,” Katie called out, her Irish accent coming through as she grinned at you. “Come on then, Leah, what’s it gonna be tonight? More Chanel? Maybe a trip to Milan? She’s got you wrapped, mate.”

You laughed, used to the teasing by now, as you slid into the booth next to Leah. “I’m thinking diamonds, Katie. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, babe?” you teased, turning to Leah with a playful glint in your eye.

Leah groaned softly, rolling her eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Only the best for you,” she murmured, her arm slipping around your shoulders as she pulled you close. Her lips brushed the side of your temple, her voice low enough that only you could hear, “You deserve the world, love.”

Katie snorted from across the table, leaning back in her chair. “Jesus Christ, she’s got you good. You’d buy her the moon if she asked, wouldn’t you?”

Beth, who was sitting across from you, grinned and elbowed Caitlin. “Aye, I reckon she already has. I mean, look at ‘em.”

Caitlin chuckled, her Aussie accent thick as she nodded. “Mate, I think we’ve all accepted Leah’s never gonna say no to her. She’s gone.”

Leah just smiled, unbothered by the jabs, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “They’re just jealous,” she whispered in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. You shivered lightly at the feeling, biting your lip as you leaned into her touch.

The team broke into laughter, but Leah didn’t care. Her attention was solely on you, her eyes filled with affection as she watched you chat easily with the girls. Even after a tough match, you were the most beautiful thing in the room, and Leah’s heart swelled every time she looked at you.

As the dinner went on, the teasing continued. Between sips of wine and mouthfuls of food, the team couldn’t resist throwing more playful jabs Leah’s way.

“So, Leah,” Beth started, her voice laced with amusement, “how many handbags have you bought her this week? We reckon it’s at least three.”

Leah smirked, her fingers idly playing with the ends of your hair. “Only two,” she responded nonchalantly. “Had to hold back a bit this time.”

Katie let out a loud laugh, nearly choking on her drink. “Hold back? Are you hearing yourself?”

You giggled, leaning into Leah’s side as her arm tightened around you. “She’s just generous,” you said with a grin, flashing Leah a look that made her stomach flip.

“Generous,” Lotte echoed from further down the table, shaking her head. “More like she’s whipped.”

Leah huffed playfully, pulling you even closer so your legs pressed against hers under the table. “You lot are just jealous you don’t have someone as gorgeous to spoil.”

Caitlin raised her drink. “Touché.”

Leah’s hand slid a little lower on your waist, her fingers brushing just under the hem of your shirt, her touch making your skin tingle. You turned your head to give her a knowing smile, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You really don’t mind, do you?”

Leah’s eyes darkened just slightly, her gaze flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Not one bit, princess.”

---

A few days later, Leah had invited some of the girls over for a chill night at her place—Beth, Katie, and Lotte were sprawled across the couch and chairs, beers in hand as they chatted casually about the latest matches, the conversation flowing easily. Leah was mid-sentence, explaining some tactical breakdown from the last game, when you suddenly strolled into the room, your voice lilting with that teasing tone you always used when you wanted something.

“Leahhhh…” you called sweetly, padding barefoot across the living room in one of her oversized hoodies. Leah immediately looked up, her heart fluttering at the sight of you. “There’s this new Victoria’s Secret collection that just dropped,” you continued, drawing out your words as you made your way over to where she sat. “And you know how much you love it on me.”

Leah barely blinked, already reaching for her wallet. Without even thinking twice, she pulled out her card and handed it to you, her mind clearly still half-absorbed in the football conversation. “Sure, princess. Get whatever you want,” she said casually, not missing a beat.

You grinned, taking the card with a cheeky kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, babe,” you purred, already planning your shopping spree as you turned and left the room, your hips swaying just a little more than usual as you walked away.

The second you were out of earshot, the room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into laughter.

“No way!” Katie gasped, her Irish accent thick as she clutched her side, barely able to contain herself. “Leah, you didn’t even blink! You just handed her the card like it was nothin’!”

Beth was wiping tears from her eyes as she shook her head. “Mate, you didn’t even ask what it was for. She’s got you wrapped, doesn’t she?”

Leah shrugged, leaning back on the sofa with a lazy grin. “What can I say? She looks incredible in everything she wears—especially Victoria’s Secret. It’s a win-win for me.”

Lotte leaned forward, her brows raised in mock disbelief. “You serious? You didn’t even think about it.”

Leah smirked, completely unbothered by their ribbing. “Don’t need to. She can have whatever she wants.”

Katie groaned, tossing a cushion at Leah. “You’re bloody hopeless. Whipped doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Leah caught the cushion and threw it back, shaking her head with a grin. “Yeah, well, if you had someone like her, you’d be the same.”

Beth grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Fair play. But seriously, Leah, you’re like a bloody ATM at this point.”

Leah just shrugged, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not about the money. I want her to feel special. She deserves it.”

Just then, you reappeared, walking back into the living room with a satisfied grin as you handed Leah her card. “You’re the best, babe.”

Leah smirked, sliding the card back into her wallet before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to sit on her lap. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she nuzzled into your neck, teasingly repeatedly shifting yourself to ‘get comfortable’.

“Jesus Christ, can you two get a room?” Katie groaned, taking a long sip of her beer as she watched the two of you. “This is getting out of hand.”

Leah just chuckled, her lips brushing against your jaw. “We might just do that later,” she murmured lowly, her voice soft but with enough edge to make your skin tingle.

Beth groaned, throwing her hands up. “And here we go again.”

You laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Leah’s cheek before turning to Beth with a cheeky smile. “I told you—it’s the Victoria’s Secret effect.”

The girls erupted into laughter again, but Leah’s grip on you tightened slightly, her fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie. “Can’t say I mind,” she murmured into your ear, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You turned, your breath warm against her skin as you whispered back, “I know you don’t, babe.”

Leah’s eyes darkened slightly, her thumb brushing against your bare skin under the hoodie. “I’ll show you just how much later.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you bit your lip, the playful glint in her eyes sending a shiver down your spine. But before you could respond, Lotte interrupted with a dramatic groan.

“Alright, alright, enough with the flirting,” Lotte said, rolling her eyes playfully. “Save it for when we’re not here.”

You and Leah exchanged a look, both of you grinning before turning your attention back to the group. The night continued, filled with laughter, teasing, and the easy banter that only comes from close friends. But even as the conversation flowed, Leah’s hand stayed glued to your waist, her fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin.

And though her teammates teased her relentlessly, Leah wouldn’t have it any other way. You were her princess, her everything, and she’d spoil you for the rest of her life if it meant keeping that smile on your face.

[hamliet]

Derry Girls: A Masterclass in Detailed, Thematic Writing

Several years after the end, I finally watched Derry Girls, and it's become one of my favorite shows. Not only for the way it captures the absolutely unhinged aspects of Irish families (askmehowiknow) but for the sheer writing skill.

The vast majority of the episodes are laugh-out-loud hilarious, while also offering insightful commentary on the Troubles and on humanity's foibles as a whole. The characters are allowed to be human and act in unlikable, unsanitized ways, and to still be human and come back from that. (Almost like a metaphor for the Troubles or something.)

The story is also incredibly detailed; for example, when the girls are accused of killing a nun and Erin points out the nun was like, 98 years old and askes "might that shed some light on the situation?" there's an hourglass behind Sister Michael--emphasizing the idea that her time was up. Even more than that... the window is behind the hourglass, literally shining a light on it.

But that's a micro level. On a macro level, I also appreciated the way the story discusses the political backdrop that is part of its premise. Even as Erin, Michelle, James, Clare, and Orla grow up in a place that's been in a state of low-level warfare for decades, they live full lives. In fact, that's kinda the point.

Case in point: episode 4 of the first season, wherein Erin gets an exchange student from Chernobyl. The way the Northern Irish in general treat the Ukrainians is hilariously awful and patronizing, believing that they are giving them a respite from the troubles "over there" while Northern Ireland isn't in a much better state. But, as Sister Michael assures the Ukrainian students, the Irish troubles don't matter because "we're the goodies."

This line gets to the heart of what the episode is saying about political divisions and the way people view an "other." Everyone sees themselves as the "goodies." Because of that, they don't self-examine and wind up hurting the people they see themselves as wanting to help/save with their ignorance. It's a paradoxical egotistical (and frankly teenage) worldview that is also unwilling to look critically at oneself. The focus on their own perceptions over focusing on the actual humanity of the other results in ruining gifts that could come with cross-culture interaction, as seen in how Erin's misunderstandings and petty jealousy of Katya leads to her literally ruining a surprise gift Katya had prepared.

And the end of the episode also comments thematically on the story. One of the Ukrainian boys turns out not to be Ukrainian after all--he's actually Irish and from just down the road. He just didn't know how to say that. The ironic message is clear: despite differences in culture and views, they are actually all human beings, and assumptions make it hard for people to speak. If they could actually talk openly and without presumptions about who is "good" and who is "bad," they could prevent and solve a lot of problems.

This kind of background, symbolic commentary on the Troubles continues in just about every episode of the series. For example, even after the ceasefire, season 3 has an episode where it's discussed how negotiations are stalling, and the entirely of the rest of the episode takes place on a train that stalls between two separate places.

The Troubles are always something affecting their lives, but the only time the Troubles ever become the main story is in the finale episode. Which is also an episode that makes everyone cry. Michelle's brother is finally mentioned for the first time the entire series, yet it doesn't feel like a retcon so much as a recontextualization, and again mirrors how a lot of society (and Michelle's own family) have treated those who murdered others during the conflict.

Erin and James' relationship also works as a metaphor for the Troubles--an Irish Catholic girl and an English boy. Earlier in season 3, after they finally kiss, they're told they can't be together, that it's wrong, and that it'll create problems for everyone around them. Michelle doesn't want things to change. And Erin agrees that it's not good to pursue something.

But, in the final scenes, as Erin prepares to vote in the Good Friday Agreement and talks to James, she directly states she thinks things can't stay the same forever--thereby countering what she said to reject James earlier:

There's a part of me that wishes everything could just stay the same. That we could all just stay like this forever. There's a part of me that doesn't really want to grow up. I'm not sure I'm ready for it. I'm not sure I'm ready for the world. But things can't stay the same, and they shouldn't. No matter how scary it is, we have to move on, and we have to grow up, because things... well, they might just change for the better. So we have to be brave. And if our dreams get broken along the way... we have to make new ones from the pieces.

Symbolically, also, given that we know the outcome of the Good Friday Agreement, I think it's pretty clear Erin and James end up together even if we're not directly shown it.

That the last shot of the episode (besides the funny epilogue) is Grandda Joe, one of the eldest characters, helping his youngest toddler granddaughter Anna leap over a threshold as they leave the voting station, is also incredibly clear in its symbolism.

Erin: People died. Innocent people died, Grandda. They were someone's mother, father, daughter, son. Nothing can ever make that okay. And the people who took those lives, they're just gonna walk free? What if we do it, and it's all for nothing? What if we vote yes and it doesn't even work? Grandda Joe: And what if it does? What if no one else has to die? What if this all becomes a--a ghost story you'll tell your wee-un's some day? A ghost story they'll hardly believe?

I dunno, I think this is a sentiment we need more of in the world. A peaceful future means taking risks and accepting that punitive justice will not be perfectly doled out; however, if you allow more people to be hurt, is that not also injustice? It's a paradox that the story leaves us without a dogmatic answer to (for example, we never find out if Michelle's brother gets released), but it's also hopeful--because we know that the Good Friday Agreement largely worked.

(For further analysis of the final scene, I recommend PillarofGarbage's analysis on YouTube!)

[wosoamazing]

Newest Signing

Part 1 - Fire on Fire Series A/N: This is the first part of my new Leah Series, I have already started writing and planing parts of it but if you have any ideas let me know and I will try and include them.

Leah sat on her phone scrolling through various social media platforms, it hurt to see so many other people happy, with their partners when she wasn't, she had never had a successful relationship, to her no one was right, no one was the right match, she didn't feel like they clicked. So many of her exes told her that she had 'too high standards' or that 'soulmates don't exist' or something along the lines of 'you aren't perfect so why do you expect someone else to be perfect'. However she wasn't looking for a soulmate, she wasn't looking for someone perfect, she was just looking for the someone who was perfect for her.

She had started to think that maybe she was just asking for too much, and that her standards were too high, but that was until the day Jonas introduced the team to Arsenal's newest signing.

"Girls this is Y/N Y/L/N, she is our newest signing, and yes she did sign outside of the transfer window as approved by the FA due to issues at her old club, but no further questions on that please. She isn't going to be fully joining training until our Portugal training camp, just so she has some time to settle in but also a well deserved break, but you will see her in the gym and around the place, so please make her feel welcome. I think she is going to be really great for the team."

Her eye's immediately connected with the brunettes, she was tall and muscular, her face held the dreamiest blue eyes, and her smile was perfect, she continued watching the girl as she hugged Stina, the way her hair flowed, her body flowed, it was safe to say Leah was mesmerised.

"Stop staring, you creep" McCabe whispered in Leah's ear, causing her to break from her trance, giving the Irish women a playful smack on the shoulder. "I'm going to the gym," she said as she stood up and headed out, everyone around her making eyes at each other.

_____

You walked into the locker room behind Jonas and as he introduced you to the team, a certain blonde's eyes connected with yours, you couldn't help but notice the small smile her lips created when she saw you, but you quickly diverted your gaze to your best friend. Walking up to her and hugging her.

"I'm glad they let you sign out of the transfer window," Stina said, sounding relieved as she released the hug, "yeah I was worried they wouldn't but once I explained to the FA what was happening they were horrified and told me they would reach out to whatever club I wanted to, within reason, and see if they would sign me. Apparently there are going to be investigations."

"Good, they shouldn't be doing that. But where are you staying? You can crash at mine until you find a place if you need."

"Thank you, but I'm all good, Moster and Tante said I could stay with them, as they are in Paris for the next however long, however it was more a non-negotiable, I think they also meant I was going to be staying when they came back, again non-negotiable, but I'll see."

You and Stina continued talking until it was time for the girls to go to their meeting. You had an appointment with one of the physios just so they could check your range of motion and get some base lines in case you were to injure yourself before your first fitness testing session. As you walked into the gym, you saw a certain blonde in the corner, working away at some exercises which must've been set for her. As you worked with the physio completing the activities and exercises he wanted you to do you couldn't help but notice the way the blonde kept glancing over to you, almost as if she wanted to talk to you.

_____

You sat down at a table with Stina and Frida, Caitlin joined you and wanted to catch up with you and also trying to help you integrate with the team more easily, Caitlin's presence meant that Katie and then consequently Beth sat with you too. You knew the Aussies already due to having spent most of your childhood and your very early twenties in Australia, due to your Tante's work.

"Steph," you called out as you saw the very flustered Aussie walk into the dinning hall, she turned her head around to you, just about every emotion passing through her face.

"Y/N?" she questioned as she walked towards you, "what are you doing here?"

"Well if you weren't late you would've been here when Jonas said I was transferring here," you weren't normally one to say anything about your teammates being late, especially new teammates, however you are Steph had been teammates a long time ago, making your senior team debut for Melbourne Victory exactly a year after she made hers, and she also had a mark on her neck, so you were waiting to see how bad her excuse was.

"Sorry yeah I slept in, Calvin was up barking most of the night. It's so nice to see you again though," she explained as she pulled you in for a hug.

"That mark of your neck would indicate otherwise," you whispered in her ear, she just groaned knowing everyone would've already seen it.

You spend the rest of the lunch talking to mainly Steph or Stina and Frida but occasionally others would make some small talk with you.

After lunch you said your goodbyes to the team, and started to make your way out, when you heard someone call out your name, you turned around to see Leah moving towards you. "Would you like to join me and some of the team for dinner tonight? We are just going to a local pub," she questioned.

"Umm," you filled the air as you hesitated not sure what the goal of her invitation was, "if you don't want to, that's totally okay, I mean you're probably busy anyway," she quickly spat out trying to backtrack.

"Oh no, I would love to, it's just that I don't currently have a car," you told her as you fiddled with the ring on your finger.

"Oh, I can drive you if you want, you can just message me your address later," you nodded and mumbled a quiet thanks before you both went your separate ways.

____

You were just about to put your shoes one when you received a message.

From Leah: I'm just out the front in the car, no rush though. I know I'm early.

To Leah: Hey, all good, I'm actually just putting my shoes on now, I'll be out in a second.

You're pretty sure Leah's eyes widened as you walked out of the house and to her car. You opened the door of her car and saw her eyes run over your body before she said "You look nice," "Oh, thank you, it's nothing," you blushed slightly climbing into the passenger seat, but in truth it was nothing. You had a pair of light blue skinny jeans on, with a cropped country road rugby jumper on. You also have a black puffer vest in case you needed it but you placed that on the floor as you got in.

"You look nice too," you said as an afterthought, almost regretting it instantly, it probably wouldn't been better to say nothing at all than say that.

"Thanks," she smiled at you softly before she began to drive.

---

It was safe to say by the end of the night you hadn't once regretted your decision to come, all the girls there were super nice and it was a really great way to get to know them all, outside of soccer.

"Um, we're about to head home and we just thought to offer to take you home, since, um," Beth gestured over to where Leah was a the bar, you couldn't help but feel a small wave of warmth travel through your body at the fact that the team already seemed to care about you.

"Oh um, yes please that would be great," you followed Beth and Viv to their car, making small talk with them on the way home, when the car pulled up outside your home you didn't miss the look the couple sent each other, you quickly hopped out and thanked the two women profusely, before walking up the stairs of your home and collapsing onto your couch, noticing a message from Stina.

From Stina: Hey, I hope the night out with the girls went well. What would you say to a movie night at yours tomorrow night? In the theatre?

To Stina: Hey yeah it went well, Beth and Viv took me home, will explain why tomorrow night at movie night in the lounge room, you can invite Frida if you want too.

From Stina: Okay. I'll be over around 5. From Stina: Wait, why the lounge room?

To Stina: See you then, I'll make pasta.

[your-nanas-house]

That stupid thong

◇ Pairing: Dad's Best Friend!Cillian Murphy X Best friend's daughter!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, masturbation, drinking, mention of pee (not in a kinky way), pub bathroom (male), Dad's Best friend x best friend's daughter dynamic, thongs, bit dark (?)

◇ Summary: Cillian has a night out with his friends but meets Y/n in the same pub.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Part of the "Au/series" My Dad's Friend. "Part 1 here".

The place was full, people were coming in and out of the place, screams and laughter adding to the noisy atmosphere of the pub.

Cillian didn't fit in it that much due to his personality but that didn't stop him from going, just to enjoy a Guiness beer on tap. Fresh alcoholic drink that always managed to keep him on a good mood since it was a perfect excuses to meet friends.

It was the first time he went out on his own since his best friend's daughter went to stay to him for the summer. The first weeks were spent arranging and explaining things since it had been ages since the last time she visited Ireland.

Cillian didn't want to leave her alone, as his most protective part as a parent came out every time she did something that 'grown ups' did. Understandable since the responsibility of his 'kiddo' was on his shoulders and having no particular experience with freshly off age girls he struggled a bit, hesitating in every move.

The cold drink was refreshing as it went down his throat, the music was loud but not uncomfortable with the noises of the tv. There weren't many people but it was bit crowded, not enough to not recognize everyone in there, though.

As Cillian continued his evening with friends, chatting and laughing while enjoying beers after beers, something caught his attention. With the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar colour that made him turn around to check further... just to see Y/n with a boy taking a seat at a table near a corner of the pub.

It felt strange someway, seeing her dolled up for what looked like a date when he still remembered her sweet chubby face and princess dresses as their tea dates. 'Guess they became beer-dates over time', Cillian wondered while gulping down his beer again.

She was wearing a short skirt with a nice pattern that matched the color of the long-sleeved shirt she had on, one that delined her breasts perfectly making them seem rounder than when she just had a bra on. The actor could tell.

As his light blue eyes kept wondering back to her his left hand remained on the cold glass and the other subconsciously rubbed the fabric of the thong he had still in his pocket. He didn't do it on purpose, he was in a rush and just put on the first pants he had seen, finding just in the car the thong he had stolen.

"Will you excuse me a second?" Cillian murmured out, standing up from the stool to start approaching the spot where she was, ignoring the reasonable thoughts that kept popping in his head telling him to leave them have their date but after the beers he had, the alchol was dominating his mind.

"Kiddo? What are you doing here, you didn't mention a date" his low voice declared, his eyes scanning the Irish boy that was sitting next to her before meeting the embarassed gaze of his best friend's daughter

"Well it was a last minute thing and I was bored at home so.... yeah" she replied with a shy smile, hoping not to be in trouble for the choice of the pub or anything else but luckily one of Cillian's friends waved him over calling him just in time before he could ask further questions.... at her or worse at her date.

The rest of the night went smoothly, the older actor stayed to enjoy old times with his friends as he kept a close eye on Y/n just in case she needed something or anything happened.

Not a close eye enough, though, since towards the end of the evening he couldn't see them anymore so he called it a night and searched a cab while heading to the bathroom of the local.

It was a small bathroom, with two water-closet and some urinals close to the door.

The older man's hand reached for the door when a noise caught his attention, more like a voice that cursed under their breath making him recognize immediately who it was but not yet where from.

The bathroom was empty or so it seemed... except from one of the water-closet which had the door locked. The door didn't touched the ground allowing anyone to see the feet of who was inside— allowing Cillian to see who was inside. Allowing him to understand what was going on inside.

A thud of a back hitting the wooden door caught him by surprise, startling a moment before he made his way to the urinals with silent steps. Y/n's voice could be heard faintly as the young woman moaned softly out, nearly covering the sounds of the heavy breathing of the boy she was with.

Cillian could easily imagine the activity they were doing if he closed his eyes while unconsciously unzipping his pants. She was probably pressed against the door, her legs wrapped around the hips of the boy, her chest maybe bare since the corset was being pulled down to expose her young breasts for the male's eyes.

Feck, the actor thought as he glanced down at his now free cock which was hard thanks to his thoughts and the sweet noises, and didn't allow him to do exactly what he had gone to the bathroom for or at least not with some effort.

He stayed silent in the same room, listening carefully, enjoying a bit too much his best friend's daughter's noises and the new addictions of the act like the thuds of the thrusts, the wet noises coming probably from her wet cunt, plus the heavy breathing that matched his.

If the older man had had a mind less blinded by alcohol he would surely have stopped his hand which was now wrapped around his cock, stroking it in hard but slow motions, following the rhytm of the thrusts he could hear.

The wet noises filled his head as he spit in his hand and continuing where he left, checking slightly the door while masturbaring at the sounds, his eyes glued to the wood till he saw Y/n's thong fall on the dirty ground of the bathroom. Almost as a reminder of the thong he still had in his pocket and that wad screaming at him to take it and use it however he liked it.

His peak was getting closer and closer as he automatically reached for the fabric, wrapping it fast around his cock never stopping his quick wrist movements that made his body shake as soon as he came, biting down his lip and shooting his cum in the urinal.

It took me some minutes to recover from his peak and as soon as he was back to his sense completely, his hands tucked himself back in, moving the thong back in his pocket before leaving quickly the bathroom to head out of the pub.

On the way out Cillian could finally clear his mind, the fresh hair blowing straight to his face as if to wake him up by his dizziness and clear up his mind, as pity slowly started to crawl in him.

"Fuck" he murmured under his breath, inhaling deeply to calm down as he rested a moment against a wall to allow his body to relax till the cab arrival.

It didn't took Y/n very long to exit the place as well and look around to see if she could still see Cillian anywhere or if he had already headed back home before her. But there he was, facing a wall about to pee after all the drinks he had and since he never had the chance to do it earlier.

"Uncle Cilly—" she murmured, pulling him casually in a more private place, covering for him as some paparazzi tried to catch some scandal to put in newspaper and spread all over the world

"We should head back home, hm?" Her voice whispered out, glancing slightly at him before turning her back quickly to search the cab discretely.

[unlosts]

two slow dancers, last ones out

Summary: Unrequited love and a wedding are not a good match, but a luckily you have someone there to keep you company.

2k words

The wedding fell into place like a house of cards tumbling down, in a rush and without much fanfare. JJs dress was lovely, because of course it was, a sea of ivory white twinkling almost as bright as her smile against the placid night air. Everyone was able to make it and despite it being planned with just a few hours to spare the night was as beautiful as one would hope. Beginning of spring ushering a new chapter and all that nonsense. 

Not that you were bitter about it. 

At all. 

Or at the very least you were trying really hard not to be, because they were a lovely couple. Will loved JJ, and JJ loved Will. 

The issue was that Spencer also seemed to love JJ. 

Again, not that you were bitter about it. 

After months of quiet pinning and frustrated yet unreciprocated glances you had called it quits, because it seemed like no matter how many 18th century poetry readings you attended with him, no matter how many early morning car rides or late nights spent talking in hushed tones side by side on the plane, you were simply never going to be the one he wanted. 

And you had come to terms with it. 

Really. 

The fresh heartbreak had been ushered out and been replaced by humiliation a long time ago, looking back you were sure everyone could tell how stupidly in love you had been and how utterly un-reciprocated it was. Every time you remembered how optimistic and doe eyed you had been about the whole thing, something bright and hot burned in the back of your eyes. It was all just so painfully juvenile and you swore you had left the doe eyes behind alongside your cheer uniform and locker combination. 

The night had an air of finality to it, you knew that in one way or another nothing would be the same again, and you didn’t want to miss it. Even if it meant swallowing your pride and staying with the wallflowers until closing time. 

It would have been easier to do an irish goodbye to the italian planned wedding and slip quietly out the front door but you saw Emily sharing a last dance with Derek and even spied Rossi watching over his hard word with suspiciously misty eyes and you knew you had to stay. 

With one hand wrapped over your midriff and the other held aloft, nursing a now lukewarm aperol spritz by the side of the dance floor, looking at everyone swaying to some old jazz ballad, the singer's soft crooning voice setting your teeth on edge. The feel of a drop of condensation traveling from  your hand through your forearm sending a chill down your spine. 

The gentle weight of a black jacket being draped over your shoulders snaps you out of your pathetic melancholy, the wedding suddenly snapping into sharp focus as the heady scent of a woody cologne blankets you. Two big hands softly squeeze your shoulders in a silent apology before Aaron Hotchner appears next to you, leaning against one of the white columns with his hands in his pockets. 

He scrutinizes you with clever brown eyes, his gaze softly traveling from your pursed lips to your down-turned brows and you know he’s got your number when he gives you a soft sympathetic smile. Just a quick turn of his lips that few people would catch, but you did, and the knowledge that he knows exactly what’s going on through your head makes you feel exposed all of the sudden, you slip your arms into the jack and clutch it to you like it could keep you hidden. 

But Hotch is … Hotch simply put and you know above all he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. So he remains quiet next to you, only moving to press his side against you in silent comradery, the comforting heat radiating off of him seeping into you.  

“Want me to get you another one?” He asks, gesturing to your long forgotten drink. “It’s not often we get to free reign of Dave’s stash” You know he’s trying to cheer you up and you both know it’s failing miserably but you still appreciate the effort nonetheless. 

An awkward sort of silence falls between you both until you decide to ruin it, apparently. 

“So, where’s Beth?” Your question catches him off guard, he clears his throat and looks down for a second before catching your eyes. 

“We broke up, last week actually” He states matter of fact. You nod understandingly and don’t ask but he clarifies anyhow. 

“It was mutual, she had a lot going on at work-”

“Huh, go figure”

“and I was” he hesitates “preoccupied” He doesn’t seem to be distraught, telling you like he would the details of a case, objective and to the point. 

“Ahh, so you decided to join the singles corner, welcome we meet every Thursday” You raise your glass in a mock toast before finally putting it down on a nearby table. 

Hotch raises his eyebrows and it’s all it takes for you to deflate. 

“Sorry, you were being nice and I was just bitchy” You sigh, frustrated and maybe a little bit tipsier than you’d like. 

“That’s okay, you’re sad, it happens to the best of us”

“Even you?” 

He just lets out a self deprecating laugh before handing you a glass of scotch from a passing waiter. 

“You saw me after the divorce, I distinctly remember going into a burning house so I would say a couple of drinks more than you’re used to at a wedding of all places isn’t the worst way to go about it” 

“That’s different, you were married this is just…pathetic” There was no point dancing around it anyway, you both knew he was fully aware of what you were talking about. 

“Well someone once told me that as much as we’d like to, sometimes we have to sit in those feelings before they can go away” 

“What a load of new age shit, whoever told you that was a quack” You smile at him anyway, pleased that even after all this time he remembered that. 

“Hmm, I happen to think it was useful,” Hotch replies, taking the scotch from your hand and finishing it off. 

“Any more pearls of wisdom this oh so sage one imparted upon you?”

“Yes, other times the only thing you can do is pretend that everything is alright for a couple of minutes” He says, extending his hand towards you and gesturing towards the dance floor “what do you say?” 

“You should stop listening to her” You reply but still accept, his hand engulfing yours as he expertly leads you through a sea of couples until you’re far enough that you can’t really see anyone else from your team. 

He takes you into his arms, one goes to your back and the other takes you hand into his ,you're still wearing his jacket so you just rest your head against his chest and close your eyes. 

“...so” You say softly, your words muffled against his shirt. With your eyes closed and your head resting against his chest, you’ve given up dancing and are just content to be cocooned in his arms while he gently sways you both to the tune of the music. Whatever is playing now has long faded to the edge of your conscience, sounding far away. 

“Have you ever considered doing all of this again?” 

“Getting married?” This close together his voice reverberates pleasantly through your whole body, it feels as if you’ve both stepped into someone else’s wedding and you know each other here. 

“Yeah”

“What, you had your turn in the hot seat and now it’s my turn?”

“Yeah” 

After a beat he says admits it so softly that you have to strain to hear him properly

“I would have wanted to”

He had long ago decided to settle for the life he had, being a father had to come first, the rest was something he no longer got to want. Or something he wouldn’t admit he still wanted anyway. 

You raise your head briefly to look up at him, his tone sobering you up, because you know him, know what he meant. If you had looked just behind Hotch towards the other edge of the dance floor you would have caught Spencer's inquisitive gaze or Penelopes’ delighted one. But you don’t, you’re laser focused on Hotch searching in his eyes for something you can’t quite grasp, a way to convey that he needs to stop atoning for something he shouldn’t fault himself for in the first place. 

You fist your hands on the front of his shirt briefly before smoothing out the wrinkles with your palms.

“I didn’t ask about before, I’m asking about you now” 

“It’s not that easy” 

“It’s a yes or no question, so yes it actually is” 

He tilts his head back in frustration, looking up at the night sky like he’ll find the exact words he wants to use spelled for him. 

“That’s not something I get to want anymore” “You can’t punish yourself forever” 

He begins to say something but you cut him off before he can, his hands tightening around your waist

“Nor should you try” He gulps and looks away giving in “think whatever you want to think but I know you and I think you deserve to be happy again” 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t listen to you” 

“Momentary lapse in judgment”  You reply with a teasing smile, not wanting to fully fuck up his night “so?” 

“...Yes”   Somehow the admission of desire feels like a betrayal and a confession at the same time. Both freeing and terrifying. 

 You go back to swaying together, in sync with one another and standing out against the livelier rhythm of the couples around you. 

From this vantage point you study his profile, from his strong nose to his thick lashes and back to his jaw. You never really paid attention to him but right now under the tea lights it dawns on you how handsome he is. 

“What about you?” 

“Oh I’m joining a convent” He chuckles and you feel it move through you. It’s a rare sound nowadays. 

“You’ll find someone” Hotch says with a certainty you wished you could have

“That’s just what you say to make people feel better, it’s up there with yes those bangs look great on you or like when you tell little kids that they can be astronauts or whatever” 

“I know you’ll find someone because I don’t think anyone could meet you and not realize how extraordinary you are” He says in an almost whisper. 

“There is someone who, categorically, doesn’t realize it, in this very same room” 

“Could be he didn’t know you as well as you’d think”

“Could be” You concede. 

Some time has passed now, although you can’t pinpoint exactly how long, it feels like the rest of the world went quiet and this is all that’s left. The sweet honeyed lilies, fresh jasmines and heady sweet daffodils of the garden are in full bloom. The night sweetly perfumed as the petals gently swayed to and fro.

From across the garden you can see JJ slow dance with Will, he’s saying something to her and she’s all smiles.  You let your humiliation melt into fondness, the warmth you felt for her pulling you out of your melancholy. New beginnings and all that. 

[daisyblog]

The Show

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry, YN and Grace go to Niall’s show in Manchester.

Based on this request.

Like Niall had surprised them at Harry’s show, YN had suggested that they do the same to him. So sneakily YN has managed to organise everything with the help of Amelia.

With Grace safely secure as she sat in her carrier on Harry’s chest, they walked hand in hand through the corridors of the arena, Anne and Darren behind, keeping them company.

“Do you think he’ll be surprised?”. Harry asked as he lead his family towards the backstage area.

“I bloody hope so…I’ve planned this for months”. YN reached across to place Grace’s dummy back in.

As they rounded the corner Amelia was quick to spot them. Greeting them both with a hug, saying how nice it was to them again.

“Hello little cutie…are you going to have a little dance tonight?”. Amelia made a fuss of the smaller Styles who only gave a gummy smile back. “You are just too cute!”.

“Amelia? Babe?”. Niall’s voice called, startling them. Before they knew it the main man appeared, shock written all over his face as he noticed who Amelia was talking to.

“Surprise!”. YN shouted, impressed with how surprised Niall looked. His mouth opening and closing as he processed it.

Niall opened his arms ready to give them all a cuddle. “You sly little fucker!”. YN laughed into Niall’s shoulder as she had text him a little white lie earlier on about how she was in London.

“You should have known we would never miss your show”. YN squeezed him tight as she hadn’t seen him in a while due to his tour.

“Hello darling!”. Niall’s attention was soon taken by Grace. “Have you come to see me be silly on stage?”.

“Aaahhh!”. Grace cooed, bringing her fist up to her mouth to attempt to chew on.

“Have you got a request? Or are you just like your Mummy and anything One Direction will keep you happy?”. Niall teased.

YN playfully rolled her eyes, but secretly she hoped he hadn’t changed his setlist.

“Didn’t realise you brought the whole family Harry”. Niall noticed Anne further up the hallway. “Anne!”.

Harry glanced at his Mum behind him. “She’s on Grandma duty!”.

“Ah Niall…my love…so good to see you”. She wrapped her motherly arms around the Irish lad.

“Thank you for coming!”. Niall was taken back at his much love he was surrounded with. “They’ve got you on Granny duty have they?”.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way”. Anne smiled at her Granddaughter who was looking around at all the new faces that walked by.

“Niall…you’re on in ten”. A voice interrupted them, telling them all that they needed to move to their seats.

“Have fun out there…so proud of you man!”. Harry gave Niall a brotherly hug, both of them trying not to squish Grace in the process.

Niall quickly gave Anne a quickly hug and thanked her again for coming to the show.

But in typical YN style, she managed to hear Niall’s infectious laugh as she pulled away from his cuddle. “I’m only here for the One Direction songs”.

Niall knew YN was teasing, it was what he loved the most about her was her cheeky and mischievous personality. “Tomlinson…I’ll sing them just for you tonight”. He used her old nickname as he called back down the hallway.

---

As the Styles family settled into their seats in the box, fans were quick to notice their attendance at Niall’s show. Taking photos and videoing them wanting to share with fans around the world that Harry was supporting Niall.

Grace was cuddled into Anne’s arms as her tired eyes grew heavy and her ears covered with her defenders. The lights dimming and the sound of the Nice To Meet You began.

“I like the way you talk, I like the things you wear…I want your number tattooed on my arm in ink, I swear…'Cause when the morning comes…I know you won't be there…Every time I turn around, you disappear”.

With Grace fully asleep and in the safe hands of Anne, YN and Harry enjoyed the start if the show. Singing along and both wearing proud smiles as they watched Niall appear on stage.

“Nice to meet ya…Where ya been?…Let me treat ya…To a drink…Nice to meet ya”.

YN sang along loudly to the lyrics, feeling her inner fangirl appear.

---

YN knew Niall’s song lyrics word for word, so the minute she heard the beginning she would get excited. Harry was honest, he’d a few but each one was like hearing them for the first time.

“Tell me what you want, because you know I want it too…Let's skip all the small talk and go straight up to your room…I've been thinking what I'd do when I'm alone with you…Just say nothing, small talk only gets in the way”.

YN sang the lyrics into Harry’s ear, which only caused him to pull her closer to him, his hands now resting on her waist.

“Just remember my Mum is behind us…I know how carried away you get”. Harry spoke into her ear as the loud arena sang along.

YN only glanced up at him with a cheeky smirk. “No small talk”.

---

“Yeah, she loves when everybody's watching…She knows the way her body moves…She loves…the way they all crawl back when she says…She loves nobody else but you”.

YN danced along to Niall signing, swaying her hips as she playfully sang the lyrics to Harry, who nodded his head to the catchy beat.

---

“Hold tight, get ready for the ride”.

YN and Harry both waited for the beat to drop, something they do in the privacy of their own home.

“If everythin' was easy, nothing ever broke…If everythin' was simple, how would we know?…How to fix your tears, how to fake a show…How to paint a smile, yeah, how would we know?…How good we have it though?”.

The husband and wife, held eachother as they belted out the lyrics, knowing the meaning behind them.

---

“Oh, my, my, you just took me by surprise…And I can't believe my eyes…Oh, I must be seeing blind…Oh, no I, you're too good to be all mine…Now I'm looking in your eyes…Oh, I must be seeing blind”.

Harry couldn’t hide his blushed face as YN loudly sang the words to him, but fans were quick to capture him placing a kiss to her lips.

---

Black and White was definitely one of the couples favourites, and that was down the lyrics and purpose of the song. There would never be another love for either of them, and they had promised each other they would love the other for the rest of their life.

“Yeah, I see us in black and white…Crystal clear on a starlit night…In all your gorgeous colors…I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life…See you standin' in your dress…Swear in front of all our friends…There'll never be another…I promise that I'll love you for the rest of my life”.

With Harry’s arm wrapped around YN’s shoulder and hers around his waist, they bounced along singing as loud as they could, feeling the lyrics deep.

---

“Baby, you could start a cult, you see…Anywhere you go, I'll be…You are so much more than beautiful to me”.

YN now stood in front of Harry, his arms now wrapped around her body as they swayed gently to Niall’s acoustic voice and the sound of the guitar strumming.

“Oh, I'll follow you 'til there's no tomorrow…I'll follow you 'til there's no tomorrow…I'll follow you 'til there's no tomorrow…I'll follow you”.

---

“God only knows where this could go…and even if our love starts to grow outta control…And you and me go up in flames…Heaven won't be the same”.

Joining in with the fans, YN and Harry waved their arms back and forth in rhythm before clapping along to the chorus.

---

As Niall was singing If You Leave Me, Grace began to stir and as much as she loved her Grandma Anne, cuddles with her Mummy was just what she wanted.

“If you leave me…Oh, I think that I just might lose it completely, yeah…If you leave me…Hope you know that you're sentencing me to a life on my knees…Don't know who I would be”.

Still wearing her ear defenders, Grace looked at the stage from her mother’s arms. The bright lights catching her attention as YN danced gently with Grace in her arms.

---

Grace was now watching the show from Harry’s arms, cooing and awwing at the change of lights, and smiling at her Daddy as he danced silly with her.

“Who's that shadow holding me hostage?”.

The all too familiar song began, and Harry had never seen YN’s eyes light up so much. “You woke up just in time Gracie”. Harry placed a loving kiss to her cheek. “Daddy wrote this one!”.

“I've been here for days…Who's this whisper telling me that I'm never gonna get away?…I know they'll be coming to find me soon…But I fear I'm getting used to being held by you”.

The inner 1D fan girl was rushing out of YN as she and Anne sang the lyrics proudly, dancing together.

“Oh, baby, look what you've done to me…Oh, baby, look what you've done now…Oh, baby, I'll never leave you if you keep holding me this way…Oh-oh-oh-oh”.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the full circle moment. He had gone from writing this song in a studio one day, to performing it on stage with his four brothers, to singing it on his own at his own shows, to dancing and singing it with his wife and daughter.

And in the words of Niall Horan “No, it doesn't get, doesn't get better than this!”.

Tag List:

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[slytherinn-xo]

St Alban's Local- Steph Catley

Steph Catley X Primary School Teacher! Katrina Gorry Sister! Reader

Synopsis: A cute morning café run sends you and Steph viral when Lorraine gets there.

1172 words.

It was definitely weird being an Australian in England, the difference in temperature. Having a cold Christmas. A warmish summer off from work. 

Following your footballer fiancée half way across the world and finding a new job in England as a Primary School teacher. 

But one thing I couldn't get my head around was the telly over here, and the British obsession with morning television, and these talk shows like Lorraine, This Morning and Loose Women. 

Not that I got to watch any of them as I was either at work already dealing with classes of up to 35, 5 year old children. Or in the holidays I took lie ins very seriously as I refused to leave the bed I shared with Steph until at least 10 o'clock no matter how much she tried to get up she wasn't moving either. 

So it was a surprise during the School Holidays, when Steph was able to drag herself, me and our giant dog Calvin out of the house and to Mulberry's Café. Mulberry's Café was literally the only place you would find me in a morning. 

The owner of the cute little café was such a cute lady, and she was also Australian, she felt like she was another mother to me. And she loved it when I brought in Calvin or Harper. But DO NOT and I mean DO NOT bring in Kyra or Katie. 

Why? Because last time I came in with either one of them just after Kyra moved here, Kyra broke two mugs somehow, and Katie is ............................ Irish and that's enough of a reason for Mrs Mulberry. 

But really I loved going to this little cafe on our morning walk with Calvin, as we get to sit in the little garden with him, and he gets to have a few biscuits with a bowl of water. 

So for once when I get there with Calvin and Steph in tow, as I swing open the door to the cafe, the bell jingling into the open space. 

"Mrs Mulberry!" I cheer as I see the older lady, going to give her a hug as she leaved the counter unattended to on this empty morning for her. 

 "Kaitlyn!" The older lady cheered out to me with a smile, hugging me as she kissed my cheeks lightly. "And I've told you it's Dot." 

"Dot, it's so nice to see you for once." I finally told the older lady as she held my cheeks in her hands with a smile. Having a little moment with my mother figure over here. 

"Yeah I was finally able to drag her out of bed!" And Steph just had to ruin it. Really this was a sweet moment and now she ruined it. 

"Oh shush you, you're no better!" I turned and finally spoke to my fiancée as I pointed at her, as she held Calvin back from jumping onto Dot. 

"Come on girls, now give me a hug Steph my girl." Dot finally turned to Steph and held her arms out wide for her to walk into for a moment. 

"It's lovely to see you Dot." Steph told her with a smile as she looked at me and locked eyes with mine over the shoulder of the lady as she stuck her tongue out at me. 

"Stop it you!" I told Steph pointing at her a cheeky smile on my lips, with Steph coming over to stand by me, with her hand in mine. 

"But......." Dot told us both with a smile as she looked at us both. 

"Oh no what do you want?" I asked her as I leaned my head on Steph's shoulder, as Calvin was finally let loose to go over to the older lady, as he jumped up at her. 

"Oh yes, good boy......." Dot focussed on Calvin for a moment. "Oh yes. We have Lorraine coming to the café this morning to interview someone about what they would do with 100, 000 pounds." 

"No." I just muttered. 

"And I said I would find someone for them, and since you're here, they're going to be here any minute, and I need someone for them to film." Dot told us both as she finally gave Calvin his biscuit. 

"I'm in St Alban's today and going to see what the locals would do if they won big this Autumn." The woman told the camera. Before it panned over to us two and Calvin. 

"Well we got engaged last New Years so we'd save it up for the wedding I'm sure." Steph told the camera with a nod. 

"That is a lot more expensive them we thought." I added in with a nod, and luckily that was all we would have to do. 

But what we didn't know was that over the next few days the clip would go viral for Steph being called a St Alban's local, but also as I was finally showed to the public with Steph. 

Our relationship has been private but not secret. Like the public know who I am if they follow Steph or any of the Aussie gals but this was different. 

A lot of WOSO fans knew who I was now. 

But my kiddo, my students all over the school, parent's included also knew. And I knew it would be a bugger coming up this Monday, with the kiddo's coming back to school. 

And this was the first reaction when I came back to school on Monday morning, and the kiddo's we're running in, like they had all planned to come in all at once and just bombard me with questions upon questions. 

'Miss Miss were you on the telly yesterday!' 

'Miss Gorry why were you at Mulberry's Café yesterday?' 

'Miss are you seeing Steph Catley the footballer?' 

'Miss why are you a St Alban's Local if you're Australian?' 

"Guys, breathe and we'll do this one by one, now hands in the air and I'll get you through all of this!" I told them all as they went to their assigned seats around my class room. 

"But first in case this covers your questions, I am currently engaged to Steph Catley Arsenal and Matilda's defender." I told all of the kiddos with a smile. "She proposed to me last New Years, and you guys should all be excited, because thanks to me, we've got our guests coming in next week." 

I has organised a day next week on their day off, and some of the Arsenal girls had agreed to come in and visit us all and have a fun day at the school for the kids. It wasn't just my class but for all of the year groups. 

"But Miss, who proposed to who?" I heard one of the kids asked, and honestly I wanted to laugh. 

People think the kids wouldn't accept this or would ask inappropriate questions but really they didn't care, and I was just happy they didn't ask me about how I looked as I looked so tired and dead in the clip. 

[samkerrworshipper]

nails | katie mccabe x reader

warnings: absolute smutty filth, cunnilingus, dildos, strap ons, fluffiness

Katie clunked her way through the hallway, so incredibly desperate just to set her eyes on you. She had just gotten back from Ireland camp, and you were always the best part of returning. You made her feel at home, no matter where she was. The warmth of your smile, the way you made any room light up, the way your body felt against hers, the way you did absolutely everything to make Katie feel like she was as exceptional as you thought she was. She slung her bag down next to the front door, slipping her shoes off and toeing them onto the rack that you had put beside the door to try and organise Katie’s slightly excessive shoe collection.

You heard the front door closing behind her, and felt an overwhelming happiness wash over you. You waited patiently by the stove top, stirring the pot of Carbonara, one of Katie’s favourites, your dish almost done and ready for the two of you to sit down and eat. You always loved to welcome Katie home with a meal that reminded her of home, reminded her of family and memories with you. The carbonara was an old recipe of her mothers, that had been given to you when Katie had sustained an ankle injury and had been specifically yearning for her family and her mothers food. You’d tried your hardest to make the house as homey as possible, lighting candles all over your lounge room and kitchen, folklore playing faintly in the background, most of the lights turned down so that the house was nice and calm. It was always smartest to stimulate Katie as little as possible after camp, she was so tired, so overworked, so sore from the tireless work of captaining her team fearlessly, when she came home you tried to let her be as vulnerable with you as she needed.

You shivered a little bit when Katie’s arms wrapped around your waist, around one of her hoodies that she’d left you with as a reminder of her. She pressed her head into your neck, taking a deep breath of you, your scent, your warmth, your body, you. She could get drunk off of just your scent, off of your energy, you were absolutely everything to her, everything to her in every single universe.

“Smells good.”

Katie’s voice was a rumble against your neck, an almost silent murmur quietened by the skin her lips were pressed against. She pressed a litter of pecks across the skin, finding solace in the feeling of your golden skin.

“It’s almost done.”

Katie slipped her hands under her hoodie that you were wearing, there was nothing she loved more than seeing you in her clothes, you went from a 10 to an 11 when you chose to adorn one of her old Ireland hoodies or jerseys when you came to watch her play. She raked her hands up and down your hips, positively enraptured by the feeling of having you back in her arms. All of a sudden though, you pivoted on your heels, turning with wide eyes to look at Katie, one of your own hands dropping to grasp hers and drag it out from under the material, revealing something absolutely treacherous.

“What the fuck are these?”

Katie’s lip rose up into a smirk, the tips of her lips curving upwards as she studied the complete shock and horror that had washed over your face, your eyes searching her hands furiously as you took in Katie’s new addition.

“Whatcha talking about darl?”

You glared at Katie, pulling her hand up to her own face so she was forced to look at the monstrosities that were now attached to your girlfriend.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Katie’s face dropped at your accusation.

“Darling of course not, why would you ask that?”

Katie Irish drawl was heavy as she rushed to defend herself, you just glared back at her.

“Girlfriend code, we don’t do long nails, what the actual fuck are these?”

You glared at Katie’s bright green, glittery talons. They were quite pretty, you could admit that, but they were fucking long, and terrifyingly sharp looking, the square cut gel reflecting and staring back up at you like a wild animal about to attack.

“We all got them after the Albania game baby, to celebrate, what was I supposed to do?”

Your eyes widened in absolute shock and annoyance at your girl's puppy dog eyes.

“Say no, say that your girlfriend is going to make you sleep on the couch until you go and get them removed.”

Katie’s pout only grew bigger, her eyes positively shining as she bit her lip and frowned at you.

“Baby, are you scared that I can’t pleasure you without my hands?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes almost burst open with the implication from Katie’s words.

“If you think that I’m letting you anywhere near my pussy with those things as extremities than your fucking wrong McCabe, I’m serious about you sleeping on the couch until their removed from your body.”

Katie just rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around your waist only for you to shake them off and turn back to the stove, returning to stirring the pasta and sauce mix in the pot.

“Baby, you are seriously doubting my abilities if you think that I rely on my fingers to make you happy.”

The sex when Katie got back from camp was incomparable, absolutely exquisite. The two of your bodies just connected, and when you’d been away from each other for extended periods of time re learning the feeling of each other's body was always unbeatable, there was a relaxed rhythm to it, something so incredibly beautiful and real about it. It was raw, sometimes there were tears, or sweet nothings whispered under the light of the stars and confessions of love. It was everything that the poets wrote about, everything that you heard about when your grandparents told you about falling in love with someone. That was why you felt so royally betrayed in this moment, you could never be mad at Katie for very long, even on the days she decided to be a complete dickhead, but right now you were pissed off and if Katie was smart she would have left you alone, but she decided to push it.

She entwined her hands around your waist, hanging them loosely below your hips and before you could protest, pressing her lips to your neck and beginning to suck on the skin. You froze at the complete shock from the sensation, there was nothing you wanted more than to give in, but the stubbornness in your veins wouldn’t allow you too. You shook Katie off of your body.

“The table is set, I’m about to plate up, go and sit down.”

Your verse was stern, almost mom-like, something that sent shivers down Katie’s spine and had her heading directly towards your dining table, in an uncharacteristically shy manner. She hated when she pissed you off, hated it even more when it was for particularly stupid reasons.

She wasn’t left by her lonesome for long, you followed her to the table fairly quickly, two bowls of pasta and garlic bread in your hands. You carried them like a waitress, a talent that Katie had never been sure how’d you’d acquired but she was grateful all the same. You placed her bowl down in front of her before taking your own seat, directly across from Katie.

“So, how was the flight?”

As much as you were ticked off with Katie, dinner was always a truce. It was the half an hour every night that the two of you had to yourselves, where you could talk about your day or the game or anything else that was going on. It was what you and Katie had agreed on when you’d gotten married, that no matter how hard either of your days had been, you would always sit down for dinner together.

“We had some turbulence, but it was fine.”

Katie was quick to tuck into her meal, she always was, you swore she was always hungry.

“How are you feeling, body, arm, head? I could have picked you up from the airport if you needed me too.”

You were constantly worried about Katie. As the Arsenal physio, and as her wife. You hated always being the worried wife on the sidelines, especially watching games like the Albania one were the conditions were anything but playable.

“I didn’t want to bother you, the tricep is sore and I have to go get scans tomorrow just to check that it hasn’t worsened any more.”

You nodded, you already knew that, you were Katie’s physio, you were consulted on all of her medical things but it comforted you somehow hearing anything come out of Katie’s mouth, you could spend hours just listening to her voice filling a room.

“You’d never bother me, better than you catching an uber or whatever.”

Communication with Katie was an ongoing work in progress, even years into your relationship she still struggled to voice her needs sometimes. She was just the kind of girl who always worried about everyone but herself, she was always obsessed with putting your needs above her own, and it drove you insane sometimes.

“It was fine, Lucy dropped me home. How have the pups been?”

You and Katie fell into comfortable conversation whilst you ate, talking about your work with the acl crew and Katie’s work with the Irish team, it was a comfortable lull, just pure interest between the two of you.

“I’ve set up a movie and snacks on the couch.”

The topic arose when the both of you had finished with dinner, Katie had tried to pick up the dishes but you refused, it was her night to relax and you were happy to deal with the dishes for one night.

Katie padded off to the lounge room and you rushed into the kitchen, rising off the dishes and sliding them into the dishwasher as quickly as humanly possible before jogging through to the living room to join Katie on the couch.

She welcomed you with open arms, draping the blankets over your body before clicking play on Happy Gilmore. You let Katie take the lead on wrapping her arms around you, her long strong arms enveloping you and making you seem like a dwarf in her arms.

You didn’t even make it through the starting credits before Katie’s hands started to roam, her nails travelling down from your hips, to your sweatpant covered thighs, then back up to your covered hips and ribs, slowly raking up and down. It was so slow that it was almost unnoticeable, especially underneath the fluffy blanket that the two of you were enjoying, but you felt it. You tried to ignore it, didn’t allow your body to react to Katie’s clear want, but when her hands made it to the inside of your thighs you couldn’t help but pivot from off of your ass, up onto your knees and straddling Katie’s hips.

“I told you no until those talons aren’t a part of you.”

You tried to keep your face as stern as possible, the voice you used with the girls on the team when you were working them through their pt plans in the gym.

“Baby, you can’t be serious, do you really think that I can’t please you without using my hands?”

You kept your face stern, even with the slightly taboo topic that Katie was broaching, that would normally have you breaking out into a fit of giggles or smiles.

“Katie, those things are fucking terrifying, what are they, one, two inches?”

You pulled her hands up again, measuring the lengths of her nails besides your own fingers, the extra extensions on her fingers almost being as long as the distance between your first knuckle and second one. It was terrifying, the kind of nails that drag queens wore. Katie and you had never had this issue, the both of you worked in professions that meant you couldn’t have long nails. Yours was personal preference, considering the amount of massages you gave every day it was just easier to keep your nails short, and normally Katie’s nails were short for football, so this problem had never arose, but now it was and it was horrific.

“Baby, there are things in our drawer that are far bigger, I never would have seen you as being scared of a little size, especially considering our dildo collection.”

You flushed at Katie’s cocky words, it was true, you weren’t exactly a stranger to bigger sized… toys, but her nails were hardly toys, they were fucking weapons.

“Katie I am not joking.”

She smirked from her position below you, a big broad grin that you so desperately wanted to kiss off of her face, but you kept your self restraint.

“But baby, I got you a new one whilst I was away, Ireland green like my nails.”

You shivered directly from your core, straight up to your spine, the trembles crossing across every bone and nerve in your body.

“Katie, go to your room.”

She rolled her eyes at your attempt at chastising her, she knew that you were on your last thread, so close to being tipped over the edge, she was so good at doing that, compromising you when you least wanted to.

“But baby, don’t you want to show me how good you can ride my dick?”

As soon as the words left her mouth you were a goner, and she knew it, she was so fucking cocky like that.

“Katie.”

Your words came out as a whine, something that Katie was slightly satisfied with but also took as her cue.

“What do you call me, baby? Don’t whine at me, you want me to show you how good I am without my hands? Then let me baby, let me treat your pussy so well and prove to you that I definitely don’t need my hands to please my wifey.”

Katie’s thick Irish accent was laid on so deep, just the way that made you drip from your core and everywhere.

“Daddy.”

This time you were rewarded by being silenced with her lips, her hips reaching upwards to meet your own, so she had the leverage to kiss you. It was a dominating kiss, one that Katie very quickly took control of, her tongue slipping into your mouth and brushing against the back of your mouth as she roughened the kiss and started to find rhythm in the movements against your lips. It was then, when you were at your very weakest that Katie’s hand reached up under your shirt, swiftly un-clipping your bra and her hands going directly to your nipples, toying with the metal bar almost immediately. It had been Katie’s idea for you to get them, and you happily agreed once you realised just how much it would please her. The process had been painful, and the recovery had been hell, but once they had healed they had easily become Katie’s favourite part of you. She loved every part of you, but absolutely no part of your body would compare to your boobs. One tug at the cold metal had you moaning openly into her mouth, it was almost embarrassing, the amount of control Katie had over you even from below you, but right now you weren’t really bothered, just completely obsessed with the feeling of having Katie’s undivided attention on you.

“Get up baby, let me get on my knees for you and show you exactly what this mouth can do.”

Katie removed her lips from your mouth pushing you up off of her hips so you were flung down onto the couch, Katie slipping off of the pillows and down onto the floor, directly onto her knees and not minding very much about the fact that her body seemed to ache a little bit more from her position. She didn’t waste any time thinking about her achy muscles though, instead getting straight to work and pulling your legs apart so she could sit in between your legs.

She reached for the hem of your sweatpants, finding absolutely zero pushback from you as you lifted up our hips to allow her to slip the pants and your thong out from under you. She was remwarded with the positively dripping sight of your pussy, your desire glistening all over your lips and the trimmed bush that covered your mound.

“So wet baby, and I haven’t even touched you, going to show you just how much I can do without these fingers.”

Katie’s hand snaked its way back up your stomach, finding it’s way back up to your boob and fondling it gently with her fingers and blunt nails. The sensation was amazing, something that you would never even dream of feeling.

“Katie please- just fucking do something.”

Katie’s eyes darted up to you, her head cocking at you.

“Baby, I know that you haven’t seen me in a few weeks, but that’s no way to ask me to help you out, you can either do it the nice way, and beg like a good girl, or you’ll get nothing at all.”

Katie’s spare hand fell to your thigh, kneading the skin gently with her thumb, looking up at you with patient eyes and a cocked eyebrow.

“Please daddy, please, please use your tongue on me and show me how good you can make me feel, please.”

Normally, when Katie was feeling like being a little bit tougher, when she was being calculated and cunning about riling you up she’d asked for more, but neither of you had the energy or patience for that, tonight just wasn’t one of the nights where you would do laps of teasing, tonight was about you having your brains fucked out by a very horny Katie.

“Such a good girl when you use your words, hmm?”

The feeling of Katie’s breath on your dripping warmth was incredible, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of her tongue connecting with your lips. Just because she didn’t feel like riling you up verbally didn’t mean that she wasn’t up to riling you up with her tongue, and she did just that. She started with the outside of your lips, her tongue flattening out to cover as much skin as possible, which should have been amazing, but it was nowhere near enough stimulation for you, and you told her as much with your hand securing on the roots of her ponytail and trying to direct her to the part of you that yearned for her the most.

Katie didn’t budge though, she was stubborn and didn’t let anyone boss her around in the bedroom, especially you. She pulsated her tongue against your skin, leaving you desperatw for more, and just when she began to feel your thighs clenching, seeking more, she finally met your pool of wetness.

You cried out in ecstasy, the sound of your moans filling your living room as your hands found whatever part of Katie, clutching onto her and holding on for dear life, enjoying the ride that was your pleasure high.

Katie’s tongue moved back and forth from your hole and sensitive bud, her intensity and approach changing between the two spots as she towed you closer to the edge, your moans and clenching hole a clear sign of the ecstasy cloud that you were approaching. Just as your moans started to get breathier, and your legs started to tighten around Katie’s head, did she remove her mouth. It was absolute agony for you, and you let her know with the annoyed cry that left your lips as soon as she lost contact with you.

“Fuck, Katie, fuck, not fair, was so close, fuck me.”

Katie smirked up at you, she knew that you wouldn’t love her for leaving you on the edge, but she also knew the two of you were far too tired to go for multiple rounds, and she wanted to rock your world in multiple ways before the both of you collapsed for the night, and if that meant depriving you of your orgasm once, then she wasn’t completely opposed.

“Go to the bedroom, strip on the bed, I think it’s about time I introduce you to our new friend.”

Even though you felt slightly legless on your fucked out body, you rushed off towards the master bedroom, terrified that if you took too long you would be robbed of whatever it was that Katie had planned for you. You flung her hoodie off and onto the floor of your bedroom, not really bothered whatsoever about the uncleanliness of your actions and more concerned with the wetness that was now dripping down your legs, a mixture of Katie’s slobber and your own arousal.

Just as you had climbed onto the bed, Katie sauntered in, and you swore that your eyes almost popped out of your head at the sight that you were gifted with, it was truly a picture worthy of being hung in the Louvre.

Your wife, standing butt ass naked in front of you, besides the deep Ireland green glittery dildo that was hanging from between her legs. You almost came just from the sight, a big lump developing in your throat as Katie strutted towards you. There was a lot to take in, the fact that she’d seemingly coordinated her nails with the dildo, or vice versa. The fact that it looked about two inches longer than anything you’d ever taken, and at least an inch wider, and the image that was Katie walking like a model on a runway directly to you. She had the cheshire grin plastered to her face, it only grew the closer she got to your bedside.

“Move, I want you to ride me, you can use the head board as support.”

You just nodded at her, like a complete goldfish as you shifted away from the pillows to allow her to take a seat against the head board, the dildo jutting up shamelessly from the spot between her legs.

“C’mon cowgirl, don’t make me wait.”

You jumped into action, climbing into Katie’s lap and hovering on top of the dildo, securing one of your hands on the edge of the headboard and one on Katie’s shoulder. It was then that she began to push you down onto the silicone dick, slowly impaling you on the bright green toy.

“Ngnh, fuck Daddy, so good, fill me up please.”

Katie could never say no to you, especially when you asked so politely, so she continued to ease you down onto the dick, allowing you to feel every single ridge and bump across the shaft and feel the stretch that your pussy was very quick to adjust to and accommodate.

It didn’t take much force from Katie to get you to take the whole dick, the centre of gravity doing most of the work to get you down and sat directly onto Katie. Once your pussy did suck in the whole thing, Katie allowed you to adjust for as long as you needed, her lips meeting your own in a bruising kiss that left both of your lips kiss swollen when you broke a part to begin moving.

Katie’s favourite position was having you ride her, there was something so personal about it, and she loved the reaction that it got from you.

Your knuckles turned ghost white as you began to slide up and down the length of Katie’s dildo, moans that were more sinful then the devil flowing freely from your mouth as you started to ride her and grind down against her hips. Katie just watched in awe and complete appreciation, the sight of you, an absolute sexual goddess of her dreams sliding up and down a glittery green dildo was something that she never would have even thought up in her wildest dreams. Your head thrown back in ecstasy, your long blonde locks flying in every which way as you began to ride out the high that you’d been so desperate for.

“Fuck-fuck, daddy can I cum? Please fuck, please can I cum all over your dick?”

Katie figured that she’d edged you once, and whilst she knew you could withstand far more than that, it wasn’t what either of you needed tonight, you needed tender kisses, sweet nothings, soft gestures that the two of you always shared after a little bit too long apart.

“Cum baby, I’ve got you.”

If your knuckles hadn’t already been white against the headboard then they whitened even further, complete overwhelming white that seemed to cloud your vision and put stars across your eyes as you shuddered in Katie’s arms, the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm washing over you and leaving you completely limp in her arms. Once you’d come down and the aftershocks had rid themself of your body Katie very gently lifted you up off of the toy and placed your boneless body down on the comforter beside her, slipping the harness of her hips quickly and then wrapping her arms directly around you, allowing you to waken from your haze in the warmth of her muscles and body.

“What did I say, I’m a woman of great talents even when my hands aren’t in use.”

Katie’s joke fell on almost deaf ears, your body to blissed out to even truly begin to acknowledge what she was saying to you.

“Shove it McCabe, unless you don’t want round two in the morning before you go to the nail salon then I’d move to cuddling your wife and telling her just how much you missed her and just what was going through your mind when you were buying that dildo.”

Katie’s face lit up, her arms lifting the cuvet over your bodies as she began to whisper all of rhe deep fantasies that had been playing through her mind in the time that you’d spent apart, fantasies that you were sure would be reenacted in the morning or tomorrow night after some much needed tlc.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Little witch||lance stroll x fem!reader

Word count 895

A/n — this was one of my first requests on my old blog I doubt the OG requester is around anymore but it holds a special place in my heart.

If you were to ask Lance Stroll what he thought of his girlfriend, he’d say the usual things any man deeply in love would say. He’d describe how kind, funny, and beautiful you were. How you made every bad day better with just a smile or a hug. But if you pressed him, he might admit there was something different about you, something almost otherworldly.

Take, for instance, how you always seemed to know things before they happened. You’d casually predict the weather—right down to the minute the rain would start—or tell him, “Be careful today,” with that knowing look in your eyes, moments before he’d trip on a curb or bang his elbow in the garage. One time, you’d even warned him, “Watch out for your wrist, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to that, would we?” Two weeks later, during a bike ride, he’d broken it.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Maybe you were just really observant. But when he mentioned it to Mick Schumacher, Mick had raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Maybe she’s a witch, Lance. Who knows?”

Lance had laughed it off at the time, brushing aside the comment. There was no way you could be a witch… right?

Still, certain things kept nagging at the back of his mind. Like how your black cat, Midnight, never left your side, trailing you from room to room like a shadow. Or how, every full moon, you’d gather up your crystals, arrange them meticulously on the windowsill, and let them soak in the moonlight. Then there was the jar of water you’d set out alongside them.

“What’s all this for, again?” Lance had asked one night, leaning against the counter as he watched you work.

“It’s for cleansing and protection,” you’d explained, holding up a chunk of amethyst with a proud smile. “You charge the crystals under the moonlight, and the water absorbs the moon’s energy. It’s called moon water—it’s useful for rituals or just for good vibes.”

He’d nodded, pretending to understand, though half of it went over his head. You were so passionate about it, and he loved the way your face lit up when you talked about these things. At the time, he chalked it up to a quirky hobby. But there was always a voice in the back of his mind whispering that there was something more to it.

That voice got louder when he discovered you could read and speak archaic Latin.

“When did you even learn Latin?” he’d asked, staring at you in disbelief after you effortlessly translated an inscription on a random plaque during a museum visit.

You’d shrugged. “I learned it when I was younger. It’s fascinating, really.”

Things started clicking into place a few weeks later when you visited your parents’ house. Over tea, your mom mentioned your family’s Celtic roots—Scottish on her side, Irish on your dad’s—and casually brought up how the women in your family were known for their “gifts.”

“Special abilities,” your mom had said with a wink.

That night, while lying in bed, Lance couldn’t shake the feeling that Mick’s joke hadn’t been a joke after all. Could you actually be a witch?

A week later, the question finally burst out of him during a cozy night in. You were both snuggled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between you, half-watching a rom-com you’d seen a dozen times before.

“Are you a witch?” Lance asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You sat up, startled, and turned to face him. “What?”

“I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admitted, looking at you intently. “You do things that… normal people can’t. You know things before they happen. Midnight follows you like he’s your furry little bodyguard. And you have all those crystals and jars of moon water. So… are you a witch? You can tell me, you know.”

For a moment, you stared at him, your lips twitching as if trying to hold back a smile. Then you laughed. “Wow. Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“What?” Lance sat up straighter, frowning. “Wait, you mean… you are a witch?”

“Yeah,” you said casually, leaning back against the cushions.

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hang on, how long have I been dating a witch and didn’t know?”

You glanced over your shoulder with a teasing smile. “Lance, I once dropped my spell book, and you picked it up. You even handed it back to me, saying, ‘Cool book,’ before walking off.”

He blinked. “Oh.” You burst out laughing at his stunned expression.

“Well, now I feel stupid,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, patting his leg reassuringly.

“Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have a wand?”

“Yeah, I have a wand,” you replied offhandedly.

“Wait, really? Like, a real magic wand?”

“No, Lance,” you said, laughing again. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh. Right.” He paused, still processing everything. “So… are you going to hex me if I annoy you?”

You gave him a sly smile. “Guess you’ll have to behave and find out.” For the rest of the evening, Lance couldn’t stop staring at you, equal parts amazed and amused. Dating a witch wasn’t something he’d ever expected—but then again, you’d always been full of surprises. And, truthfully, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[intothedysphoria]

Max didn’t actually seem to dislike her brother that much.

From what Steve had seen the first week they’d moved, all the arguing and long frosty silences and all out fights, Billy would still sneak a note into her pocket every day of school. He’d argue with her classmates, teachers, even the cops if they ever gave her shit.

Billy had dropped her off at the Christmas dance, ruffling her hair a little before noticing Steve. All Steve really got was a grunt of acknowledgment. Which he supposed was better than a punch in the face.

Whenever Mike would make comments about Billy being insane or evil, Max would practically push him off his chair. Steve, not fancying a thirteen year olds left hook decided to put the subject of Billy off the table.

There was only a small amount of facts about Billy Hargrove that Steve knew to be accurate. He was about half a year younger than Steve, the only person he’d really bonded with was Eddie Munson and his dad was a real piece of work. As bad as Lonnie Byers, from what Steve had heard from Max.

Steves parents were Italian-Glaswegian and despite the fact that he bitched about them constantly, Steve loved his parents to bits. His nonna, his granny, his seven billion cousins, all of them were the friendliest people on earth.

The only person James had really disliked had been Lonnie. Until Neil. When his dad had a bad feeling about someone, he was always right.

Steve had been given a mission to befriend Billy. “That wee bairn isn’t being treated right”, that’s what his dad had said. So Steve, laden with spaghetti bolognaise and tablet, knocked on The Hargrove’s door when he knew Neil wasn’t home.

Billy answered, obviously post workout and stared wide eyed at the food. Looking closer at his tank top, Steve could see a pin of the Irish flag settled above his chest.

Steve, not known for his eloquence, mumbled that the food was for Billy and fled for the car. Anything to get out of an awkward conversation.

There were two washed Tupperware containers tucked under Steve’s gym locker the following Monday, accompanied by a note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“My thanks to the Harringtons. Max loved the tablet.

Uilliam Hargrove”

Steve made a mental note of the way Billy spelled his first name. He had cousins in County Cork and had met a fair few Uilliam’s in his time. Evidently, Neil was the culprit for the anglicised spelling.

Steve’s granny was ecstatic that her cooking had been appreciated and invited him over for dinner pretty much immediately. Steve found himself delivering that message too. This time however, he didn’t run for the car.

Billy studied him, considering, then said he’d be delighted to join. His voice was both surprisingly polite and formed vowels in a manner that was unmistakably West Belfast.

He was charming. Utterly charming. Not the put on way Steve had seen him talk to Karen Wheeler (good god that woman was creepy) but in a way that seemed to just come naturally. Steves house was a blending of Scottish and Italian and Jewish and Irish and Polish and Billy genuinely seemed to love it all.

James sat them together at the table. Probably in an attempt to play Cupid, the meddling old man. Billy used it as an excuse seemingly to scandalise Steve. He was no prude but the way Billy slipped in innuendo after innuendo had Steves face burning.

Dinner turned into staying the night. Steve on an air mattress and Billy on Steve’s bed. Neil wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t there. He probably wouldn’t even notice if Billy disappeared forever.

Steve had never felt himself feeling such a burning sadness for someone and reached out so that they were clutching hands. Billy didn’t shove him away or call him a homo. Instead he clutched Steve’s hand even tighter.

The closer Billy and Steve got and the more Billy slept the night at the Harringtons, the more Billy’s relationship with Neil deteriorated. It got to the point where Billy was showing up with cracked ribs and broken toes, sometimes with Max hovering nervously behind him. Hell, they’d officially started dating with blood spurting out of Billy’s nose.

Until one day when Billy showed up looking the worst Steve had ever seen him. Max was having to support him in standing upright. He was clutching a note in his fist.

“Keep him.”

Out of everyone Steve had expected to go and give Neil a piece of their mind, it hadn’t been his granny. So while Steve was holding Billy’s hand, kissing him and being a bit useless, Maureen had apparently punched Neil Hargrove in the nose.

Funnily enough, Neil never really returned after that. He was somewhere in Alabama. Or Florida. Steve hadn’t bothered to learn where. All he knew was that Billy was a lot happier without him.

They could finally kiss in public. Go on sort of dates. Book nights of passion in sketchy motels.

Know that Max was ok and safe.

And never have his parents involved in his love life again.

For @shieldofiron and @dragonflylady77

Scottish Steve inspired by @ratbastardbilly

[ashs-nerd-den]

Gearrscannán ar YouTube

Short films on YouTube

(Don't worry, everything has English subtitles in the videos themselves)

Fán https://youtu.be/e3xnvkMp_1Q?si=i-4pmljDbzA8bRtu

Created by the incredible @nibmoss, an absolute queen (Bánríon). It is a short sapphic story about 2 best friends who end up together and it is my favourite short story ever!!! It is also my favourite piece of Irish media in existence!!! I love it!!! It is incredible!!! BEYOND AMAZING!!!

Yu Ming is ainm dom https://youtu.be/JqYtG9BNhfM?si=jnZjP4LozqOhNxkI

This is a classic. Ive had 4 different teachers show me this over the years, and my first year Irish class studied it exam style. It was the first piece that we studied and everyone LOVED it, people were quoting it all the time. Every second conversation had someone using a line from it. It's a crows pleaser and simple to listen to even without the subtitles provided. It also has a great storyline about a man who is fed up with his life in China and learns Irish to move over here, and well (bhuel) , I won't spoil the plot twist for you

Lipservice https://youtu.be/4QP0eEhhTSo?si=1DLvo_ECRhwGI5s8

It's the day of the oral exams and everyone is terrified (bhí imní an domhain ar gach duine), people are rehearsing in the bathrooms and speaking French instead of English, the stuff that half of them come out with is absolutely gas, this one is such a bit of craic, I was in stitches. And the bit at the end is so sweet. Is breá liom an gearrscannán seo agus beidh mé mo scrúdú béil i dhá bhliain 🙈🙈🙈 (I loved this short film and I've my speaking test in 2 years🙈🙈🙈

Filleann ar feall https://youtu.be/Tay7eMxas2k?si=q3ksVJVYJ7E_xxoa

IT'S CILLIAN MURPHY AG CAINT AS GAEILGE!!! You can't beat a bit of Cillian, he's a national treasure. And this is 2000 Cillian, he's so young (this was before I was born) he's in the Gaeltacht for his holidays with a grumpy friend, on a job to sell some Putchín, and he is everyone's favourite sweetgeart, a bit of a himbo, and a respecter of old ladies. Agus deir duine sa sna tuairimí (a person in the comments said that it's like Breaking bad, but with an Irish teacher that instead of a chemistry one (I've never seen Breaking Bad, so I don't know how true that is, but I do know that this was AR FHEABHAS!!!

Rúbaí https://youtu.be/jjYx5v2BUWo?si=tFu1ektBvHNkoQFB

This is a short story about a little girl (cailín beag) who's class is about to make their 1st Holy Communion, but she doesn't believe in God (ní creideann sí i nDia). She's everyone is trying to convince her that god is real and she's just like "nope, read a bit of Darwin, he's great, I'm off to collect worms", even to the priests face and towards the end there's a bitter sweet twist which gives a LOT of background. This was a nice, easy watch, the little girls was so cute, there were a couple of laughs (cúpla gáire) and the vocab was nice and simple

Gaiste https://youtu.be/Xr-V7vg_Y2Q?si=cMMNqPLkmtugbg8t

Very simple vocab, good message, kind of like a fable, big "One of us is Lying" vibes. Nice short film overall

Fíorghael https://youtu.be/t3Kv4fZ2SOE?si=bHibiFJyRUcvZ-TZ

This ones a bit older, but it's still a good bit of craic. You need to wait a couple of minutes to get into it, but the end is brilliant (Caithfidh tú cúpla nóiméad a fanacht chun dul isteach ar, ach tá an chríoch go hiontach)

Sylvia https://youtu.be/fi_4aweOP4w?si=ZCfUAfYaD73IVn8r

There are plot twists, and then there plot backflips, this was the later. This is so weird, but I really enjoyed it at the same time

Ciúnas https://youtu.be/cGfuQ-HeTmk?si=WRPGmo-UNQ0bw9mA

There's not much dialogue, but all of it is very casual, so you still get to pick up a few words that you wouldn't find in a textbook. The storyline is quite sweet, but please be careful watching because it although it centres around her family's love for her, it is set on the way home from the hospital after she tried to end her own life

[gwenphobic]

COWBOYS ARE NOTHING BUT TROUBLE.

(arthur morgan x pianist at a saloon!male reader)

a/n; sorry for not posting for so long!! gwen stacy x black cat reader will return but rn i’ve had this worm stuck in my head for a min so hold on on that. STAY with me now, this one is good i swearr

You’ve never found it especially appealing, the way cowboys hold themselves and yip and yell about. The way they loiter and accidentally make themselves family men. It’s always been quite annoying though you imagine it is what you would’ve been had your parents been present. Nonetheless, it is not envy you hold toward them but.. annoyance. Yes, that red warmth in your stomach and heat on your face is pure annoyance. And nothing more. Of course.

Your town is small, of no concern. It would never even be dotted out on a map, it is so unimportant. You’ve always imagined what it would be like to leave but have never had the strength. Your place is here at town saloon, fingers dancing around the keyboard. The man who’d taken you had been saloon owner Pete Carter who’d taken your street urchin mind and managed to shift it into something greater, or well, something that makes money. Perhaps, this is why your faith is so strong.

The heat of the day beamed even on your face and flooded the floorboards of the saloon. You sigh. Still, the saloon will open and still will you play away. An Irish woman came in for she was new to town, new to America in a way so obvious. Not much people were here, only the town drunk and a few of the working girls. You sat down with her as she weeped softly, her curly brown tresses falling into her eyes. Her face was bent and curved to her age. She was a mother, you knew and had seen her son and daughter around town often. Trailing upon her like ducks to a mom. Her son was sweet and her daughter, proper. Both young, you didn’t believe either were a day over 6.

“Sir,” she cried, accent thick in her mouth. You rubbed her back before taking her hands. “Yes?” you replied. The mother sighed as she stopped her tears. “I need to write a letter home, but I’ve made no sense of the alphabet. Please do help me, sir,” she said and prayed, “Please know to write.” She looked as desperate as she sounded. She continued, “My Mam has passed, and I don’t know— I need to send my Da a letter. Oh, please, sir!” You shushed her and went to find a piece of paper. That afternoon you’d spent helping her craft a letter home.

As you sent her off, the saloon wasn’t quite full but neither was it empty. A few sat in drunkenness, others sat in a buzz. Some old, some young. It was a comforting feeling, a saloon not so full but neither so empty. You adjusted yourself when you heard it. The sounds of immature folk coming into town. The hooves of horses didn’t stumble as the clambered onto the dirt road. You could feel your stomach tighten with annoyance. Cowboys. Or rather, outlaws. Nonetheless, both were strangely irritating to you. The leather, the boots and all the self-confidence. Can anyone really blame you for holding such disdain? You roll your eyes and sit on the piano bench, beginning to play a tune.

Eventually, the attendance of the church extends and the more proper day drinkers leave. The last to leave is Old Charles McDonald, the union soldier with a limp and a missing tooth. He’s especially fond of his granddaughter who helps him around. He said, some days, he feels crazy. You remember nearly everyone who comes into the saloon, everyone who shares their tale with you. Why would anyone want to forget such history? You begin to help clean up before the sound of jangling spurs throw you off. You froze, completely froze. You turned around;

And there, your worst annoyances stood, an outlaw with two others trailing just before him.

You hid the grimace and continued to wipe down the windows. He wouldn’t be the last cowboy to come out tonight. You just knew the cowboy was walking with some sense of self-importance. You’d only gotten a glimpse but found yourself reflecting on the man’s looks, body. His sandy blond hair and nice tanned skin. Those shining eyes that you were almost certain were a shade of blue or green. You swallowed. He must be popular with the ladies, you came to the conclusion. He’s attractive, alright? Even you can admit that. You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling.. insecure of your appearance. But insecure isn’t the right word, maybe just.. very oddly aware.

“Play a good one,” the man shouted out, his more pale friend snorted while the tanner one huffed. You scowled. You’ll play what you want, not what some insolent outlaw wants to hear. Your fingers find the keys and continue the same tune you’ve been playing. The outlaw can deal with it. Faintly, you hear the drunken footsteps coming closer. The saloon is bustling with business now, outlaws and working girls all circulating about.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice was faintly reminiscent of a southern accent. He was pretty, his eyes at least. All green and.. nice. You shook the thought away and returned in a hardened voice, “Hi yourself.” The man looked a little embarrassed if not.. nervous. He looked down, his hat shielding his face. “You, uh, you play real nice,” he complimented and a fill of warm crowded inside your stomach. You returned, “Thanks.” You continued playing as he spoke, “I hope.. Uh, we ain’t causing too much trouble for ya.”

You wanted to say something mean, or snarky. Usually, you would. But staring at this.. outlaw— he’s an outlaw, remember— you couldn’t help but fumbling out, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Y’all ain’t no more trouble than a few drunkards.” He smiled nicely. Really, it was a nice smile if you ignore how beat up his teeth seem to be. “Alright,” he drawled, “good.” The sound of the piano and chattering of the saloon kept the scene from being awkward. “I’m Arthur,” he added like it was an afterthought. You told him your name. “That’s a nice one,” he said and looked as if he was about to say something else before one of his friends called him back over.

“It’s alright,” you said, “go.” Arthur smiled a little brighter and touched your shoulder. “This ain’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he said lightheartedly before stepping back and returning to the bar. You could feel your face all warm, you inhaled. What was that feeling? Hate, maybe. But hate doesn’t make you all flustered like that. He didn’t even do nothing! You grimaced.

It was gonna be a long night.