#is that a hint to back up your interview where you said he might not be dead | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolmunson · 1 year ago

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wake up slow | barista!steve harrington

entry for my fall frenzy requests this request comes in from @superblysubpar: 'there's a scenario with bookstore / library date AND a dialogue prompt that says "what are you reading?"' with steve harrington summary: it's 1990. you're on the opening shift at the bookstore you work at, only to be surprised at a newcomer claiming to be up for an interview for the open barista position in the cafe at the back. sort of put off to start, it's no surprise when things start to bloom over time, and i'm not talking about coffee grounds. tl;dr carol writes a mini romcom.

tw: minors dni, there's nothing too out of whack in this one but i still don't want minors in here. reader is a little sassy but also like, pretty normal overall.

That damn key jams every time it rains -- doesn't help that you left your umbrella at home. Doesn't help that the 'light mist' turned into a heavy downpour the closer you made it to the book store. Doesn't help that you had to park a street over because of street cleaning and had to walk a block in the rain. Now the damn key.

"Come on," you grumble, jiggling an wiggling to no avail. Insert, r-insert, slight tilt to the right, jiggle, pull out a little, turn a little left and then -- nothing. You take the key out only for it to fall to the ground with a fairy like tinkling.

"Come -- the fuck -- on," you nearly growl under your breath while your coat gets heavier and heavier with rain, hood soaking through and dripping water onto your face. You bend down to get the key with a sigh meant for people with back pain, coming back up again to see the coffee bar manager on the other side of the glass door. He chuckles, salt and pepper beared thick over his chin and cheeks. Ruddy skin beams red even in the cool grey light of the morning, 30 years a butcher who pivoted into coffee when he turned fifty and had a really good knack for it.

"Easy morning?"

"Does it look like one, Carl?" you ask, stepping in when he opens the door. He laughs again, a hearty belly laugh that might as well have transported him into a Santa suit in December. "What happened to you?" he asks, following you into the back room where you start putting your stuff in your cubby. You switch out your wet sneakers and socks for the platform loafers and knee highs in your bag. Now that the fall weathers hit, it's all corduroy and knit sweaters, circle skirts and tall socks. If you're going to be on your fifth year working at an idyllic bookstore, you might as well look the part.

"Weather app lied, street cleaning, forgot an umbrella," you shrug, "Just another manic Monday, y'know?" "I know," he nods, "Gimme one second." Carl comes back with a white paper cup and black lid that makes you smile from the inside out, "Is that what I think it is?" "Isn't it always?" he smiles, "I got it ready the second I saw you on the schedule. Caramel latte, hint of cinnamon. Since its -- ya know, fall officially, I put a little maple in there, too." "You spoil me," you sigh, taking the cup from him and letting the warmth radiate through your hands.

"I do," he nods, "But, that latte was the last of my regular milk so I need to run out and grab a few gallons before we open up. You okay to be hangin' out by yourself?"

You nod, of course you're okay to be hanging out by yourself. You take the first sip, letting the caramel flood your tongue. The maple is a good addition. You're about to tell Carl to add this to the seasonal menu but he's already out the break room door with his coat before you can. You hear the jingle of the bell and the lock of the door and eventually the silence settling into the store around you.

You start to re-organize the window display which should've been done last night but 'last night you' said that 'this morning you' could handle it. You wish you could punch last night you in the face, but this is what you get for taking an assistant manager position.

You stack the back to school reads next to your knees where you're sat on them. The dust billows when you move them, making you sneeze with each turn of your head. You rub at your eyes, realizing at that very moment that the mascara you put on this morning has now definitely smudged -- you can't even find the emotional capacity to check considering the store opens in forty five minutes. You wipe down the display shelves, letting the oak gleam under the spot lights. The color is a warm reminder of the cozy moments to come the way that they do this time of year. As you start separating the 'cozy reads' from your 'spooky reads' in the pile on the other side of your knees you hear a knocking at the door --that's not very like Carl to forget his key.

You look over your shoulder, not seeing Carl at all, and if it is, he had some kind of Seventeen Again magic happen to him in that time at the store. You stand up, wiping off your knees and straightening your skirt before getting to the door where the rapping continues against the glass. "We aren't open yet!" you call out.

"M'here for Carl!" you hear, muffled through the panes. "For the barista spot?" you yell back. The guy nods under his hood, the rain picking up in heavy sheets. You sigh, unlocking the door and letting him in. "Carl's not here, he ran out to get some more milk but um, you're welcome to wait in the break room if you want," you explain, wiping a palm over another display through the main hallway and wiping the dust off on your hip. "Thanks," he says, hood coming down to reveal a head full of thick chestnut hair. A gold ring shines on the the hand that runs through it, looks like a family crest type, right on his middle finger.

"I'm Steve," he says with a smile, hand now outstretched to take yours. You look at it and then at him, finally taking in the sight before you. Prominent straight nose, warm amber eyes, lips that definitely use chapstick regularly. He has a nice smile, the kind you read about in the romance novels in the back of the store, the kind people write about.

You take his hand and introduce yourself, he has a business major handshake and you only know that because you dated a handful of them back in college. You try to stifle a chuckle but it comes out airily out of your nose.

"Something funny?" he asks when you both let go. "No, no, sorry, I just thought of something from the other day," you shake your head, "Don't worry about it." He nods, taking off his coat and closing his umbrella following your lead to the back, "It's a cute place."

"Yeah, it's nice in the morning," you nod, "I normally close but -- doing a favor for a key holder today; so you have the pleasure of seeing the troll of the store in her natural habitat."

"What?"

"Nothing -- nevermind," you shake your head, cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassment when you look back and notice that he's genuinely very handsome. You get to the break room, pointing out the spare cubby where he can hang his coat and umbrella. He's in a sweater you swear you've seen on the Cosby Show -- dark green and patterned, a perfect combination of colors against his skin. It cuffs at the wrists, you can see a sliver of his white t-shirt underneath at the collar, a whisper of a gold chain tucked beneath it.

"Yeah um," you start, feeling your heart start to patter in your chest when he takes a seat at the table by the cabinets, "You can just wait here. I'll let Carl know when he comes back."

"Okay," he smiles, "Thanks."

You nod again, heading into the employee bathroom to collect yourself for a moment -- seeing your reflection. You forgot you had rubbed your eyes, masacra smudged in black smears nearly down to your cheeks. "I look insane," you whisper in horror, "Oh my fucking god."

You cover your face for a moment, trying to hide yourself from the embarrassment racking your chest. Definitely looking like the troll of the store, you silently scream into your palms, another dramatic whisper of, "I should just fucking kill myself."

Despite the humiliation, you know it's funny. This would happen to you. This hot guy would come in when your mascaras a mess and your hair is fucked up from the rain, when the weather is bad and your tights have a run, when your allergies are rampant from the dust. Of course he would!

You wet a paper towel and do your best to wipe off the smudges, happy to look a little less insane after a dab of tinted lip balm makes it onto your lips and cheeks.

When you re-emerge he's fiddling with his CD player and his over ear headphones, working on a knot in the wire. You go back over to the counter and take a sip of your forgotten latte.

"What do you drink?" he asks.

"Carl makes it special for me, it's not on the menu," you tell him over the black plastic top before taking another sip. He grins, a soft nod moving his hair with him -- so it's like that. "I didn't ask if it was on the menu. I asked what you drink," he says, leaning back in the chair. His eyes lingering on you sends a zip up your spine, wondering if he's giving you a once over or not.

"It's a caramel latte with maple and cinnamon," you tell him. His confidence both intruiges and enrages you, both making you want to tell him to get out but also learn more about this hot guy that wants to be a barista with a Wall Street handshake, "So why do you wanna work here?"

"Is this the start of my interview?" he laughs.

"No, I'm just wondering," you shrug.

"I'm back in school about twenty minutes away," he says, "Did it for a little when I was in high school -- coffee, I mean. Ice cream shop after that, video store after that. Went to school, took a break, back in it. My dad thinks having jobs like this builds y'know -- character and whatever."

"Jobs like this?" you ask, jaw tensing with annoyance.

"Like, y'know, jobs with the people," he tries to explain, pink building on his cheeks when he realizes he might've said something shitty, "They're not like bad jobs, that's not what I mean -- I mean like, y'know -- not suits kind of jobs. Regular shit."

"Regular shit," you nod, biting back what you wanna say. That gold crest ring should've been enough to tip you off, but your next question is the ace in the hole, "What're you back in school for?"

"Getting my MBA."

Of course.

"Nice," you lie, fake smiling into your next sip -- the latte going cold as your insides when you come to the conclusion that he's just some hot grade A asshole, "Well, good luck."

"Thanks," he calls out while you make your way back to the floor, "I really like your name, by the way! It suits you."

You try not to let that compliment change your mind.

He gets the job, but you don't see him a lot. He opens an then goes to classes at night, you close most of the time -- only catching him really in the first hour of your shift and the last hour of his. You're both too busy to be finding time to talk; him with his mid-shift clean and you with your hourly sales goals and mid-day schedule re-adjustments.

But he does wave when you come in. He calls out your name when you bustle past the coffee counter and weave through the tables to get to where you need to go. It's nice of him, you guess, but the stain of him explaining that the job he's doing is just for regular people taints it for you. Maybe he thinks you're just some menial worker bee that he only knows for now, since his daddy probably has a job lined up for him once he pays through his masters degree.

Job with a suit where the bookstore will be a distant memory for him, whereas you're on a two year track to becoming the manager and likely future owner when the owners get too old to manage it. Job with a suit where he'll pass by the store and shake his head at 'how stupid it was', a 'can you believe people work there?' head toss to a coworker while he get a coffee somewhere else. Meanwhile, it's your entire life, and so are all the stories inside.

A few weeks pass and the days get a little colder, the nights starting earlier as they go. You have an opening shift that chills your bones, hugging your wool coat tight to your body while you fiddle with the key at the door, groaning at the tinkling of it hitting the concrete again.

"Rough morning?"

You look up to the door opening, seeing a pair clean white Nike Air Force 1's singaling who it is.

"It is now," you mumble, grabbing the key and bustling inside.

"Surprised to see you here," he says, following you to the back, "You're not on the schedule." "Last minute switch up, Rochelle has a christening," you say, hanging your coat in the cubby and switching out your sneakers for platfoms again.

"Oh, nice," he grins, "So why is it a rough morning? 'Cause I'm here?"

"Sorta kinda," you shrug, "Did you alread--"

"I got sales report from yesterday on the check out desk, yes," he crosses his arms, leaning against the door frame.

"And th--"

"And the inventory report, and before you ask, yes I checked that all the milk is in stock and that we aren't low on beans. I've been here for a month, honey, I know what I'm doing," he mutters.

"Gross," you pull a face at him over your shoulder, "Don't call me honey."

He shrugs with a smirk, "Rochelle likes it."

"Can you go skulk to your caffeine den and leave me alone?" you snap, "I'm trying to open a store, here."

"Skulk, huh?"

"Too big of a word for you, Harrington?"

"You're on fire this morning," he smiles, that smile they write about.

"I kinda like it," he adds before turning out of the door and back into the warm light of the store towards the coffee bar. You swallow while you watch him leave -- I kinda like it ringing in your ears and floating down to your chest where is settles in, cozy and kind.

The reports are where he said the would be, neat and organized like he was the manager and Carl was his employee. You normally spent at least thirty minutes trying to figure out what Carl had written in chicken scratch on the forms, but Steve's sharp and elegant script was easy to read and perfectly spaced. Annoying.

Even his signature was handsome.

After you get the registers counted and ready you file the forms and mark the reports so they'll be ready for your manager when they get back in store. You check the list of what needs to be done, the chilly late October air swooping in from the cracks under the door. Your face sours while you make your way over to the coffee bar in the back, seeing Steve set up the pastry delivery in the cases on the side.

"Did you come back here to yell at me about something?" he asks, focused on the task at hand, "I got all morning."

"You didn't turn the heat on," you cross your arms, "That's like, the first thing you're supposed to do."

He scoffs quietly, shaking his head, popping back up to lean on glass of the case, "Did you read your morning report or just sit there and admire my handwriting?"

"Excuse me?" you bite back.

"Heats fucked," he shrugs, ducking back down to finishing his display, "They're sending someone to take a look at it later today."

"Whatever," you grumble, turning on your heel to go dust the front shelving and reshelf the returns from yesterday.

"Hey," he calls out, waiting for you to turn around before he continues. Your eyes catch his amber ones, sparkling with a mischief reserved for school boys who are mean to the girls they like, "You look nice today."

You look him over, sucking in your cheeks to kill the smile growing on your lips. His navy sweater hugs a bit across his chest and shoulders, giving way to billow slightly over his midsection and arms. Kahki chinos cut just at his ankles so his sneakers don't even look stupid paired with the outfit, socks just the right height to look cool and not forced. Awful.

"Yeah, you too Harrington," you agree quietly before walking away; and while you killed the smile, he was able to catch that crease in your eyes, the twitch in your shoulders. You thought that was nice, he wonders if he can make you do that again.

You head over to the back of the cafe during your break, no windows near your designated 'break chair'. It's close enough to the fireplace that it always feels like a rainy day even when it's nice outside. Now that Carl started his shift he got your drink ready to go the moment you walked over.

"Well la-di-da," Steve cocks his head when Carl walks over to greet the customer at the register, rag in his hands wiping up the pick up counter, "Expert service and you're not even gonna tip?"

"Here's a tip: leave me alone when I'm on break," you bite. Why did he have to be so handsome? Slight pink on his cheeks from the heat of the espresso and coffee machines, the lights overhead. The heat finally works again and it's almost working too well from the small bead of sweat forming above his brow. He runs a big hand through his hair again, the same way he did when you first met him. You try to ingore the way his bicep bulges in his sleeve when his arm stretches.

His tongue runs over his teeth, settling between them for a second before looking straight at you, "Good one."

"That's what you get when you read books," you say sarcastically, "You should try it sometime."

"You should teach me," he leans over the counter, resting his chin on his palm, "Bet you're a great teacher."

You bite your tongue, pulling in your lips and squinting your eyes to keep the smile from brewing a second time. You pick up your mug and sip your latte while he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing this time?" he asks, waiting for you second blow. You shake your head no, occupying your mouth with the rim.

"No?" He asks, you shake your head again, somehow glued to the spot under his stare. He slings the rag over his shoulder, still looking at you. "Well I don't wanna keep you standing here," he teases, offering you a wink that is so soul crushingly charming you could just die, "Enjoy your break."

You've never turned around so quickly in your entire life.

The following week you take another opening shift, happy to settle into the quiet of the cafe now that the morning rush of moms, dads, students, and aspiring writers have cleared out. The fire crackles just right, the leather warmed up to your body heat while the book sucks you in further an further. Thirty minutes pass when you hear a shift infront of you, the subtle squeak of leather being sat in with a soft crunch.

"What're you reading?"

You peer over the top of the spine to see Steve sat in the chair across from you, legs open wide while he leans his forearms on his knees. His long fingers slide together, gold ring shining in the light again to remind you of who he is and where he comes from. As handsome as he is today in his black henley and white t-shirt combo you'll never quite forget the fact that some MBA bro is perched in front of you like a puppy with nowhere to go.

"Sound out the cover, that should tell you," you boredly mumble before tucking back into the chair. His fingers peak over the spine, pushing the book down from the top. He pulls the leather chintz closer to yours with ease -- of course he does.

"Or you could tell me," he says with a softness you weren't ready to hear. Your chest gets warm again, creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

"It's Pride and Prejudice."

"S'that your favorite book or something?" he asks, elbow driving into his thigh so he can rest his chin on his fist.

"One of them," you shrug, "I always read it this time of year, kind of fits the mood of the season."

"Hm," he nods, like he's really listening, "What's it about?"

"Basically," you start, thinking of a way to describe it in two sentences or less, "It's like -- hm -- it's about two people, a love story. One guy is some super rich asshole and he's a jerk because the girl isn't as rich and him. And the girl isn't from the same social standing so she's a jerk because she already assumes that he's a super rich asshole. Like...I don't know, idiots in love who are too stubborn to love each other."

"Hm," he nods again, grin splitting his face, "Interesting."

"What's your favorite book?" you ask, wanting to wipe that smug grin right off his face. His dumb handsome face with that perfect sloped nose, and eyes that look like they're looking directly into you.

"I don't have one," he shrugs.

"You have to have one," you balk, "Like, even if it's one you read in school or something." "Hmm," he sits back up, leaning back in the chair with his hands resting just under his chest.

"You have to know how to read to run a business," you shrug.

"I know how to read, honey," he laughs, "I just don't have a favorite book."

"At least try," you ecourage, albiet annoyed. He taps his fingers on his diaphragm, one knee bouncing while he thinks about it. His shirt rides up just a smidge in the back, revealing a sliver of skin you didn't think you'd ever see.

"Shel Silverstein," he says finally, "Where the Sidewalk Ends."

"You didn't strike me as a poetry guy," you say, closing your book over your finger to hold your place.

"My mom went through this poetry phase -- and I'm my mother's son, so I had a poetry phase with her," he shrugs, "We wore that book out, think we had to get a second copy cause the first one was just like -- destroyed."

"Well that's...you know," you lean your head from side to side, "That's nice. It's cute."

"You'd know, right?" he smiles, that god damn smile Shel would write about in a new book. You'd bring back book burning just to throw it in the flames after it was published. He gets up, disappearing behind you for a moment and reappearing with your favorite green mug. He gingerly places it on the side table next to you.

"Compliments of the chef," he says, presenting it like a Michelin star meal.

You look at it, a perfect pour -- the cream rosetta leaf striking against the warm brown espresso. You can smell the caramel and maple already wafting off it, cinnamon sprinkled delicately on top.

"Um, thanks," you say quietly, taking the mug to your lips. He looks down at you eagerly when you take a sip, waiting for your reaction.

"Did you do something to it?" you ask before you take one.

"No I'm just -- damn, come on. I'm excited to see you try it," he sighs, "I worked hard on it."

"Fine, fine," you murmur, letting the latte flood onto your tongue. Its -- regrettably -- one of the best iterations of you've had in a while. The perfect creaminess without being too milky, enough caramel and maple without being too sweet, the espresso's bitterness cuts the sugar in just the right way to make it smooth. He knows he did it right by the way you go for a second sip without saying anything.

"I did good?" he quirks a brow.

"You did good," you nod.

"Good," he smiles, tapping the top of your chair, "'Cause Carl's putting it on the menu starting in November."

"How come?" you ask into your third sip, the steam billowing over your cheeks.

Steve lets his eyes flicker over your face slowly, offering a half shrug, "I told him to."

November brings the first pre-season snow, not that it mattered now that your favorite drink was a regular menu item now. Caramel and maple always in stock, espresso machine always on first thing in the morning.

You open twice a week now, seeing Steve more often than not. Dropping your key became less common now that he was normally at the door when you'd get there, ready to let you in.

"Another great day, right?" he'd tease.

Now that the holidays were in full swing the bookstore was busier than ever -- sales, bundles, events. You even started carrying children's coloring books and crayons in the kid's section; a whole set up just for kids to sit and color while their parent's browsed.

The stress was getting to you, constantly checking and rechecking the end of day sales versus last year, wanting to make sure everything was on a steady incline with a nice cushion for the next. It helped that the cafe seemed to be absolutely climbing in numbers since September. More and more people wanted to spend time over there, and the more time they spent the more time they looked at books or started reading. It wasn't shocking to see people checking out at the counter with a second coffee and a new book or two in hand.

You don't want it to be true, but you're sure the new barista had a play in what makes so many people stick around. You'd see the way Steve would flirt when he took orders, how he's listen to them intently, make every customer feel like they were the only person in the room.

At least that's how he'd make you feel when he caught your gaze from over the shelving, helping find books for new patrons from the college nearby. You both started to wave at each other at each passing glance, each look caught by surprise, each accidental yearning stare.

Mid-November greets you with a bitter chill, the very early morning doesn't even have the decency to greet with you the rising sun. It'll be atleast another half hour until then.

For the first time in a long time you don't drop the key, pushing into the store with ease. You waste no time turning the heat on, making sure the radiators bled a bit before hand. You rub your hands together while they settle in, putting your coat away in the cubby and switching out your shoes in the break room.

Opening on a Saturday morning isn't common for you, but it's the first event you've planned by yourself. A very simple read-along story telling with some kids from the neighborhood and their parents. You collected three solid winter time reads: The Mitten, The Snowy Day, and A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. A solid hour of reading while the parents could peruse, or sit and watch while their kids tuned into a book instead of cartoons on Nick Jr.

Once you've given yourself the onceover for the morning you feel more confident about the upcoming next few hours. Your knit tights fit snugly over your legs, a touch sheered out with the stretch over your thighs but the pleats in your plaid maroon skirt cover that just fine, hitting just above your knees -- still covered, still sensible. Still cute enough to snag a single dad if one were to show up.

Your feet stay tucked in a pair of worn in platform mary-janes stolen from your sister's New York City closet when you went to visit her over the summer. The chunky knit sweater over the whole ensemble completes you, a spitting image of a 'caught on the street' look you saw in a Seventeen magazine that you still get delivered to you despite being well past the age group.

You thrifted the sweater with Steve in mind, it looked like something he'd wear.

Anyway.

As you set up the 'reading rug' in the cafe area you hear the familar unlocking of the door. The sun finally starting to seep in in golden shards through the panes, leaving squares of light on the wood floors and carpets below.

"Hey Carl!" you call out, "I got everything up and running for you."

You hear the keys jingle but not his smoker's cough, not his heavy steps finding their way to the cafe area. Instead you look up to see Steve with his hands on his hips, watching you struggle to move the leather chintz to the back wall as your reading chair.

"Redecorating?" he asks, looking around the cafe. Under his shearling lined aviator jacket is an open hunter green flannel you wouldn't expect to see him in, his white t-shirt underneath hugs tights to his chest and stomach. You unfortunately noticed how great of a view that is for you.

"Um," you started, looking around the room and the dissaray you seem to have made without realizing, "Why are you here?"

"Same reason your here," he says, stepping forward to shoo you away from the chair, "I'm on the payroll."

"You don't work weekends," you say, crossing your arms over your chest while he lifts the chair over the rug with a soft grunt.

"I do today," he says with a slight strain, "Where do you want this?"

"Uh," you start, "Just right in the center against the wall so everyone can see me."

"Oh, so you're reading to the kids this morning?" he laughs to himself after putting the chair down. He wipes his hands off on each other, shrugging off the jacket and holding it in one arm, "Bitter Betty is gonna entertain the young minds of Main Street?"

"Bitter Betty, huh?" you challenge, following him into the back room, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he shakes his head.

"I am very sweet," you tell him, a serious edge to your voice, "There are so many customer reviews saying how sweet I am."

"Sure," he nods, putting his coat away in his cubby, "I bet there are; since y'know, you're selling them something."

"I'm not just nice when I'm selling something," you say softly, arms coming protectively across your chest. A frustration bubbles in your chest while you look at him, following him back out into the cafe so you can keep getting the place ready before the families start to show up, "You think you know everything."

"I don't," he shakes his head, smiling while he checks over the machines and gets the first pot of coffee started.

"Yeah, you do. You walked in here two months ago and swear you know everything," you huff, getting the cafe back to a place of organized coziness.

"Okay," he chuckles, "Whatever you say, boss."

"You're infuriating," you mumble under your breath.

"Got that caramel latte coming right up for you, by the way," he says warmly.

Your head turns to see him watching you, he smiles, "Maybe you're a little nicer after you've had a coffee."

You smile back, unable to stop it this time.

"So that's a yes, right?" he cocks his head, fingers drumming on the counter while he watches you. That Harringtom charm pumping out at full speed.

"Y-yeah," you nod, "Whatever. You gonna go chop down a tree, Harrington? What's with the flannel?"

He looks down at his shirt and then back up at you with a soft shake of his head, "I better hurry up and get that started for you."

The kids look up at you with starry eyes, their parents smiling along with their coffees, lattes, espressos, and pastries. The Mitten was a hit and The Snowy Day is so far showing up to be a great follow up.

You take your time to really point out the pictures and adding on to the story since all three of them are pretty short. However, you're finding that kids between two and five are pretty easy to entertain if you do enough counting and make enough sound effects. Maybe you should've been a kindergarten teacher -- or maybe not. Maybe you should just keep doing book events.

You're halfway through when you show the illustrations to the group again, listening to them ooh and ahh at all the snow.

"Did um -- Miss -- did you know -- it snowed? It snowed at my house," one of the older kids announces, arm straight up in the air.

"It snowed last week, Michael, that's right," his mom pipes up, "Daddy had to shovel outside."

"Has everyone else seen snow? Raise your hand if you've seen this much snow!" you announce in your perfect parentese, watching while the older kids and parents raise their hands. The two year olds don't really get it so they just sit there and laugh.

You look up at all the hands, an enthusiastic 'Wow!' coming out of your mouth -- but you barely hear it. Behind the hands are a set of warm amber eyes looking at you from the coffee bar, soft and gentle. Enthralled even. You swallow and lick your lips quickly before smiling, catching his smile back as you look back at the book to start again.

After each couple of pages you catch each other, the pink on his cheeks rising when he looks away -- pretending to be occupied with something else. Cleaning, organizing, resetting the espresso machine. He can tell you're flustered by the way you clear your throat whenever you start to read again.

After The Snowy Day you take a ten minute break so that the parents can take their kids to the bathroom or re-up their beverages. The tip jar is full to bursting because nobody knows how to make a single mom feel like Steve Harrington does; and husbands will pay anything to get him to leave their wives alone.

You reset your chair, making sure the books you're reading are on display for purchasing on the shelving close by in your Winter Children's Bundle for a discounted price. As the ten minutes closes up you feel a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Here," you turn around to Steve with a green mug in his hands, "It's just regular coffee this time, but -- figured you could use it."

You take it body first, reaching around for the handle only to feel his fingers brush against yours at the hand of. The soft touch isn't electric like it is in the books, it's like that but better. Warm like an oven, the gooey parts of you rising in a slow bake when you see him look down and turn away -- running that same hand through his hair on his way back to the counter.

"Thanks," you say over the chatter of parents and kids coming back to sit.

"Can I have something ready for you for your break?" he asks back.

"Surprise me," you shrug, sitting back on your chintz chair and taking the final book onto your lap. The kids cheer when they see Snoopy on the cover, a well loved favorite cartoon to finish off their morning. With the crack of the spine you can already smell the sales coming once this little event is over.

You work through your break, ringing up and helping customer after customer on easily one of the busiest Saturday's you've seen in a while. It normally doesn't get busy like this at least for another couple of weeks.

The stress of working through lunch barely matters though because your event was a bigger success than you could've hoped for -- logging in the notes for Rochelle that you should probably start doing this throughout the season just for good measure.

It's starting to get dark by the time your shift ends and the store closes -- early on Saturdays at a tight 4 PM. You let your sales girl go a little early, wanting to take the time to close up the store properly since you were the one who made it such a mess this morning. As you start to put the chairs back that had been moved from the cafe to the children's section you hear him, fingers tapping on the counter.

"You didn't come by for your break," he says, "And I put a lot of effort into that drink."

"Sorry, we can't all be flirting through our shifts like you can, Harrington," you snark with a grin, flipping the last chair over onto it's accompanied table.

"You don't have to clean up the coffee part of the store," he says, coming around with another mug in hand, "That's my job, y'know."

"I know," you say, "But I kind of fucked it up this morning so -- just doing my part."

"Well, here," he says, mug outstretched in his large hand, gold ring gleaming back at you, "For doing your part, I guess."

"You guess, huh?" you laugh lazily, taking it -- he places his fingers in a way that you have no choice but to touch them. You wonder if he did it on purpose, "What do you call this one?"

"'Surprise me'," he replies in a mocking drawl, flipping the rag over his shoulder again and leaning against the counter's edge. The first sip is unfortunately one of the most even temperatured hot drinks you've put past your lips.

"You're good at this," you blurt out, almost offended.

"Well don't look so upset about it."

"I am upset about it," you nod back over the lip of the mug, taking another sip. Mocha -- something. It's like hot chocolate and espresso but better, still caramel, still cinnamon, like a hug from your past but caffienated like your present.

"Consider me surprised," you nod, licking your lips again, "It's good -- it's um -- yeah. It's really good."

"Thanks," he smirks, "A few of the mom's thought so, too."

You let out a sigh through your teeth, rolling your eyes. He expected that, taking a step forward when your gaze comes back to center. You can smell the left over wraiths of his cologne and Old Spice deodorant, count the moles on his neck adorned with his hidden gold chain, see the hair on his forearms from his rolled up sleeves.

"You know something," he says quietly, "If I didn't know any better -- I'd think you like me."

"Like you?" you balk, eyes widening, "You wish."

He clicks his tongue when you get so defensive because it just proves him right. He crosses his arms with another step forward, head cocking to the side slightly while he sizes you up. Why did his creator need to make his forearms so beefy? So perfectly sculpted that you can't look at them without losing your train of thought? Stupid.

"I don't think I have to wish, honey," he says softly, Doc Martins creaking on the wooden floors, "I think...uh, I think I must allow you to tell me how ardently you admire and like me."

Your mouth falls open, staring at him with eyes as glassy at the kids who watched you read this morning.

"You -- no -- you read it?"

"Maybe," he says, another step forward, his arms bumping against your chest.

"Maybe?" you ask back, brow quirking.

"Yeah, maybe I did," he runs a hand through his hair, falling back away from his face to show off his sturdy brow bone, watching you with admiration down the slope of his nose.

He reaches down and takes the mug out of your hand with smooth finesse, arm long enough to reach back and place it on the counter behind him. When he leans back in place he's closer than before, toe to toe, nearly nose to nose.

"Maybe I bought it the day you told me about it," he shrugs, "Maybe I thought it was pretty close to something I had goin' on with a girl I know."

"A girl you know?" you challenge. You know exactly who he means, but it might be fun to hear him say it. "Yeah, sometimes I only see her like, an hour a day. But sometimes I get to watch her read on her break, sometimes I get to close with her on Saturdays," he explains warmly, the timbre of his voice deep against the crackling of the fire in the back corner of the cafe.

"This is the only Saturday you've closed with me," you counter, head tilting up slightly, close enough that the tip of your nose brushes his.

"Who said I was talking about you, honey?" he murmurs back, mischief in his eyes that are half hidden by his eyelids. You feel a puff of his breath over your top lip, still minty fresh like he just brushed his teeth.

"We both know you're talking about me," you smirk, self satisfied while his gaze flickers to your lips and back to your eyes. He steps at an angle, making you step back so you're against the pick up counter.

"So sure of yourself," he he scoffs quietly, leaning over you and getting into your space. Each hand coming to the side of you to lean on the granite, caging you in, "I like that in a pretty girl."

"Most do," you shrug matter of factly.

"Yeah," he nods, "Think that's what I like about you."

"Maybe that's what I like about you, too," you nearly whisper out.

"Maybe?" he asks, lower lip ghosting over yours. "Mayb--"

The hand he uses to run through his hair finds itself flat over the back of yours, sliding down to over your cheek and jaw where he keeps you angled just right. He closes the millimeters between you, warm lips catching yours in a kiss that feels like passion but a power play you want to match.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, heads moving in soft tilts when you change angles. When you find yourself sat on the edge of the counter he uses the leverage to pull you close to him, hips between the fullness of your thighs.

His tongue skates over yours when it slides into your mouth, free hand ridding up the soft material of your tights, tips of his fingers inching under the hem of your skirt in an innocent tease.

Even the way he breathes through it is sexy, leaving you with a lingering guess of what he can do when he presses his lips against your neck. Tongue flitting and striping while he nearly nips a bruise onto your skin. You let out a gentle gasp, enough to admit defeat to him -- much to your chagrin. Steve comes back up to your lips to meet you with a few final deep kisses before you break apart.

He steps back once, the deep golden light of the sun setting cracks through the panes of the back window in the cafe, adoring him in a glow that shines of his hair and eyes. The kind of glow they write about, the kind of glow you read about.

You both take deep breaths, eyes hungry for each other -- unsure if you should go for more. He lingers, coming forward again to rest his hands on your thighs.

"I didn't read it," he confesses. "Pfffft. Why am I not surprised?" you huff, exasperated.

"But! But, but, but," he argues back, pecking you feverishly, "I had to go to like, five different places to find the movie from 1980 so -- I did actually put some effort into it."

"I love that one," you say back.

"I get points for that, right?" he asks expectantly.

"Yeah, fine. You're luck you're cute," you explain, "But you do definitely have to read it, at some point. If you wanna keep making out with me in the cafe after closing."

"Oh, absolutely," he grins, hand reaching to pull you in by the back of the neck for a final searing kiss, "You'll have to teach me, remember?"

You of course start closing together every single Saturday.

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #barista!steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington imagine

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sanaexus · 4 months ago

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"love at first sight..i think?"

it was laughable really, itoshi sae was known for being level headed, for having a cold demeanor. so for him to notice bluelock's manager and stare at her shamelessly while he should probably be celebrating their win against the rival team, was quite the scene

it was impossible to blame him though, you were managing those hooligans so well. it was almost amusing to see being so friendly yet strict with the boys. the way you were calm and composed yet fierce. you didn't just manage the boys, no, even he, someone who just saw you could tell you brought up the team spirit a lot more higher, supporting and motivating the plays with a unique passion and dedication.

so what does he do? fall in love with you. hard and fast. it wasn't difficult to talk you, in his eyes, you weren't like those lukewarm idiots who were nothing but stepping stones in his journey to become the best. it felt as if you genuinely cared about him. in every sense, whether it was by scolding him when he focused on practice a bit too much, when he stopped caring about himself as much, when an interviewer was clearly overstepping his boundaries, you were always there.

interviews were annoying, in his opinions, they soured the taste of sweet victory. but he apparently had to do this interview, so he begrudgingly agreed.

it was obvious to anyone with eyes he didn't want to be there, giving short and blunt answers, and straight up ignoring questions that weren't related to football. but it seemed as if one of the female interviewers just couldn't seem to understand that fact.

you could feel the annoyance radiating off sae even from a distance, to anyone else he might have seemed normal, after all he was known for being a quiet and cold persona, but to you? you could notice the way he clenched his fists at a particularly annoying question, the way he sighed, the way his eye twitched, it was really obvious to you.

you were snapped out of your train of thoughts when you heard an odd question.

"this question is for sae, it's no secret being such a famous and talented athlete must mean you have ladies swooning all over you. so tell us, do you have anyone special in your life?"

if looks could kill, that interviewer would be dead and buried 6 feet under the ground, but unfortunately they couldn't.

"and if i do? then what?" he doesn't even know why he said it. it just came out, he didn't even think it through it was almost reflexive. he started to internally panic, not because of what the media would think, no he couldn't care less about that. but he was worried about what you would say or what you would think. any slight chance he had with you just vanished into thin air just because of 6 words. what if you stop talking to him because he's apparently a "taken man" what if you actually liked him back but now you don't because he isn't "single". and he was right.

your heart broke at that sentence, you knew it was stupid of you to think that the itoshi sae would like you back. of course he wouldn't. he was perfect. in every sense there was only one word that could describe him. perfect, and you were just his manager so why would he like you back. but he gave some hints he liked you right? maybe you interpreted it wrong. but he would have mentioned he has a girlfriend to you right? guess you weren't important enough to him for him to mention his girlfriend. you shake off those thoughts as you heard the interviewers answer.

"oh? is that so? and who might that be?" her voice sounded bitter, jealous almost.

"no" his reply was blunt and cold and was the only thing he said before he got up and walked to the side where you were there

your heart was racing, you didn't know how to face him exactly. you were scared, and you weren't even sure what you were scared of exactly. was it being rejected by him? was it facing him? was it because of how you knew you would cry if you talk to him? who knows.

"i'm sorry" his voice sounded softer and a bit guilty? why was he apologizing? he's human and he deserves to be happy too right?

"why are you apologizing? for being in a relationship? that's stupid. you should have told me earlier though. i'm happy for you sae" you smiled at him, but he noticed how it wasn't as bright or didn't quite reach your eyes as your real smile would.

"i'm not in a relationship, i'm apologizing because you might have to deal with the consequences of my words"

now you were confused. he wasn't in a relationship? but he just said he was? was he trying to hide it now?

"you don't have to lie, it's alright, i understand sae-"

"shut up, i only said it because those lukewarm creatures kept bugging me, i'm not dating anyone."

"oh..but why are you telling me this..? you don't owe me an explanation?" you asked confused.

"because i do, i don't want you to think that i'm taken, i like you (name) not anyone else. so please don't be mad at me"

you've never seen sae like this. in the couple of months you've been their manager, never once have you heard sae look so weak and scared, and you sure as hell haven't heard him say please ever. wait did he just say he likes you?

"what the fuck?" was all you could say, it was just a natural reaction you had to anything, good or bad. saying that you both just stood there in awkward silence. sae didn't know what to say or think. was that "what the fuck ew you like me?" or was that a "what the fuck you like me too?" he couldn't tell.

the silence and his train of thoughts was broken by you hugging him. not knowing what to say, you decided it'd be best just hug it out, hugs always work right?

it was awkward, sae didn't know how to react, after all he wasn't someone who liked being touch so it made sense he didn't know what to do when you abruptly hug him, so he just stood there and patted your hair.

"you like me too?" you asked while you pulled away, sae wanted to whine and hold for a bit longer but he didn't.

"yeah, i guess so. wait what do you mean too?"

"isn't it obvious? i like you too sae"

"oh, that's cool so uh do we date or what?" it was cute how someone like him, who was so confident in himself, was reduced to a shy and awkward mess with you

"i don't know, do you want to be my boyfriend?"

"yeah that'd be pretty nice, i think?"

"you think? so how about a date, pick me up at 7 tomorrow?"

"you got it ma'am" a soft smile graced his pretty face as he fondly looked at you. at that moment he didn't think it'd be nice being with you, he knew it.

bonus!!

"OH MY GOD! HE FINALLY CONFESSED I TOLD YOU GUYS, PAY UP" oliver's comment was heard loud and clear to everyone, even the interviewers standing outside

groans and sounds of annoyance could be heard as they brought out their wallets handing the money over to oliver.

"you fucking lukewarms bet on us?"

"you're so getting extra laps to run tomorrow i swear"

OH MY GOD I FINALLY FINISHED THIS?? THIS WAS BASED ON A REQUEST I GOT LIKE CENTURIES AGO AND I NEVER HAD THE MOTIVATION TO FINISH IT BUT I FINALLY DID IT. IT GOT A BIT AWKWARD AT THE END BUT DON'T MIND THAT GUYS IT'S FINE.

i hope you liked this anon, i'm so sorry this was so late but enjoy!<3

and double post? oh my god look at me go (i might post even more shit guys idk)

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iawaaaaaa · 5 months ago

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sunday x fem!reader | in your embrace

Synopsis: Trying to keep your relationship with Sunday private is... really hard. But being in his embrace at night makes up for everything.

Genres: Fluff, Secret relationship, both of you are smitten.

iara's note :: sunday.,,,,,, im so sane for this man,,,, im not btw

"Ms. L/N! Ms. L/N! Do you mind sharing details on your relationship with Mr. Sunday?" A journalist once asked you as you were getting out of the practice room with Robin.

"Me and Mr. Sunday's relationship is strictly professional. I am nothing more than Robin's voice teacher, so please do not ask me that question." You responded back with showing 0 emotion.

If anyone else was with you, they would think you were feeling uncomfortable but Robin...

Robin knew you were internally panicking.

Exactly when you were getting bombarded with other questions, our 'Chicken wing boy' was also being interviewed.

"Mr. Sunday. A lot of us are rather... intrigued by your relationship with Ms. L/N. Do you mind sharing some details about it?

Sunday hummed. "Ms. L/N is a wonderful person. Robin has learned a lot since the day Ms. L/N took her under her wing. However, our relationship with each other is strictly professional and will always be."

"Hm... thank you for answering us. Now! On to the next question..."

If anyone were to see Sunday's expression, they'd think that his feelings towards Ms. L/N were unrequited and he still is deeply wounded by it.

No one knows that deep inside, he was relieved.

Now you might be asking - "Why are they panicking over a question?"

The answer is quite simple, actually.

Mrs. Y/N and Mr. Sunday are too smitten to lie about not being together.

Before you and Sunday got together, you were still considered as a rookie in the industry. Sunday noticed how captivating your singing range was and ultimately became head over heels for your voice

Just like how a man would feel towards a siren's voice, correct?

...Except you wouldn't use your voice to kill him, mind that.

You were also impressed by how Sunday could balance work-life and social-life and ultimately became head over heels for him too.

Cheesy? Not to them!

Going back to present time -

You and Sunday were peacefully in each other's arms in your shared bedroom while you were humming a lullaby your mother always hummed to you when you were still a child.

"How was the interview?" You softly told him. "It was alright, until they asked me if I were your partner..." Sunday replied with a hint of theatrical. You giggled a bit while saying "They also asked me that too."

"My bird, I am very tired of denying our relationship." He said.

"My angel, I am too. But remember this is for the sake of our families and your status." You told him back with a hint of sadness. You yawned a little as you slowly drifted to sleep.

"I love you. So so much that I do not care about my status if it means I can show you my love towards you anywhere." He softly said as he opened his eyes to gaze at your sleeping form.

"Just wait my sweet bird, until I can create a world where we're free together."

@2024 iara, do not translate my works nor repost them as yours.

#iawa #ichi: hsr #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #star rail x reader #star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #sunday x reader #sunday x you #robin #penacony #sunday hsr #smitten sunday #giggles #hsr sunday x you #hsr sunday x reader

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pamwritessometimes · 20 days ago

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Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 1

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope

A/N: Hello, beautiful people! I know most of you are waiting for another part of my Soldier Boy SMAU, but truth to be told, I have NO idea how to continue that story yet. I’m still waiting for the fanfic muse to kiss my face and tell me what to do. In the meantime, please, enjoy this little something that will end up being a mini series.

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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You didn't know how to breathe. It felt just like if your lungs were under a press, making it more and more impossible to get oxygen minute by minute. Never in your thirtysomething of years ever thought you’d have to experience one of the greatest tragedies of life; your daughter, your whole world, just disappeared.

The detective in front of you was muttering some words your brain couldn't really register until now.

“Miss Y/L/N, you hear me?” he asked with a hint of concern. “I need you to tell me how you found out your daughter’s missing. Any detail could be crucial.”

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You stood outside the police station, staring blankly at the pale glow of the streetlights. Inside, the officers had told you to "stay patient", to wait for updates. They’re doing everything they can, they said.

But it wasn’t enough.

Emma was only four, too young to be out of sight for this long.

She had disappeared right from your front yard, where you had only left her alone for a few moments to grab your phone. It had been late afternoon, and the neighborhood was quiet. No strange cars. No unusual noises.

When you came back outside (just mere seconds later) Emma was gone.

The police had checked the neighbors’ cameras, combed through the nearby area, and interviewed everyone around. But there were no leads. No ransom demands. No nothing. They were starting to treat it like a case that could stretch on for weeks or months.

But you couldn’t wait that long.

It was already taking too much time, and your mind went to places it never ever should have. Is she still okay? Is she scared?— What a stupid question, of course, she’s scared. Up until now, her world was simple; just her mother and her.

“Miss Y/L/N” a quiet voice came from behind your shoulder. You turned and see a policeman–Lt. Candero, according to his nametag. “I know I’m speaking against ourselves, but you have to understand. We have regulations to follow. Our hands are tied. But–” he started reaching for his back pocket “I might have someone to help you” he said and handed you a card. A name and a phone number.

Colter Shaw.

“He isn’t tied down like us. His methods may be a bit… unorthodox, but he helped to find my wife’s brother a few years back when our station couldn’t. He might be able to help you.” he said quietly, then looked around to see if nobody saw this exchange.

You understood. Recommending a–what was this man again? A tracker? Recommending a tracker, it was probably against everything his profession stood for. You quickly looked down at the card and then back up to say your thank you, but he was already gone.

Colter Shaw. At first, the name didn’t strike you as unusual. Colter Shaw. Shaw. You hadn’t thought about this name for a while. Could this be a coincidence?

Anyway, it wasn't the time to contemplate. You needed to find Emma.

And right now, this Colter Shaw was your best chance.

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The night had settled in by the time he arrived. You watched from the window as he pulled up quietly in front of your house. You opened the door before he could even knock.

"Miss Y/L/N?”

"Y/N” you corrected. “Thank you for coming" you said, stepping aside to let him in.

Colter gave a small nod as he entered, his eyes quickly glancing through the living room, taking in the space as though every detail might offer a clue.

"Tell me again" he said as he sat down on the couch. It was clear he was drawing out details the police may have missed. "Everything you remember from the moment she disappeared."

You sat down on the couch next to him, clasping your hands together in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "It was late afternoon. Emma was playing with her dolls on the porch while I ran inside for just a minute to grab my phone. When I came back out, she was gone. I called for her, searched the yard, but she wasn’t there. The gate was closed. She couldn’t have left on her own." Your voice cracked as you remembered back at the ominous moment. "I searched the whole neighborhood. Cried and screamed even. No one saw her."

Colter listened intently, not interrupting you. There was something in his eyes that made you feel as if he wasn’t just absorbing the details, but he was already a few steps ahead. He was thinking of possibilities you or the police couldn’t see yet.

"There was no one around?" he asked.

You shook your head. "No strangers, no cars I didn’t recognize."

Colter nodded, as though that detail confirmed something in his mind. "This wasn’t random" he finally said. "Whoever took her had been watching. They knew your routine, her routine."

Your heart skipped a beat. Why would anyone stalk you? Or worse, why would anyone stalk Emma? "But why? Why would anyone—"

"People take children for a lot of reasons" Colter interrupted with a careful tone. "But this feels targeted. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. And that means they’ll make mistakes. I’ll find them."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope at his confident words. "What– what do we do now?"

"We start with the yard" Colter said, standing up. "I need to retrace what happened. Look for signs the police might’ve missed. After that, I’ll want to speak to the neighbors, anyone in the area who might’ve seen something they didn’t realize was important."

You stood, watching as he moved toward the front door. Your mind was racing. How could this be targeted? Who would target you? And why? You were no one special–a single mother living with her four-year-old in the suburbs of Idaho Falls. Had no enemies–except for the occasional work rivalries between you and some of your colleagues (you had a very specific person in mind, named Kiara), but other than that, your life was plain and simple.

"You really think this wasn’t random?" you asked Colter, following him outside.

He paused by the door, glancing back at you. "I’ve seen this before. This kind of precision. Someone planned this, and that means there’s a reason. We just have to find out what it is."

As you stepped outside, you couldn’t shake the creeping fear that this was bigger than you had imagined. It felt deliberate, like someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment. But why Emma? What did they want?

Colter crouched near the edge of the yard, running his fingers along the ground. You stood nearby, watching as he scanned the area. The yard looked so ordinary, so unchanged. But to Colter, it seemed to hold details you hadn’t noticed, things the police had overlooked.

"So she played here, right?” he asked and then you nodded. “Footprints here" he muttered, pointing to a small section of dirt near the gate. "Different size from the ones around it. Someone stood here recently."

"The police didn’t mention any footprints."

"They wouldn’t" Colter said, standing up. "They’re looking for obvious signs, not subtle ones."

As he moved toward the gate, you felt a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. You couldn’t breathe, again. Whoever had taken Emma had planned this. They had been watching her, your daughter, knowing exactly when to strike. But who? And why?

You kept repeating these two questions.

As if reading your thoughts, Colter turned to you. "This isn’t over, Y/N. Whoever did this left a trail. I just have to find them."

You nodded, but deep down, something still gnawed at you. Your guts were telling you that there was more to this.

And for the first time, you wondered if your daughter had been taken not because of who she was, but because of something—or someone—she didn’t know.

“Tell me about her father” Colter said, still scanning the area.

You froze for a moment. You had expected him to ask about Emma’s father. But not yet, at least. You stared at him, trying to figure out how much to say. How much did he know? Or was he just following a hunch?

"Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up to people, even when they’ve left it behind" he added.

"He left" you said. "Before I even knew I was pregnant. I haven’t heard from him since."

It wasn’t a complete lie. Russell had been gone for years, disappearing from your life before you even knew you were pregnant.

Well, maybe he didn’t disappear, maybe you pushed him away. But you had your reasons… reasons you weren’t ready to share with Colter.

He was never part of Emma’s life, never even knew she existed. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Colter might be right. Maybe this was connected to Russell.

Colter’s expression didn’t change at your revelations, but you could sense his mind was working, putting pieces together. He wasn’t asking for the emotional history; he was looking for facts, details that might explain why someone would take Emma.

"What was he like?" Colter asked, leaning forward slightly. "Did he have enemies? Anything that stands out in your memory?"

“He...” you started. “He never talked about his past. He was… secretive. Once I–” you took a deep breath, contemplating how much to share. “I realized he lied to me. About his job. And… and I told him to get out of my house, my life” you said. It was an insanely outlined version of your story, but you hoped it was enough.

"And…no contact since then?" Colter asked.

You shook your head. "Nothing. Not a single word.”

For a moment, you both fell silent. You could see Colter’s mind turning, sifting through the information, trying to make sense of it. Then, his voice broke the screaming silence.

"Y/N, I need you to think carefully. Is there any chance—any at all—that this could be connected to him?"

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the question. You had tried so hard to convince yourself that Russell was just a chapter in your past, that he had nothing to do with the life you had built with Emma. But now, with your daughter missing, the nagging doubt inside you was just impossible to ignore.

"I don’t know" you admitted finally.

Once again, you couldn’t help but think of the name that had been haunting you since this shitstorm began. Shaw. Colter’s last name was the same as Russell’s, and though you hadn’t asked, the possibility plagued your mind. Could Colter be connected to Russell? Could he know more about your past than he was letting on?

You didn’t dare ask. Not yet. Not until you had more answers. But the question stayed in the back of your mind.

And now, the only person who could help you find Emma might be the one with answers you were afraid to uncover.

After taking a deep breath, you said. “He was dealing with… some dangerous people.”

"Who?" Colter asked, his voice low but firm, pushing gently. "What kind of people?"

“It’s– uh, it was some organization, I think. I don't know what they do specifically…” you stammered. “Russell said it was Horizon or something.”

Colter's face tightened. Horizon? The Horizon Group? And Russell?

Something flashed in his eyes. Recognition, most likely. For a brief moment, his usually composed expression fell, and he looked away, as if piecing together a connection.

"Russell..." Colter said, his voice quieter now, almost as if testing the name. He took a step back, his mind clearly working through the sudden flood of new information. "What did you say his last name was?"

This was it. The moment you had been dreading, the one you had skirted around ever since you first heard his name. "Shaw" you said, barely above a whisper. "His last name was Shaw."

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Phew. We’re in for a ride.

As always, I appreciate any kind of feedback.🤍

xx Pam

Read Chapter 2 here

#russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x you #tracker cbs #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #tracker fanfiction #russell shaw fanfiction

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evanpeterswhoresblog · 10 months ago

Text

Linger

Sirius Black x rockstar! f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, like pretty rough guys he bites you till you bleed, underage drinking, underage smoking, a lot of smoking tbh, drunkish sex, kinda has a plot so yeah lmk if i missed anything

summary: you and your band mates decide to go out to a pub, where you end up meeting the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: guys i’m so bad at these summaries holy. this is probably my favorite fic i’ve written. the flirting and the tension like omg. trust me. also, let’s pretend The Runaways are british and let’s pretend everything id accurate hahaha. enjoy ;)

~~~

“Do you think we’ll be recognized tonight?”

You turn to your bandmate, Joan, and shrug. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What pub are we going to again?” She asks.

“The one where they let underage people in, of course, you’re still the only one who’s twenty-one in the band you know,” you reply.

The other two members of your band, Sandy and Lita, are ahead of you, engulfed in their own conversation. You slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket and try to keep up. You’ve been in the band for a few months as the new lead singer. Their old one left to start her own band, claiming it to be more successful. Yet your band is the one that’s gotten sold-out shows, interviews on television, and pictures in magazines. Sometimes you like to think it was fate that she left, and you just so happened to be in town the night they were holding auditions. The fans surely enjoy your voice more, they make you out to be the leader even though you’re only seventeen and the newest member. You don’t mind though, and neither do your bandmates.

It’s almost ten when you arrive at the pub and thankfully no one has recognized you yet, or they have and simply haven’t said anything. There’s no one at the door to check IDs just like Sandy had said. The four of you enter fast and find a table. The music is loud, the lights are low, and people are dancing all over. You like it, a lot.

“Drinks?” Lita questions a few seconds after you sit.

“You know it!” Joan replies.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Sandy takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”

“Obviously,” you answer, holding your hand out. She hands you one, you’re quick to light it and stick it between your lips, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. “How come the police haven’t found this place?”

Joan rolls her eyes. “They have.”

“And? Why don’t they shut it down?”

“They have people who come here, of course, sons, daughters, you know that sort of thing. It may be illegal but it’s trustworthy,” she explains. “Why do you care anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious I suppose.”

Lita arrives back at the table, four glasses held in her arms. You take yours fast, eager to taste whatever liquor she got for you. It’s bitter, with a hint of sweetness in it. Based on the color as well, your guess is some sort of vodka mix. You drink it despite the awful aftertaste it leaves in your mouth. The cigarette between your fingers helps a bit. The four of you talk for a while and enjoy the peace of having no fans around.

“You should go to the bar y/n,” Lita says after some time. “Or well it might be too late now, but when I was there, I saw a boy your age, remarkably handsome.”

Sandy laughs. “You’re trying to send her home with someone already?”

Lita nudges the other girl with her shoulder. “No, I’m only trying to get some new song material.”

“We’ll see if there’s any potential,” you say, taking the last sip of your drink and getting up. You brush down your hair. “Do I look alright?”

“You’re always beautiful,” Joan answers, letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Wish me luck.” You chuckle before heading to the bar.

With every step you take, you feel eyes on you. Most belong to older men who shouldn’t even be paying you any mind. You’re used to the feeling of being watched, with all the fans and paparazzi that corner you before and after gigs. So, you move through the pub without a second thought about it.

In the back of your head, you curse yourself for not asking Lita what the guy looks like. For a moment you question how you’re supposed to find him, but then your curious eyes find one guy who stands out. He’s leaning on the wall, a glass in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. Based on his face, you figure he can’t be more than nineteen. And oh, how right Lita was. His hair is dark and long, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a simple white tee shirt and baggy jeans. Despite the distance, you swear you can make out a sliver of a tattoo on his shoulder. He’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous.

You approach him carefully, thinking of different opening lines in your head. Would it be wrong to use your fame to get him to take you home? Probably. But you’ve seen Joan do it plenty of times. She always says it’s simply a tool and that you should use it to your advantage. You’ve never done it though. Perhaps it’s your little amount of consciousness that remains that tells you it’s wrong. You don’t know and the alcohol in your system doesn’t help. So, when you reach him, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

He looks at you, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hello.”

“How old are you?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for such a question.

“What are you a cop?” He chuckles.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “No uh... sorry.”

“It’s fine love, just not a very good pick-up line,” he replies. He takes his cigarette out, his eyes locked on yours. “Especially since you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Seventeen actually.” You correct him.

“Ah, well there’s something we share then.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you comforts you. There’s no recognition in his eyes at all. You can tell. To him, you are just another girl. Not the lead singer of The Runaways. Just a simple girl.

“You can try again if you’d like,” he says. You look at him, confused. “Try another pick-up line.”

You gently smile and think for a few seconds. Nothing better comes to mind.

“Come here often?”

He laughs. “Somehow I think that was worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Usually, I’m better at this sort of thing,” you reply. You put your hands back in your pockets, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment of silence. He takes a sip of his drink; you stare at his hand. The way it looks wrapped around the glass makes your stomach fill with butterflies. You hate how much you want him to take you home. You don’t even know his name. But he’s handsome, so much so it makes you unable to think straight. You need to know more.

“Are you from around here?”

He nods. “Born and raised in London. You?”

For a split second you wonder, if he’s from London how come he doesn’t know who you are? Sure, your band isn’t on the same level of success as Queen or ACDC but you’re also not underground. You push the thought away.

“Originally from Westchester but now I’m here in London for... work,” you answer.

“Work? I thought you were seventeen.”

“Yes but, eighteen next month. I already finished school.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Wish I could say the same, I still have another year left. Though, I rather enjoy school, gets me away from my dear parents.”

“Oh, where do you go?”

You notice the way he shifts his posture. “Out of the country, you wouldn’t know of it.”

“Like a boarding school?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

You look around the pub, a slight feeling of awkwardness blooming within you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve done this before. You decide to blame it on the cheap vodka because really, you’re better than this.

“So, what’s your name then?” You ask after a few more minutes.

“Does it really matter?” He replies, catching you a bit off guard. He flicks the ash off his cigarette, his dark eyes on yours. “All of it’s the same.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t play dumb love, I know this isn’t your first time. I’m sure you’ve chatted up many other lads and had them take you home.” There’s something about the tone in which he speaks that has your knees almost wobble.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, leaning over to a small table discards his cigarette in an ashtray, and leaves his glass. When he leans back on the wall, now with both of his hands-free, he buries them in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He looks down at you with an expression that could send your morals far out of mind. You want him, terribly. And you think he knows this.

“Besides the fact that you said you’re usually better at this, you’re also possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he eventually answers.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless thanks for the compliment.”

“I mean it. Most girls I see still wear those long skirts and sweaters, but you, you’re dressed like you could pass as a rock star.”

Your face heats up once again. You know he’s right. With your leather jacket, flared jeans, high-heeled boots, and small tight top you know it’s clear what kind of person you are. Your makeup only adds to it, black smudged eyeliner and glitter on your eyes. It’s a toned-down version of what you wear on stage. He doesn’t need to know that though.

You give him a smile and shrug. “Rock is my favorite genre, what can I say? You sort of got that look too though, not quite as intense.”

“Not a gentleman?” He chuckles.

“No.” You laugh, shaking your head. “At least I hope not.”

“I see. You don’t fancy the good boys. Well fortunately for you, I’m a bit of a troublemaker. At least, that’s what my schoolmates and family say,” he mentions. “What’s wrong with the good boys anyway? They could treat you like a lady.”

“Too gentle, I’m not a fan of it,” you answer honestly.

He smirks, sending warmth straight to your core. “So is your intention to get me out of here and treat you... not gently?”

“My intention is simply to buy you another drink, maybe enjoy a dance or two. What happens at the end of the night is not particularly on my mind right now. I’m more focused on learning your name. Why? Is that what you’d fancy?” You counter, looking up at him through your long lashes.

It has the effect you hoped for because he stands up straight, his back finally off the wall. He offers his hand to you, and you take it softly in yours. It’s so much bigger, so much warmer. You try your hardest to kill all the thoughts of where else you’d like him to touch you with his hand.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself.

“Like the star?” You question without thinking.

“Yes, like the star. Now what’s your name.”

“Y/n y/l/n,” you say.

“Charmed. So, how about that drink?”

You smile. It’s going to be a good night, you know it.

The next few hours go by in a flash. You and Sirius drink more than you probably should and dance to the many different songs that play on the jut box. A few different times throughout the night you find the eyes of your bandmates, each of them giving you big smiles and thumbs up as they watch you with Sirius. At one point Joan makes a lewd hand gesture, and you barely get a chance to see Lita smack her. It’s past twelve when you find yourself outside the pub with Sirius sitting on a curb sharing a cigarette.

“I hate these bloody shoes,” you mumble as you dig your heel into the pavement. “They make my feet sore.”

“Then why do you wear them?” Sirius asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You exhale a long breath of smoke, passing the half-burnt cigarette back to him. “I dunno. Beauty is pain.”

“For some, but I’m sure even without those things you’re just as pretty. Actually, I would bet pounds on that being true,” he replies.

“I think I’m rather plain without all this. Would you think the same of me without my makeup and outfit?”

You watch him smirk. “I should think you look even prettier without all of that on. Especially the clothes.”

Your stomach fills with butterflies for the thousandth time tonight. Your shyness left hours ago when you took your first shot. So, instead of simply blushing and looking away, you stand and look down at him with your own smirk.

“Quite the charmer. How about you find come back to mine and find out for yourself?”

He takes one last drag of the cigarette before standing, flicking it to the pavement, and crushing it beneath his sneaker. You watch helplessly as he releases a cloud of smoke, his hand now held out to you.

“I’d quite like that. Lead the way.”

~~~

You don’t know how you keep your composure the whole way home, especially with Sirius’s hand handing yours the entire time. On the train, as you sit, your head on his shoulder, he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. It’s a gesture that makes you glad you aren’t standing because your legs feel like jelly. And on the walk up to your apartment, he lets go of your hand and instead places it on the small of your back. You almost fall down the stairs at the contact.

Once you’re inside you immediately take off your boots, leaving them somewhere by the front door. Your jacket follows, only it’s hung on one of your kitchen chairs. When you turn to look at Sirius you find his eyes wandering all over your apartment, examining the details you assume. His sneakers are off, his hands are in his pockets.

“You must have a special job, this place is wonderful,” he says.

“My mates help me with the money, it’s not all mine,” you reply. It’s true, they do help you earn money from performing. You step closer to him, your hands behind your back. “And it’s really not that big. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one very tiny living room combined with the kitchen. But it’s more than enough for me. Would you like the tour?”

“Of course, if the tour starts in your bedroom.”

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face. “Follow me.”

The walk is fast, with every step you feel your heart rate increase. You’ve done this a few times, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s because all the other guys can’t compare to Sirius’s beauty in the slightest. Or perhaps it’s because you already like him a bit more than you should for a one-nighter. You don’t know. And you don’t care to know because you’re about to reach your door.

You open the door fast, letting him in first, and closing it behind you. It’s dark, the only lights coming from outside your small window. You don’t reach for the lights though. Instead, you step closer to the boy, the sound of your breathing suddenly far too loud for your liking. His silhouette moves closer to you as well. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force pushing the two of you together, and you find yourself liking it.

He touches you first. One of his hands finds your waist, he guides you to him faster. Soon enough, you’re practically pressed against him. You can barely breathe from the proximity. You’ve never felt something this intense. You look up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Still want me to not be gentle?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say, pressing one of your hands to his chest. You’re happy to find his heart is racing just like yours. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright.”

Before you can even think of another thought, his lips are on yours. You kiss back instantaneously, your hand moving up into his hair. It’s soft, like you expected. He’s far from gentle with his kissing, and you’re glad. His lips move fast on yours, his teeth scraping your tongue. He bites down on your lip so hard you whimper, and the metallic taste of your blood clouds your senses.

Still, despite the pain, when he pulls back you almost whine from the loss of contact. But his hands move fast to pull your shirt up. You help him get it off, then move to his. Through the darkness, you can see the few tattoos he has on his chest and shoulder. They’re dark, they’re beautiful. You run your fingertips over them as he leans back down and connects your lips once again. You begin to guide the two of you towards your bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. Sirius doesn’t follow you though. Instead, he stands between your legs at the foot of the bed and begins to undo the buttons of your jeans. You watch in awe, lifting your hips to help him drag them down your legs, leaving you only in your bra and panties. You sit up, your eyes on him, as you start undoing his belt.

After his jeans are on the floor he pushes you back down on the mattress, climbing over you this time. You kiss him deeply, dragging one of your hands down his warm back, and weaving the other through his hair. That warmth deep inside you has grown, consuming you entirely. You can feel the wetness between your legs, surely staining your panties. You’ve never been so turned on by a guy in your life.

He suddenly parts your kiss, his lips beginning to move down your jaw and neck. You moan, throwing your head back to give him more access. When he bites down on you, so hard you can feel a stinging from it breaking skin, you pull at his hair, sounds of pleasure escaping your swollen lips.

Eventually, after leaving many hickeys and bite marks on your neck, he pulls back entirely and flips you over onto your stomach. You smirk against the mattress as you feel him unclip your bra. To help get it off, you lift yourself on your hands, and the straps quickly fall. You throw it off without even thinking about it. You’re about to turn back but Sirius presses a hand between your shoulder blades, silently telling you to stay as you are. You don’t hesitate to comply.

You feel him move and instinctively you lift your hips in the air. He places a kiss on your back, it almost makes you shiver. Then his hands are on your hips, pulling your last piece of clothing off. You normally would feel some sense of vulnerability at this point. Completely naked with your ass in the air. But the alcohol mixed with the utter need you have for Sirius takes control. You feel him shift.

“Do you have a rubber?” The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your legs together.

“Unless you have a disease, you don’t need one. I’m on birth control,” you answer, looking over your shoulder at him.

“No diseases I swear,” he says.

“Then proceed.”

You get up properly on all fours, the anticipation killing you. When he positions his tip at your entrance, you inhale sharply. He rubs his cock through your wet folds for a few seconds, brushing against your clit ever so slightly, before thrusting inside you in one quick, hard motion. You can’t help the moan that leaves you. He’s big, stretching you in a way that’s on the brink of being painful. It’s perfect.

He fucks you hard, very hard. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. At one point, your arms give out and your face presses against the mattress. Your hands twist in the sheets, your moans muffled by the bed. Sirius doesn’t like this. He twists one of his hands in your hair and pulls you up, the pain only adding to the building of your orgasm.

“Sirius,” you gasp. “Fuck Sirius.”

He’s relentless. He fucks you through your first orgasm, not faltering for even a second. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, pulling out and flipping you onto your back. You scratch your nails down his back as he begins to fuck you in missionary, your lips on his.

You don’t know how long passes by the time he tells you he’s close. What you do know is that your second orgasm is not far either. With tears in your eyes, you let him switch positions once again, this time you’re on top of him. Your muscles are weak and sore, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him as well as you can. Sweat covers your body, and incoherent words drip off your lips. You can barely take it anymore.

“I-I’m almost there,” you mumble.

“Me too love,” Sirius replies, his breath ragged. “Finish us both off.”

You struggle to hold yourself up, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, just a few more minutes,” he assures you, running one of his hands through your hair.

Much to his word, in a few minutes, he finishes. Hard. He moans your name in an indescribable tone, and his cock pulses inside you so intently, it causes your second orgasm to occur. As this happens, you lie on his chest, both of your breathing very uneven. He holds you tight against him.

Eventually, you roll off him and stare at your ceiling. You try to comprehend what just happened. Never in your life have you experienced something so intense. Most of the time when you told guys to be rough with you, they’d be turned off. But Sirius... You turn to your side to face him.

“Want a smoke?”

“Certainly.”

~~~

It’s safe to say, you don’t let him go all summer. You spend every second you can with him. Most of the time in your sheets, but a good amount doing other things. You paint his nails black, teach him how to wear eyeliner, and how to dress more like yourself. You enjoy every second you get with him.

He never does discover your fame, at least he never says so. You think he would know. Each time you go out you try your hardest to be unnoticeable and you always hide away magazines and switch the channel whenever something about your band is shown. But he never does say anything. Sometimes at night, you sing to him softly and you always laugh when he tells you that you should take it professionally.

You learn how much he hates his family, except for his little brother. You learn he loves Queen and David Bowie. You learn his favorite color is ironically black. You learn as much about him as you can and with each fact you do learn, you only fall more for him. But you never speak of it. You know the inevitable ending.

On the night before he goes back to school, the two of you lay in your bed, a thick silence between you. As usual, you pass a cigarette back and forth. Only this time, there are no words accompanying. Until he speaks.

“For once, I’m not looking forward to going back.”

You turn to your stomach and look at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me either,” he agrees. He holds the cigarette to you; you take it fast. “I can phone you if you want. You know, while I’m there. Or send letters.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” You question.

“I think I really fancy you, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

You give him a weak smile and press a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Sirius.”

~~~

A few months later...

“Five minutes till show time,” an assistant tells you.

You’re sitting in your dressing room backstage. Joan, Sandy, and Lita all have their own space now. You find it funny how much The Runaways have blown up since the summer. Now, everywhere you turn you see yourself in a magazine or a news article. You can’t go anywhere without being recognized, or without the paparazzi showing up.

As you look in the mirror your mind travels back to Sirius. This happens a lot. Right before a concert, you think of him. Sometimes you wonder if maybe he’s out there listening. You haven’t heard from him since he went to school. You aren’t angry, only a bit sad. You’re mostly grateful though. He inspired most of the songs in your number-one album that got the band all the new attention.

You stand from the vanity and sigh. Tonight, your performance is being televised worldwide. Beside the door is your guitar, you pick it up as you begin your journey out to the stage. You’ve got a good lineup, even a small intermission for a happy birthday song. You hope wherever he is he hears it.

After all, it is November 3rd.

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sammy-halpert · 10 months ago

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"I can help you"

Author note: Don't expect anything awesome, it's my first smut, and in general one-shot✋ ALSO I am not writing this about Josh Hutcherson, this is a fictional character and I will NOT accept requests based on actual people WARNINGS:Degrading, P in V, mentions of alcohol (Haymitch), breeding, slight choking, bit of overstimulation

There you are again. The night before the 75th hunger games. You and Haymitch have been reaped, but Peeta voulenteered so now he's there instead of Haymitch. You hated President Snow with every inch of your body, him putting you both into a arena to fight for your lifes for entertainment, and Peeta definitely didn't feel any different.

It's the night after the interview where Peeta claimed that you are pregnant, both of you in your room, Peeta on your bed and you resting by his side, head on his chest as you both are silent, lost in own thoughts. His thumb is strocking your arm as he was just rummaging in his memories, before he softly chuckles.

"What's so funny?" You ask, smiling, chuckling a bit aswell, looking at him to see him already looking at you.

"I should've asked you before saying you're pregnant." he let's out another, more apologetic laugh.

"We both know you're not that good of an actress, so it might be difficult for you to act a month or less pregnant. I have no idea on how women behave in their first pregnancy month"

You groan, chuckling, turning a bit away. "Well, I don't know either, because as far as I remember I have never been pregnant before."

Peeta laughs a little aswell, pulling you closer and looking forward at the wall, thinking a bit, before smirking and looking down at you.

"I can help you" he locked eye contact with you, the smug smirk on his face, the flirty tone and that glimmer in his eyes already tell you, that this might lead to not so 'just friend' ways. You decide to ignore it first and ignore your dirty mind.

"And how will you do that?" You huff, not fully aware of his hand traveling up your thigh as your mind races with dirty answers.

Suddenly, he pins you down and smirks down at you. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly where this is going, honey" This made you blush, turning your face away from him since you're a little flustered. His gently and strong hand grabs your chin and makes you look back at him. "Don't hide that pretty face of yours, darling" He almost sits down on you as he grabs your cheeks with his hands before his lips met yours.

His lips tasted sweet, like buttercream and fruit which was probably from tasting the buttercream at the bakery before continuing to work with it. The kiss was soft and passionate, the lust of Peeta making it a little aggressive. Soft grunts escape his lips as they moved against yours, hand trailing up to play with your hair before he pulled away, already panting.

"For someone as hot as you I'm surprised you're new to kissing" He chuckles. He had clearly noiticed the nervous little stops you did during the kiss, as you've never really had a first kiss before except for the ones on TV. (KEPT IT LOYAL FOR THE BAKER BOY 🤭🤭)

You roll your eyes. "Oh come on" You chuckle and start to take his top off. "Eager little slut." That threw you off a little. The cute and innocent Baker boy is calling you a slut? He chuckled and removed his top, the hint of abs outlined by the moonlight. Now that his shirt was gone, the tent in his sweatpants was as clear as day.

"Eyes up here" He said sternly, even though he wasn't actually mad at you, just feeling quite dominant. Your eyes met his and he smirked. "Good girl" he praised quietly before starting to kiss your neck and slowly undress you

This was all very surprising to you, how the cute little innocent Peeta gets so dominant in bed. You did kinda expect it, but also not. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted as you feel his hard press against your knee, as he looked at you.

"Can I?" He looked you into the eyes, his fingers softly tugging on your bra. You smile, glad he still asks for consent."Go on" you smile and he strips you completely nacked. He almost drooled at your exposed and wet pussy. "You're driving me crazy.. " he says under his breath before diving right in, his hands resting on the insides of your thighs as he licks down to up in long and slow strokes, licking of your juices.

Soft whimpers escape your mouth and both hands grip onto his hair, head falling onto the pillows. "Fuck- Peeta~" You moan out as he starts to mouth fuck you. You feel a finger enter your tight hole and slowly stretch you out.

"Holy fuck are you tight. Not a single drop is gonna leak" he says breathy, plunging a second finger in as the free hand starts to play with your nipple. You moan and grab the sheets, already feeling close to cumming. The third finger gets added and you feel your orgasm approaching.

"Peeta, I'm close-" Before you finish he pulls completely away from you, making you open your eyes to a beautiful sight between your legs. Peeta on his knees, sucking your juice off his fingers and untying his sweatpants. He was panting a little, standing up from the bed to properly take off his sweatpants and he saw how you stare at the bulge in his boxers.

He took them off aswell and his cock was around five and a half inches. It's average for a 5'7 guy like Peeta. It was veiny, fucking juicy, the drool already worming in your mouth.

A short whistle caught you out of your trance. "Can't really take your eyes of it, can you?" He smirks and goes back on the bed, pinning you down. "How do you want it? Hm?" He asks.

You were a little puzzled. "What..?" He put a gentle hand on your chin. "What position, darling." You blushed a little and since you aren't really experienced you mutter a "Choose one." he smirked and got you both into a missionary position. "Is this comfortable?" he asks and places a gentle kiss under your ear.

It sent a soft shudder down your spine and you nod. He strokes his cock a little to get himself a little hornier, grunting until precum starts to leak and he positions himself against your hole. Before he puts it in he looks at you, looking for a sign of discomfort. "What's your save word?" he asks innocently. "Uhh.. It'll be 'stop'" you say, putting your hands on his shoulders.

He nods "Good choice" he smirks. Slowly he starts to push in, his head falling back as you both moan loudly. The stretch was deliciously painful, you can feel each single of his veins as he slowly pushed in. He was cursing under his breath, and gave you time to adjust. Before he could ask if he is allowed to move, you already ask him to. "Move, please. Peeta"

Slowly he pulled halfway out before pushing back in, moaning, his hands resting on your hips as you hold onto his arms, moaning aswell. Your mind went down to where his cock was currently buried inside you, and you couldn't think of anything else. His lips crash with yours as he slowly starts to speed up, his fingers now playing with your nipples. He was softly grunting and sighing into the kiss, the pleasure making him less dominant before he was inside of you, the pleasure making cute and innocent Peeta more submissive.

A hand wraps around your neck but doesn't press down. His hips speed up and he pulls away from the kiss. “So tightt.. please oh fuck- taking me so good sweetheart …” he mumbles under his breath, eyes shut, hitting your g-spot.

It makes you yelp and moan out even louder, the pleasure so overwhelming your eyes almost roll into the back of your head.

"Oh fuck, please- right there" you moan out and he chuckles, grunting and moaning softly. "Such a slut.. I'm gonna breed you so hard- fuck, make you full of my babies"

".. s’fucking good.. you take me so well…” he can hardly breathe when he hits a spot in you that is the most pleasurable for him. Peeta feels his cock twitch inside you, and judging by how you moan loudly and clench around him, you're close.

"Gonna cum for me? Hm? My little slut- fuck." he says, breathy, and you nod, you both already sweating. His hand is still around you neck without any pressure.

"Cum for me darling, y'were such a good girl for me hah~" he moans out as he feels you clenching around him. Your moans are music to his ears as you cum around him, moaning out his name and eyes roll back into your head. Fucking gorgeous sight.

He keeps trusting but his thrusts get irregular. Then he whines. WHINES. INTO YOUR EAR. "Gonna breed you, make you mine- hah~"He keeps trusting but his thrusts get irregular. Then he whines. WHINES. INTO YOUR EAR. "Gonna breed you, make you mine- hah~

Your moans from overstimulation were soon over as he came into you, his warm and sticky seeds filling your womb.

<><Next morning><>

It was time to go to the training center one last time before the games start. You were already in the elevator, waiting for Peeta to join as he was suddenly stopped by Haymitch, drinking alcohol like usual. He whispers to Peeta without you hearing. "You should work on a child once you're out of here, not while you're here." Then he let's Peeta's back and let's him into the elevator with you.

"What did he say?"

"For you to keep quiet next time" He chuckled and kissed you, loving to tease you.

Taglist:

@ogelizasoot

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark #peeta x reader #peeta x you #peeta imagine #hunger games smut

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rip-quizilla · 10 months ago

Text

Polyjamourous

Eddie x GN!Reader

Description: You get a job at the record store, where you terrorize Eddie with so many different genres of music that he gets whiplash, but your energy is adorable so he's instantly soft for you.

Tags: big grumpy/sunshine trope here, fluff, workplace relationship (kind of), outgoing!reader, Hannah putting her liked songs on shuffle and using them here shamelessly, no physical description of reader other than hinting that they have a glorious gyatt that Eddie can't help but stare at.

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I didn't coin the term "polyjamourous"! I saw it in a TikTok by Viktor Fellbrink. Does it describe me perfectly though? Absolutely.

🎧🎧🎧

When Eddie had interviewed you for a job at the record store downtown, one of the first questions he’d asked was about your taste in music. Your response had caught him so off guard that he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m polyjamourous.” you’d said.

Eddie had blinked a couple of times, a snorted laugh jumping from his throat. “Polyjamorous…” he’d repeated, an amused grin ticking up the corner of his mouth. “That’s one I have not heard before.”

You had shrugged, smiling the same way you’d been smiling throughout the entire interview. “I listen to a little bit of everything, I like pretty much all music.”

What Eddie had expected from that was mostly pop, maybe a classic rock hit here and there. Judging by the ripped jeans and Doc Martens you were wearing the day of your interview, he suspected there may have been an emo/alt rock phase in your history so maybe some Paramore or MCR.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the fact that when you said you liked all music, you meant all music.

A month into working with you, and he already dreaded the days that you’d signed your name on the list entitled “Aux Cord Dibs” that sat on a tattered clipboard under the counter. The first hour of your shuffled liked songs on Spotify, and Eddie already had whiplash.

The songs that played (in order) were:

Satisfied- The Broadway Cast of Hamilton

Raise Hell- Brandi Carlile

The Offering- Sleep Token

Magical- Ed Sheeran

Dream a Little Dream of Me- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Just to name a few.

Not only were you completely unashamed that the first song to pop up under your aux cord time was a fucking show tune, but you knew every word. You sang, rapped- acted- every word.

Eddie was now absolutely sure that you had had an emo phase, because this meant you were also a theater kid (same as him, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you) and in Eddie’s experience, most theater kids were also emo kids in some way, shape, or form.

“How much coffee did you drink this morning?” he’d muttered once you’d finished your one-woman show whilst shelving new records.

“No coffee, this is all natural.” You’d said that with a grin so wide, it was obvious to him that you knew how obnoxious that sounded and you were taking it in stride.

“You’re just the Energizer bunny… naturally?”

Somehow, you grinned wider. “Yes!”

You can imagine how terrified Eddie was when you pulled a Celcius out of your bag an hour later. What happens when you give an energy drink to a person with natural energy?

You get impromptu dance breaks.

Eddie had been boxing up an online order when out of the corner of his eye, he saw your oversized sweatered form bouncing around between aisles to the beat of whatever K-Pop bullshit was currently assaulting his speakers.

Wordlessly, his eyes drifted to the monitor displaying the security camera feed where he found a full view of your hopping, stepping, and jumping to the bouncy rhythm of a Korean song with random English words sprinkled in. The grainy feed from the camera even picked up the subtle motion of your lips moving, and Eddie’s lips couldn’t help but twist into an amused little smile when he realized that must mean you were even trying to lip sync to the words, and he might be wrong but he was pretty sure you didn’t speak Korean.

His shoulders shook, silently chuckling at your antics until the music slowed down in tempo. Your hips began to move in slow, pronounced circles, sending the rest of your body rolling with the momentum. Eddie knew you didn’t mean to turn him on with the way your hips were moving… but you had an ass that shook when you walked, much less when you were actually wiggling your hips around. It wasn’t a you problem that was making Eddie’s eyes bug out of his skull and glue themselves to the screen; it was definitely an Eddie problem.

He had to keep it professional; Eddie was a shift manager, and while he wasn’t technically your boss, that was a gray area delicate enough that he didn’t plan on rushing into anything risky. The last thing he should be doing was ogling you on the security camera like a fucking creep. So, he made a point to pay attention to literally anything else whenever you started dancing around the store like some sort of coked-up cheerleader.

After a few shifts with Eddie, you started to notice that he was pointedly ignoring your antics- which made forcing him to pay attention all the more entertaining. The job could be boring on slow days, so this was how you entertained yourself- annoying the shit out of Eddie Munson.

Eddie: “If I hear one more show tune, I’m commandeering the aux cord.”

You: Proceeds to belt all three parts of Sincerely Me from Dear Evan Hansen, complete with choreography.

Eddie: “Is there any metal on this playlist? Just one song? I need a breather…”

You: Introduces Eddie to Babymetal.

One day, you even forced Eddie to suffer through Lizzo. That was funny as all hell, if you’d ever seen it.

“I feel like I’m walking through a Forever 21.” He’d grumbled as you cheekily shimmied your shoulders at him and mimed a toss of your hair for good measure.

“First of all,” you laughed, “I’m impressed you know what Forever 21 is.”

“I have been to a mall, you know.”

“Second,” you continued, “You’re starting to come off as a bit of a music elitist.”

Eddie shook his head, shelving new records from the stack of crates on the floor. “It isn’t a crime to know what I like and don’t like, kid.”

You smirked, reaching wordlessly over to the media center behind the counter and turning up the music. It was empty in the store save for you and Eddie, so the change in volume wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lizzo’s Like a Girl rang out through the speakers, and you made a show of losing yourself to the beat just to spite the metalhead before you.

Eddie sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if God himself could save him from this torment; he couldn’t stop the whisper of a smile from creeping into the corners of his lips. “What did I do to deserve this shit?” he groaned.

Your grin was blazing, infectious in the way you wore it with reckless abandon as you danced from shelf to shelf with one of the crates of records. When the crate was empty, each album carefully nestled in its appropriate place, you set the crate down on the floor right as the chorus started and your hips shook in time with the drop of the beat.

Eddie had been looking out the corner of his eye the whole time, but averted his gaze immediately once you were shaking your ass in the air. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing everything in his power not to stare.

Bouncing as you perked back up, you flashed him a sadistic grin and shrugged. “You just make it so much fun to torture you, sorry.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “That was the emptiest apology I’ve ever heard.” To which you laughed and heartily agreed, launching your whole self into shaking all you had to the beat, even going so far as to plant your foot on the edge of the counter.

You looked more silly than sexy, even Eddie could admit that, but it was your reckless abandon and giant fucking smile that made him break in that moment. You were shaking your ass- was that twerking? Eddie didn’t think it was twerking, but then again, he wasn’t an expert- and singing along to the music with so much energy that Eddie’s smile finally won his face over. He nodded his head to the beat, even shimmied his shoulders a little, and watched you make an adorable fool of yourself.

That was when the door opened, sending a chime through the shop as a very confused Steve and Robin walked through the door just in time to see you shaking your ass in their direction.

As far as you knew, these two were customers, so you swiftly tore your foot from the counter and started to apologize before Steve cut you off with a lopsided grin and a midair brush of his hand.

“Please don’t apologize, because that might be the best first impression you could’ve made on me.” He confidently strode forward, already extending a hand which you happily accepted. Steve had a way of putting people at ease, Eddie had noticed, even if they had been the opposite of “at ease” before he’d entered the scene.

He watched straight-faced as Steve struck up a conversation with you about being friends with Eddie and stopping by to say hello, then proceeded to introduce himself and ask you about yourself with the confidence and coolness that came so easily to people like Steve Harrington. Eddie chewed his lip and felt an unwelcome flare of jealousy in his stomach when you gave Steve the same smile that- up until now- you’d been giving him.

“So that’s the new hire you told us about?” Robin asked, voice low enough that only Eddie could hear.

He nodded, eyes trained on Steve as he said some joke that made you laugh. “Yeeeeeuup.” Eddie drew out the word, lacing passive aggression into every extra syllable.

“I see.” Robin looked at Eddie, arching an eyebrow as she wordlessly assessed him, then slowly looked at you and smiled knowingly. “Well, if you’re gonna make a move, better beat Steve to it.”

Eddie sighed and shook his head, murmuring out the corner of his mouth “Stay. Out of it.” before picking up his crate of records and moving to a different shelf. You were out of sight, but your and Steve’s voices still carried to where he worked.

“...a little bit of everything.” Eddie heard you say, picking up on your conversation as he silently shelved new inventory. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing in particular, I just jam to whatever’s on the radio.” Already inwardly cringing at how Steve must be shrugging or tossing his hair or some shit, Eddie eavesdropped inconspicuously. “Compared to a seasoned listener like yourself, I must sound like an idiot. You should make a playlist for me, so I can know what an expert would recommend.”

“Expert?” you snorted, “Oh I’m hardly an expert. Half of what I listen to is garbage, but it’s fun garbage so I’m not ashamed. Eddie’s the expert.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if you knew he was nearby enough to hear you, but he wasn’t about to miss out on whatever you were about to say about him, so he remained silent and out of sight.

Harrington scoffed. “Expert on metal, sure, but unless you’re into headbanging and screaming, I think he’d be pretty lost-”

“Not true.” you interjected. “He likes some classic rock, a bit of old school jazz- you know I played a song by Bob Dylan one day, and he started rattling off all these facts about the guy?”

Eddie remembered that day. He’d almost told you that he knew all those facts because his mom had loved Bob Dylan, but he thought talking about his dead mom might be a little more personal than you were prepared to get with him so early into knowing him.

“When Eddie hears music he thinks is good, it doesn’t matter what genre it is- he respects it whether it’s his taste or not.” Eddie had long since stopped shelving; he stood stock still, listening with wide eyes as you spoke with more admiration in your voice than Eddie had ever expected to belong to him. “I play a crazy wide range of music when I work with him, and every time a song I really love comes on it’s hard for me to not focus on how he’s reacting to it. It’s like every time, I’m in my head like- will he like this one?”

Steve was quiet for a moment before Eddie heard him reply, “Sounds like you’re hoping you’ll impress him.”

Eddie felt his heart start beating a little faster. Were you?

You giggled a little, and for a moment Eddie’s heart fell when he thought you were laughing at the very insinuation that you might want to impress him.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” he heard you say. “I haven’t known Eddie long, but I’ve always thought he’s an impressive person. It’s hard not to want to impress him back.”

Eddie couldn’t suppress his smile even if he’d wanted to. Sneaking around the shelves where you couldn’t see him, he turned a corner to continue his work as he hummed to himself.

After you’d locked the doors at 8, the two of you were closing down the shop alone as your playlist quietly painted the quiet evening air. You were walking through the store doing your final check while Eddie took inventory, and Eddie had been silently nodding his head to the beat of the music as you came into view of the checkout counter.

“What song is this?”

Your eyes widened, and the eagerness in your gaze made Eddie’s heart just about burst.

“Uh, it’s Chicken by Your Neighbors.” you stuttered, “You like it?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, softly, “it’s good.”

There was that blinding grin again, contagious in how it fed his until it doubled in size. “Yeah, it is.”

A pause settled between the two of you, song lyrics potent in the evening’s silence.

You ain’t got no time to wait

You don’t get what you don’t ask for

“Hey, uhh…” Eddie was quick to grab your attention, and you watched him wide-eyed and expectant. “...feel like getting pizza after this? Surfer Boy doesn’t close ‘til midnight, and I was gonna stop by to see my buddy Argyle after closing anyway, so-”

“Yes!” you agreed, a little more eagerly than you had originally intended to come across. You cleared your throat, “I mean, if it’s no trouble-”

“No trouble at all, it's just down the street, I’ll walk with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were both grinning like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care. You continued your closing duties, both of you nodding your heads to the beat of the music and enjoying the feelings that, though unspoken and undefined, were currently nestling comfortably into your chest and his.

Taglist: (really just people I have been talking about this to, I hope you like it❤️) @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x gn!reader #grumpy sunshine trope #eddie munson blurb

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hungermakesmonsters · 1 year ago

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Six

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : R - some lots of smutty content

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Billy likes a bit of dirty talk during sex. It's pretty run of the mill, though there's some minor discomfort for reader during. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~5.1k

A/N : This chapter picks up straight after the end of the last one. It got a little out of hand but this is exactly what I meant when I said this was going to veer recklessly between fluff and smut. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and thanks for all the comments, likes and reblogs on previous chapters!! My posts don't seem to be showing in the tags anymore and I don't know how to fix it.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter Six

For the longest time, you were content to stay exactly where you were; your hands on his shoulders while his arms remained around your waist, holding you safely in place while the limo made its way through the New York traffic. His dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, barely blinking, like he was afraid you might disappear if he took his eyes off you even for a moment.

As the limo took a corner, he pulled you closer, holding you tighter against him, letting you feel the heat of his body against yours. The hands on his shoulder drifted to his neck, your thumbs running across his jaw through his stubble, still holding his gaze. You pressed closer still, feeling the now-familiar press of his erection between your thighs.

His hand trailed up your back to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t long before your hips were moving against his, muted moans muffled by his lips. It went on and on, and you were happy to lose yourself in him, but you both came to realise that you needed more.

Eventually, Billy broke the kiss, breathless and staring at you like he was barely holding himself together, like he was losing his mind over you. You broke his gaze when you felt his hand on your thigh, slowly trailing upwards. He stopped for a moment, his thumb gently running over a faint scar, but he didn't ask, he didn't make you explain where the mark had come from before carrying on. Your cheeks started to warm and you found yourself glancing over your shoulder at the privacy screen, the only thing separating the two of you from the driver.

“He can’t hear us, you can be as loud as you want,” Billy smirked, looking at you in a way that felt dangerous, like he was prepared to do anything to you, for you.

You bit your lip as his fingers crept higher, finally reaching the hem of your black lace panties - panties that were, by that point in the evening, embarrassingly soaked. Was the divide really soundproof? Did you really care?

“Then you should probably do something to make me loud,” you challenged with only a hint of nerves, knowing it was too late to try and stop it.

“I thought you’d never ask,” that smirk still on his lips as his fingers finally moved to touch you through the wet fabric.

His touch was slow, teasing at first, fingertips tracing your folds through your panties until a moan spilled from your lips. With that first victory under his belt, his touch became more insistent, finding your clit and starting to trace circles around it. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but you got wetter with every moment that passed, your arousal climbing through the roof.

“Billy,” you moaned, giving him his second little victory.

Your breath caught the moment his fingers slipped into your panties, biting back another moan, trying not to lose another point so soon. Billy’s gaze seemed to darken when he realised what you were trying to do, how you were trying to deny him. He ran his digits through your arousal, spreading it from your slit, coating his fingers in it, before turning his attention back to your clit.

His smirk disappeared, replaced by something more serious, something hungry.

“Oh God, Billy...” you moaned again, this time louder as he teased his fingers over your swollen clit. He kept going, expertly moving his fingers, strumming that bundle of nerves like you were an instrument only he knew how to play. Another moan slipped out and you soon abandoned your game; Billy had won, you couldn’t keep quiet when he was touching you.

You got louder with every sound that left you, letting Billy know that you were defeated. But, still, he wanted more from you. That hungry look on his face was far from satisfied.

His fingers ventured lower again, the tip of his index finger teasing your wet opening, slipping inside slowly before pulling out again. You keened every time he almost gave you what you wanted, your hips moving, trying to show him what you needed.

“Please -” you didn’t even realise that the word had come from you, but it did something to Billy. His eyes sparked with want and need, but he continued to toy with you, until; “Billy, please…”

Slowly, finally, his finger slid into your trembling pussy right down to the knuckle.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” He asked and your body answered for you, clenching and fluttering around his finger as it started to stroke into you. The fingers in your hair curled tighter and you couldn’t decide if Billy was trying to hold on to you or keep himself anchored. The hunger in him only seemed to grow as you moaned and writhed against his touch, and you weren’t sure which one of you was going to break first.

“Such a needy little pussy,” he muttered and all you could offer him was another moan. A second finger joined the first and you cried out, clumsily rocking your hips against his hand while your inner walls tightened. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna enjoy stretching you with my cock…”

Your cheeks started to burn; you weren’t used to dirty talk, but hearing those words from Billy made you crave more. You bit your lip, too embarrassed to tell him that you were going to enjoy that too. Billy seemed to notice your embarrassment and he soon turned it into his next game. His fingers fucked you faster, bending and scissoring inside you, trying to prepare you for what was coming, searching for -

“Fuck!” You cried out as his fingers hit just the right spot, causing your back to arch and your thighs to tremble.

“Did that feel good?” You didn’t answer, his fingers continued to stroke into your body, but it didn’t feel like enough anymore. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t do it again.”

He wanted you to admit it, wanted you to beg and, as much as you didn’t want to, as much as you told yourself you were better than that, you knew that you weren’t. You’d never wanted anything more than you wanted him. He made you feel desperate, needy, and it should have worried you how much power you'd let him have over you.

“Yes,” you admitted, and he rewarded you by pressing his thumb to your clit.

“Do you want me to make you come with my fingers?” The smirk was back; he knew that you were his, that he was in complete control.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Say it for me, sweetheart.”

“Make me come with - with your fingers, Billy.” As embarrassed as you might have felt, Billy didn’t give you time to feel anything except his fingers, fucking you harder and faster, hitting that spot inside you, over and over. Your hands found his hair, fingers twisting and pulling as his fingers drove you insane.

It took less than a minute before your back was arching and your whole body was shaking. His fingers kept their pace, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could, while his other hand continued to hold you tight.

When his hand finally pulled back, you caught an expectant and somewhat uncomfortable look on his face.

“What?” Had you done something wrong?

“You okay? Last time you... you kinda panicked.” he explained with a gentle smile, reminding you of the party.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promised you the night, Billy.” And, to prove your point, your hands started to slip down his body, over his shirt, finding their way to his pants. You heard his breath catch as you quickly dealt with his belt and the fastenings.

“Are you sure?” You didn’t stop to answer him, too busy slipping your hand into his boxers to free his cock.

“I want you, Billy,” you told him, your eyes dropping between your bodies, finally getting a good look at his cock.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can wait until I get you home.”

You might have laughed at his desperation if your attention wasn’t fixed on his cock; like every other inch of Billy, it was perfect. Long, thick, and impossibly hard in your hand, the tip already glistening. And it was all for you. You started to stroke him slowly while Billy fumbled in his jacket for a condom and, soon enough, he was knocking your hand away so he could sheath himself.

Without warning, he tore your panties and balled the tattered remains into his pocket, leaving you perfectly exposed to him. Billy took hold of himself, teasing the tip of his cock against your slit, while you gripped his shoulders and lifted yourself over him. You expected him to drive into you but, instead, he waited; he was going to let you set the pace, you realised. After a few deep breaths, you slowly started to sink down, letting out a grunt of discomfort as the crown of his cock nudged its way inside of you. Despite his preparation and how wet you were, you ached as he stretched you, so much so that you needed to stop after you’d taken the first couple of inches.

“Fuck, Billy, you’re so big…” You hated yourself the moment it left your lips; the most ridiculous and cliche thing you could have said. Your gaze dropped between your bodies to where you were now impaled on his cock, second guessing whether or not you could continue.

“Don’t stop,” he told you softly, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to look at him, “it’ll feel so good in a minute, I promise. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

His words said one thing, but his grip in your hair and the spark in his eyes said another. He was fighting himself; he wanted to take control, wanted to fuck you hard. But he didn’t, he waited for you to move, slowly sinking down onto him, every hard inch filling you in a way that made you feel like you’d never been fucked before. You kept your eyes on his, watching every flash of pleasure as you took more and more of him. And, despite the ache, the feeling was intoxicating. Panting for breath, you buried your face against his shoulder, needing a moment.

“You feel so fucking good,” Billy moaned in your ear, “so tight, so fucking perfect, just like I thought you’d be.” His fingers tugged your hair, urging you to lift your head again. “Fuck me, sweetheart.”

His hand gripped your hips through your gown, urging you to move. The ache started to subside once you did and it wasn’t long before you were enjoying how it felt. Billy used his hands to guide your movements but he didn’t push for more than you wanted to give. But you wanted to please him, make him feel how you felt. You moved faster, clumsily riding him, moaning his name every time you sank down, and it wasn’t long until you felt your climax starting to build. A gasp slipped out as his fingers found your clit again and mercilessly pushed you over the edge.

You cried out as you came, so loud that there was no way the driver couldn’t hear you. Your body shook so fiercely that you barely noticed Billy moving you, laying you back on the seat so he could continue at his own pace. His arm hooked beneath your knee, pulling it up so he could fuck you deeper. Once he was in charge things turned faster, harder, giving you the full Billy Russo Experience (trademark definitely pending). He fucked you like you belonged to him and all you could do was cry out for him, moaning his name, over and over.

He grunted something that sounded a lot like ‘mine’ against your neck, nipping and sucking the column of your throat in a way that you knew would leave a mark if he carried on. Panicked fingers quickly pulled his hair, not wanting to be branded by him, pulling his lips from your neck and leading them towards your own. Billy was happy to kiss you, to slip his tongue between your lips and dominate you in another way. It didn’t take much to make you come again, and the feeling of your walls convulsing around him was more than enough to finish Billy off.

The twitch of his cock inside you was dulled by the condom, but the groan he let out was more than enough to let you know that he was done.

“Holy shit,” he muttered softly, trying to catch his breath.

Billy didn’t move straight away, leaving you trembling beneath him, his cock still buried inside you as everything started to slow down again, his face hidden against your neck. Finally, he sat back up, fingers trying to tame the mess you’d made of his hair and rolling his shoulder like he might have pulled something. You stayed where you were for a moment, suddenly feeling so cold and empty without his touch. Taking a deep breath, you awkwardly sat back up, smoothing out your dress and pulling it back down to cover your legs. Billy, similarly, had dumped the condom and sorted out his own clothes.

Your eyes drifted to the window, watching the outside world speed by. In the silence you found yourself thinking about what you’d just done - what you were going to do next. How were you going to go back to how things were after tonight? How would you ever get over this? The quiet between you dragged on for a few minutes before Billy reached for your hand and pulled your attention back to him.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaving some space between you while he tried to figure out what you needed from him.

All you could do was nod, and that seemed to worry him more.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” He squeezed your hand.

“I’m just trying not to overthink this.” You admitted. Billy nodded before slowly moving towards you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him and holding you tight. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Tonight is whatever you want it to be, okay?”

That was the problem, you weren’t sure what you wanted the night to be, especially now that you’d had mind blowing sex with him.

“Can you just hold me like this? Just for a little while?” You asked softly, letting your own arm move across his waist.

“Of course,” Billy answered just as softly, tenderly pressing his lips to your brow.

His other hand pulled his phone from his pocket, but you couldn’t see what he was doing. Once he was done, the phone was slipped back into his pocket and his hand moved to gently stroke your hair.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” he offered softly, making you smile.

“I’m a sure thing, Billy,” you laughed softly, “you don’t have to keep flirting with me.”

“I’m just being honest,” turning a little and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I’ve been losing my fucking mind all night just looking at you.” You stayed quiet, not sure what you were supposed to say to any of that.

Billy let the silence hang between you for a few minutes, holding you tight.

“I think this is my favourite part of the night so far,” he admitted. “This is why you. You let me have moments like this. When I’m with you I feel like there’s no expectations, no pressure, like you don’t want me to be anything....”

“I like this too,” you answered, though you didn’t have the heart to remind him that this wasn’t going to last, that, come morning, it would all be over.

You let your eyes close, holding Billy a little tighter, enjoying the moment while it lasted. It wasn’t much longer before the limo was pulling to a stop outside of his building and, when the driver opened the door for you, you were pretty certain he knew exactly what the pair of you had been up to back there, but he didn’t seem to care, especially not after Billy had given him his tip for the evening.

He took your hand, an eagerness in his step as he led you into his apartment building, a grin on his lips that you couldn’t quite decipher - was he really that eager to fuck you again? The building's doorman welcomed Billy home.

“This just arrived for you, Mr Russo,” the doorman approached and you burst out laughing at the sight of the pizza box in his hands.

“Thanks, Marvin.” Trying to hold back his own laughter as he took the box and tipped the doorman.

Billy didn’t waste any more time, pulling you towards the elevator and putting a key into the control panel and hitting the button for the top floor - because, of course, Billy Russo had a penthouse apartment.

“I can’t believe you actually got us pizza,” you laughed, an irrepressible smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re gonna need all the energy you can get for what I’ve got planned, sweetheart.” He joked and, suddenly, you were very aware of the fact you weren’t wearing panties beneath your dress anymore. (And for a moment you stopped to wonder what you were supposed to do in that situation - were you supposed to ask for the shredded panties back? What was Billy even going to do with them?)

Whatever clever answer you had for him was silenced the moment the elevator doors slid open, revealing his apartment. It was strange, really; while you’d known that Billy was obviously rich, it wasn’t until you saw his apartment that it really hit home. He must have noticed the way your jaw had dropped because he let out a little chuckle as he led you into his home.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go grab us a bottle of wine.” He stopped by a coffee table set in front of a large corner sofa to put the pizza down before disappearing.

Finally, you were able to slip out of Tammy’s Louboutins, your aching feet reminding you why you normally didn’t wear heels. Rather than making yourself comfortable, you found yourself creeping across his apartment, looking around. Surprisingly, it felt - empty. Sure, there was furniture and pretty much every appliance you could think of from a hi-fi to a TV with surround sound, but there was nothing personal, save for a couple of photos on one of the walls.

You recognised Billy in them immediately, then Frank, and a few of Billy’s friends that you’d met; all dressed in their Marine uniforms, all looking a little worse for wear, but smiling regardless. But, other than that, there were no other photos, nothing that made the apartment feel lived in.

Soon enough you were moving towards the windows that ran from floor to ceiling, marvelling at the view of the city.

“It’s a great view,” he almost startled you. You turned back slowly, a creeping sense of shame filling you, like he��d caught you snooping.

“I don’t think I’d ever get bored of this view,” giving it one last glance.

“Me neither.”

You didn’t dare ask which view Billy was talking about.

He sat down on the sofa, opening the pizza box before pouring two glasses of white wine. You made your way towards him sinking down onto the sofa beside him, eyes fixed on the pizza. Although you’d eaten earlier that evening, you found that you were surprisingly hungry. Billy gave a wave of his hand, telling you to help yourself as he picked up a slice for himself.

The moment the slice hit your lips you let out an embarrassing moan and, from the corner of your eye, you could see Billy’s grin.

“So, uh,” you choked back a laugh, “this is a nice place. It’s very - big?”

“I bought it the first year Anvil turned a profit,” he explained, reaching for his glass, “I was feeling a bit… indulgent. I always dreamed of a place like this when I was a kid, I thought I’d finally feel like I’d made it once I had a place like this.”

“And did you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “The problem with wanting is that once you fill one hole in your life, you realise that there’s another, bigger hole that can’t be filled with things. And, when you grow up in the system, there’s a lot of things you want.”

“You grew up in foster care?” Billy nodded and you had no follow up.

“Where’d you grow up? You don’t talk like you’re a native New Yorker.” He shifted a little, turning so he could see you a little better.

You took a bite of pizza, trying to avoid the question for as long as possible.

“Islamorada, it’s, uh, in Florida.”

“You gave up sun, sea and sand for city life?” He asked and you just shrugged. “You still got family down there?”

“No, it’s just me now.”

Billy seemed to realise that it was a sore subject and you didn’t want to say any more. In a way, it felt wrong sitting there with him, getting to know him when all of this would be over in a few hours. You made small talk for a little while, asking Billy about Anvil, telling him little anecdotes about work and what it was like to live with Tammy, all the while eating pizza and almost getting through the bottle of wine together.

Until you finally felt brave enough to say; “Billy, take me to bed.”

He didn’t say a word as he got to his feet, holding his hand out to you. You took it and soon found yourself being led towards his bedroom, grabbing his free hand when it reached for the lightswitch.

“Leave the lights off?” It came out more like an uncomfortable question, but Billy was happy enough to go along with it, closing the door behind you. With the lights off, the room was bathed in the gentle glow of the New York City lights, enough to see each other but not enough to see every detail and imperfection.

You moved quickly, fingers frantically pulling his shirt open, leaving Billy to shrug it off while your hands trailed down his exposed chest to his belt. His lips crashed against yours as your fingers worked and, soon enough, you were pushing his pants and boxers down his legs.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d turned you, his fingers tugging at the zipper of your gown, letting it drop to the floor next to his clothes and your bra soon followed. Billy pulled you back against him, his lips trailing wet kisses along your shoulders and neck while his hands explored your body. When his fingers found the faint ridge of a scar on your stomach, Billy paused, but before you could panic, the hand started to move again, slipping down and between your thighs. Your legs parted, longing for his touch.

“Still so wet for me,” he groaned, fingers running between your folds, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

He didn’t waste any time, sinking two fingers into you and fucking you with them. There was something rougher about the way he touched you, something demanding and desperate, like the last of his patience had finally worn away. It didn’t take long for you to come and Billy didn’t waste any time trying to drag it out; he just wanted to make sure you were ready for his cock. And you were, you were desperate for him.

You felt his cock twitch as you turned in his arms, your breasts pressed against his bare chest as you sank closer and closer, until your lips were ghosting his.

“Fuck me, Billy,” you breathed, giving him permission to take what he so desperately wanted from you.

His hands on your ass pulled you towards him, holding you against him as he stepped back and took a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. Your lips found his while he reached for the bedside table for a condom, sucking his tongue as he rolled it on and positioned you against him. The hard tip of his cock grazed the slit between your wet folds before he rolled his hips upwards, pitching every inch of himself into you. He moaned at the feeling of your slick walls straining around him, stretching as you struggled to take him, still so overwhelmed by the size of him. But the ache felt good now, intoxicating even, and you knew it would stick with you for at least a few days once you were done.

You wound yourself around him, fingers pressing into his back, holding on as he started to drive his cock into you, higher and deeper, taking more control than he had in the limo. Fingers curled in your hair, gripping but not pulling, and little by little, you realised that you were finally getting to see a glimpse of the real Billy Russo, the side that he’d been holding back. Some part of you felt like you should be afraid, especially when his dark eyes found yours in the gloom; there was something about the way he wanted you that made your stomach knot, not with fear but anticipation. He wanted you in the darkest of ways, like you were prey and he demanded your submission before devouring you whole.

He fucked you like he was laying claim to your body, like every fibre of his being wanted you, needed you. And you craved it, you craved the feel of his cock inside you and his fingers gripping at your hips and pulling your hair, just as much as you needed his gasped groans telling you how good it felt. As he stretched you, as he filled you so completely, you got wetter, practically dripping all over his cock, your body telling him what your words couldn’t. (More, more, more.)

The heat of your body clamped around him, earning groans and a hundred filthy mutterings from him, telling you everything you already knew; you were desperate for him, you loved his cock inside you, your pussy was made for him and, your personal favourite;

“You’re never going to want anyone but me to have this pussy ever again, sweetheart. No one else is ever going to fill you like I do.”

His tongue slipped into your mouth, saving you the embarrassment of agreeing with him so easily, from screaming yes and offering him something that you knew you couldn’t give. But you couldn’t think about that. If it was only going to be one night, then you hoped that the night would last forever.

You moved with him, hips trying desperately to keep time with his, drawing him deeper and deeper, your soaked walls finally letting him move with ease. As your back arched, his lips tore from yours, his face buried itself between your breasts, tongue running over sweat-slicked skin until his lips closed over an already achingly hard nipple. He sucked your nipple while his fingers curled tighter in your hair, and nipped with his teeth while his cock continued to stroke fast and deep inside you.

Nails clawed against his back, his name falling from your lips, over and over again. You’d never felt such desperation, such eager desire.

“That’s right,” he almost growled as his lips pulled from your nipple, leaving it tender and swollen, “beg for me, beg me to let you come.”

And you did without thought, so ready to give yourself over to him, no longer thinking about anything but him and the feelings he was creating inside of you.

“Please - please, Billy, I need you to -” you panted, so willing to do whatever he wanted, to submit to his every need, his every dark desire, “- please, let me -”

You could see him smirking in the gloom as he tugged your hair, causing you to lean back, letting him change the angle. The tip of his cock found that special spot inside of you and his movements became merciless, filling you with so much pleasure you barely noticed the way he was still pulling your hair. You tightened around him every time he grazed it, moaning wildly, crying his name, until you finally shattered, flooding his cock and convulsing around him. And still he fucked you, pitching his cock up into you in a way that let you knew he wanted you to be able to feel him long after he was done.

By the time his release flooded the condom, your entire body was trembling and boneless, completely and utterly his in a way you didn’t care to think about. He pulled you back toward him, crushing your breasts against his chest and laying claim to your mouth with his tongue. Neither of you tried to pull away or sever your connection; you weren’t ready to lose the feeling of his cock inside you just yet, and Billy seemed equally reluctant to leave the warm embrace of your body.

As the kiss broke your head moved to his shoulder, taking slow and steady breaths as your body slowly came down from its high. After an immeasurable amount of time, he moved, lifting you up and putting you in his bed, climbing in beside you and wrapping his arms around you.

Minutes passed in silence, his hands trailing up and down your bare skin until it felt like he’d explored every inch of you that he could. Similarly, your fingers ran across his chest, while you tried to commit every perfect detail to memory. It wasn’t long before he was kissing you, urging you onto your back so he could fuck you again. And that was how things went until you finally fell asleep; tender moments followed by desperate fucking, until you were aching and exhausted.

When you woke a few hours later, light was starting to filter into the room, and you knew it was time to leave. Gently, cautiously, you slipped out of his bed, pausing for a moment to look at him; he looked so peaceful and it struck you how you’d never seen him look so relaxed. Without thinking, you reached for him, wanting to run your fingers through his hair one last time, but stopped yourself at the last second.

You needed to get out of there.

You got dressed, found your coat and phone, and left before he could wake up and give you a reason to stay.

CHAPTER SEVEN

END NOTES : So, yeah, I got a little bit carried away with this one. I thought about making it into two chapters but there never really seemed to be a good place to stop it. Because the next chapter is set during Halloween (I know, I'm super late) I'm going to post it a little earlier, probably Wednesday.

Also for some reason my post don't seem to be showing up in the tag and idk how to fix that...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this hope you have a great day!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #cmiyc ff #ben barnes #punisher fanfic

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nevesmose · 7 months ago

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Nostraman Nature Sucks: An Attempted Lore Post

Ave dominus nox Night Lords fans. I thought I'd take some time to go through the various NL stories I have to hand and see what I could find out about the animals that lived on Nostramo. Might come in useful for something, who knows?

Sharks and Whales

As a child, on several coastal journeys with his father, he had witnessed the eyeless barrasal sharks that would group together to hunt the great whales of the open ocean. (Night Lords Trilogy)

His voice filters into something savage and predatory, as hungry as the eyeless white sharks of Nostramo’s blackest depths. (The Long Night)

Not a big surprise since they talk about them fairly often and have the Space Sharks as a successor chapter but Nostramo does have sharks. Pretty gnarly-sounding sharks if I'm honest.

I didn't know what "barrasal" meant, so I looked it up and only found one thread on r/40klore that had the same quote in it as above. Hmm.

Assuming it's not a typo or a more straightforward reference to something I'm just not getting, I'd venture a guess that barrasal, understood here to mean of or relating to "barras" like with "abyssal" could be connected to the French Revolutionary leader Paul Barras who is mostly remembered for supporting Napoleon's rise to power before being overthrown by him.

So maybe the older barrasal sharks will make use of younger ones as temporary hunting partners only to be inevitably betrayed and consumed by them. Sounds about right I think.

As for the whales, where do I even begin? I would imagine they're "whales" in name only like in Dishonored:

This does imply the possible existence of a whaling industry at some stage in Nostramo's history, though.

Crows

Jago reached into his pockets, offering a handful of breadcrumbs. Come, he said to the crows. Food for tonight. Flesh, flesh, flesh, they called back. He laughed as several of the black birds landed on his shoulders and outstretched arm. (Prince Of Crows)

‘Yes. I’ve seen them in books. Is a crow a type of bird?’ ‘Black of feather and dark of eye. It feeds on the bodies of the dead, and sings in a raw, croaking caw.’ (TLN)

Breaking news - legion that keeps referring to crows in shocking has crows on its homeworld scandal. "This is outrageous," said local Nostraman cutpurse and skin disease enthusiast Verxaglryn Quickstabber, "here we are trying to make a good name for Nostramo as a respectable hellhole, a place you'd be proud to exile your worst enemy to, and yet we're surrounded by some of the most intelligent and curious birds in existence. I was shanking someone in a back alley the other night and suddenly I saw a crow learning how to use rudimentary tools! Not on my watch, I said to the rapidly cooling body, and I threw my shiv at it. But it just flew away." At this point Mr Quickstabber was obliged to end the interview due to having been eviscerated by the Night Haunter.

I know their communication with Sevatar is happening in a dream but I really like the idea of the crows adapting to Nostramo by developing some kind of psychic hive mind that's also able to be understood by human psykers.

Crag Cougars

A beast of my home world. When next you see one of the Atramentar, look to their shoulder guards. The roaring lions on their pauldrons are what we called crag cougars on Nostramo. It was considered a mark of wealth for gang bosses to be able to leave the cities and hunt such creatures. (NLT)

Every single one of them is Scar from the Lion King, isn't it? An interesting hint about Nostramo's geography though, of which more later.

Rats

Groundcars whisked by, headlights brighter than deep-hive rats’ eyes, the occupants snug and safe behind armoured glass. (Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter)

No surprises here either. Where there's people there's rats after all.

Something with tusks?

The older Astartes grinned, wolf-like and keen, as the Atramentar either side of the Exalted’s throne growled through their tusked helms. (NLT)

This isn't that conclusive because a lot of Chaos Terminators have tusks no matter what legion they are, but Nostramo being Nostramo they probably belonged to a species of giant carnivorous mammoth that ate babies and sprayed acid from its trunk.

Cows? On My Sunless World?

‘They are still of standard human stock, and not to be mourned. What does it matter if the cattle fear the herdsman?’ hissed Krukesh the Pale. (KC:TNH)

This one's a real reach on my part as it's very likely just a turn of phrase, but I noticed it because wouldn't it be slightly more typical to use a sheep metaphor here? Plus it supports the existence of Nostraman cowboys/ranchers/vaqueros which is fun.

No bats?

His helmet bore a new, spread batwing crest in blatant imitation of Sevatar’s own. (A Safe and Shadowed Place)

A sole space was neat: a circle around an iron lectern fashioned in the form of a bat’s outflung wings, which carried a heavy book bound in human skin. (KC:TNH)

Although they appear a lot in the VIII legion's iconography and artwork, oddly enough I wasn't actually able to find a direct reference to Nostramo itself having bats. Let's cover my ass by saying this aspect might therefore have been brought in by the legion's Terran component instead.

Some Nostraman geography

The Hill Folk lived away from the cities, eking out an existence in the mountains. (NLT)

What's worse than living in a Nostraman city? Living on a Nostraman hill, apparently. This seems to just be an idea of ADB's that doesn't come up again but I've always found it quite interesting. Were the Hill Folk as scummy as the City Folk, just with more of a down-home Dukes of Hazzard vibe? Seems likely.

This also supports the idea of Nostramo not being completely urbanised like some Hive Worlds are. In my view its continents might have had a geographical layout a bit like Italy or Scotland where the cities are mainly on the flatter coasts with a more sparsely populated hilly/mountainous interior.

What else? (This part is just me making stuff up so feel free to ignore it. I'm not ADB, I'm not even ADB's hat.)

If the rest of Nostramo's marine life is anything like the sharks and whales then it's fucking terrifying. I would imagine, because it's funny, that a lot of Nostraman food features disgusting industrially-processed fish in some way or another. Like the food in Dishonored but even worse.

Is something wrong, dearest offworld husband? You haven't touched your stale bread, whalemeat and jellied eels.

Since all life on Nostramo seems to be comically carnivorous and aggressive, it would make sense in a 40K kind of way for there to be giant predatory penguins living at one or both of its poles. A bit like the monstrous blind albino penguins HP Lovecraft wrote about.

Last known infrared pict-capture of an early Nostraman settler attempting communication with a juvenile specimen of the native penguin species. There were no survivors.

#ended up mentioning Dishonored a lot #fine by me I love Dishonored #shall we gather for whisky and cigars tonight?#warhammer lore #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #night lords #nostramo #neves loreposts

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theblue6ook · 8 months ago

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The Young Years PT 2

Summary: This is a prequel to "Shit Interview" in the "Out of My League" series. Read about Bruce and Y/N in their troubled tweens. What about their past makes them work so well together? You'll find out. (Hint: they've both been through major struggles.)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

a/n: There's some alcoholism, guns, and daddy issues in this. You've been warned. [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]

Daddy Issues [B(14) Y/N(12)]

The cold pricked at her face, and snow seeped into her old rain boots. Her hands gripped the flannel with all her might and pulled. No dice. She tried again and pulled... nothing. Sighing, she turned toward the house and saw her brother's eyes peeking out the front window. No, I can’t leave him out here. This time, she stepped into the garage and grabbed a sled.

“Come on, Dad,” she said as she approached him. “Let’s get you onto the sled just- ugh- Come on, old man, help me help you.” Her father, in his drunken state, pulled himself out of the snow and onto the sled. Slowly, they made their way towards the house.

She had sweat dripping down her back, but with minimal help from her father, they made it through the front door and onto the rug by the stairs. He passed out immediately.

“Listen, boys,” she sighed and turned to her brothers, “I have to go to the shop, but I wrapped some sandwiches and put them in the fridge for dinner. Eat and sleep, you hear me… and don’t wake up Dad. He’ll probably sleep there until tomorrow.”

“But you just got off your shift at Dorthie’s Flowers,” her brother Eric looked up at her.

“I know, but Dad needs our help right now, so I have to double up.”

Both of her brothers looked at each other, unsure. Y/N gave them each a hug and stepped past her father and out the door.

She trudged through the snow to her dad's mechanic shop just down the block. After her mom ran out on them, her father was in a tough place, to say the least. So his good friend Ronnie took it upon himself to manage the shop. Ronnie was somewhat of an irresponsible uncle to Y/N. He cared a lot about her father, a lot, so, naturally, he cared about his kids, but when it came to advice, Ronnie wasn’t exactly the best influence.

They slowly worked in silence on a Purple Honda Odyssey. Ronnie was changing the tires as Y/N worked on the oil change. The silence felt good. Y/N needed to get away from everything for a bit. Working on cars did that for her.

“How’s your dad been?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Are you guys still having trouble with the bills?”

She sighed, “If he could come back to work, we’d have double the money, and maybe we wouldn’t have problems with bills.”

“Listen, kid, your dad has been through it, and he’s lucky to have you,” he seemed unsure, rubbing his chin. “You know there are other ways to make money quick.”

“Yeah, right, I’m already working two jobs,” she looked over at him. He looked like he knew something she didn’t. “Like what, Ronnie?”

“Nah. You’re too young for this conversation.”

“Like what,” she repeated. “Do you want us to starve?”

He was silent for a while and then eventually said, “You know, I know you’re good at working on cars, but how are you at driving them?”

“I’m twelve."

“Your dad hasn’t put you behind the wheel even once?” The look she gave him confirmed what he was thinking.

“You know how I always say when you know how cars purr on the inside, you drive them better on the outside.”

“Where is this going? Does this have a point?”

“You ever heard of drag racing?”

He claimed he didn’t mean to kill them. Then, why would you pull the trigger? He claims prison has shown him a different light. Well then, I can put you in the ground.

Bruce sits silently, watching his parents' murderer spew nonsense. He was on the run for a month before he was caught when Bruce was eight. Alfred had hoped that would be the end of it little did he know, Bruce would be the end of it. He was ready to end it officially, and he didn’t care what would happen to him after. Rachel sat next to him, trying to offer support, and Alfred sat on the other side.

I could do it. I could do it right now. I could shoot him. He felt the cold metal against his hipbone, stuffed into the waist of his pants. A gun he had found after cracking his father's safe. In a way, it was poetic he would die at the hand of his father's own weapon. How this asshole got off with a life sentence, plus a possibility of parole, he would never know. Doesn’t matter now though. He sat and waited for a good moment. He sat and waited… and waited… and waited…

The trial was ending in no time, and the gun felt heavier and heavier. He started to sweat; he started to panic. He has to do this. He has to. Alfred noticed his panic and went to pat Bruce’s leg in reassurance, but the motion made the gun slip further down, barely holding onto the top of his pants… when Alfred felt it. Bruce knew he felt it, and there was a sole-sucking silence between them.

Alfred looked at him, panicked and disappointed from the corner of his eye. He held Bruce’s arm by the bicep hard and started breathing heavily. As people started to filter out of the courtroom, Bruce remained silent, staring forward, and Alfred nodded towards Rachel in a goodbye as he pulled Bruce up and out of the courthouse. He had him by the bicep all the way to the car.

He shoved Bruce passed multiple reporters and newscasters, and straight into the back of the Rolls Royce. Bruce noticed when he sat down that the weight was gone. Alfred stepped into the front of the tinted car, leaning back into the driver's seat.

“Where did my-”

“Sometimes I think you forget I was a part of the Royal Marines.” Alfred easily slipped the magazine out of the gun. He huffed, “You don’t- You don’t ever touch a gun. Do you understand me? Where did you even get this?”

“That asshole deserves it!”

“WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?”

“IT WAS DAD’S,” he called out.

Alfred sighed, pulling away from the crowd of people, “You really think this is what your father would have wanted? You going to prison for the rest of your life? To kill someone?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You weren’t there-”

“I’ve seen death! It is nothing to think about when you’re fourteen years old. It’s something no one should ever think about.”

“It’s all I think about! Do you think this has been easy for me? They were actually considering offering him parole! It wasn’t an accident. He meant to kill them, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“I think you need a break. I think you need to get away from all of this. Let’s take time off; let’s go somewhere.”

Bruce knew where he needed to go, but he definitely wouldn’t be taking time off.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batman #batman begins

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nalyra-dreaming · 6 months ago

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Reading the S2 reviews (so beware spoilers ahead!). Wanted to get your take (and others’ if people have thoughts!), citing The Wrap’s review:

“Daniel might be the most radically different character from book to screen. He’s older, more pessimistic and utterly allergic to the allure of vampire life. Only now he is able to confront the deep-seated scars left behind after his night with Louis (although book fans might be disappointed to know that the show doesn’t tease out more of the romance he has with Armand in the books. Theirs is strictly an adversarial relationship in the series.)”

Other reviews confirm that S02E05/the episode about Daniel’s past is not romantic at all, rather a horror episode. Which I’m sure will be good (some describe it as the best episode), but I can’t help being a bit disappointed that they don’t seem to be doing DM - or at least not in this season at all. I think the reviews only cover episodes 1-6, but this reviewer seems so very sure… (also they seem to know the books so I’m guessing the episode won’t be too similar to the book either. Meaning it won’t end with “the chase” or will it?). So is there a real risk that no DM will play out?. The greatest hint of DM in my view was Zaman’s podcast appearance where he stated that Armand is curious about Daniel and that there is a history there. But this could just be referring to their horror-filled encounter in episode five. So I don’t know, I’m a little sad - was pretty excited for some f*cked up memory stuff (there is just something so compelling with the idea of discovering that there is a whole side of your life that you’ve lost - that this person you don’t know is someone you loved etc.). I wanted to see what it would do to Daniel and Armand respectively, and I wanted their dynamic to be as interesting as possible. Remember reading speculation that Daniel will remember more in the finale - maybe a romantic aspect but I think it was just pure speculation, no hints or comments from the cast/writers backing this up.

What do you think? Grateful to hear your thoughts! Also, I’m still psyched about this season of course, looking forward to the Armand/Louis romance, the Theatre! Hayles performance is supposedly going to be amazing, and I’m looking forward to more of Daniel’s snark obviously! It feels unreal that the season is around the corner!

It is!!! And I am also sooooo hyped, it's unreal *laughs*

Okay, so... first of all, it's always a thing of perspective with reviews. For example, there's this as well, after episode 1:

Now... that is no review, granted.

But it's perception. I... do not think that all of the "Devil's Minion" will be spelled out in the first episodes (nor do I think we will get all of it this season!). In fact, I think the horror that "he loved this monster" is part of the horror of it all, this realization. And that will very likely be in the last episodes, in whichever way.

So. With that in mind - btw, which review did confirm it's ep5? (I only saw that focused comment I think?) - I did not expect Devil's Minion to be "happy". In fact, I think it might have stalking, cages, attacks, and the beginning of the chase - and that chase does NOT start out as cute.

Daniel just gets used to it, over time. And then Armand falls in love.

Season 2 is going to be significantly darker. I bet it's also going to be a lot campier, if the comments to this hold true, with dark humor. But they're leaning fully into the horror aspects of this vampire world now, and the beginning of the Devil's Minion is exactly that - horrific.

The above review matches with what Jacob said about Louis and Daniel forming alliances... and I bet that alliance is indeed needed to drag the whole story out.

And when that whole story is out - that will lead to repercussions.

THAT in turn goes for Louis just as much as it goes for Daniel... because this second interview has just as much to do with him.

So... I would wait until you can see it with your own eyes?! :)

I mean... AMC's promotion(and pairing of the actors) speaks a very loud language? And Assad said he had chemistry read with "Daniel"... for reasons.

But it won't all be revealed in the screeners. I bet the last two episodes will pack a punch.

Maybe even literally. 😜

#Anonymous #sending you a hug nonny #we will get the whole story no worries #but we might not get it all this season #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #interview with the vampire #the devil's minion #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #iwtv s2

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flawlessassholes · 6 months ago

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do you have any seb and mark in mother carva thoughts you’d like to share 👁️👁️

no actually i don’t! thanks for asking! ignore the 630 words of absolute disgusting filth under the cut! also bye i’m going into the witness protection program!

Sometimes, as Mark watches Sebastian interact with the Carva, he thinks: Oedipus was the first motherfucker.

Until now, every time Mark has been inside the Carva, it was all… square jaws, stiff upper lips, think of England. It was a mutual jerking off where you made a few wry jokes to ‘bond’ like the engineers went on about, and then a mutual agreement to never speak of it again.

So he wasn’t expecting to arrive in the factory on a cold December day in 2008 and to have a tiny cue ball-headed twink bound up to him and chirp, “I didn’t know how big you are, so I used a midsized plug, but you might have to stretch me a little more when we’re inside Mother.”

And Mark laughed at first, instinctual and disbelieving. He would learn quickly that Seb didn’t like being laughed at when he was dead serious.

“Why are you laughing.”

“Mate, I don’t know what you got up to in Faenza, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“Séb and I got each other off,” he said, and Mark blinked before he remembered that Bourdais was also a Seb because Marko clearly has a type.

“Well, that’s not how we do things here,” Mark had said. “We go in, I do my business, you your business, and that’s it.”

“That’s no way to make a winning car,” Seb said, haughty and annoyed. And Mark was still feeling magnanimous and mature about this whole new kid situation, so he didn’t make a crack at that or say that he got lucky because Kovalainen is shit in the rain, and Mark got fucked over by him in qualifying.

So he didn’t respond, and then Newey appeared, and it was lights out.

That feeling of magnanimous maturity lasted all of five milliseconds once they were naked and once they entered the warm, damp, dimly lit cavern of the Mother Carva.

He couldn’t even exhale before something like fire ants started crawling under his skin, and nimble fingers wrapped around his cock.

He felt a brush of prickly, short hair, and as his eyes adjusted, he realized that Seb was on his knees.

And then the warm and damp enveloped him as Seb swallowed him whole.

It devolved quickly from there, and in his worst moments, he still remembers the way he came on Seb’s tongue, and how Seb showed it off like it was a trophy, how Seb didn’t spit it on the Carva, he kissed it, slathering his come on the membrane as he humped his hips like a bitch in heat until he came too, and afterward how he smiled like he won Monza all over again.

He remembers the glow he carried with him as he held the still-growing specimen, and how he glowed, hard on the podium when he won in China, how he specifically made sure to save his champagne to bring back to Milton Keynes, to crawl back inside the mother and share the drink.

And Mark would’ve thought they were equal—he won that season, too—but Seb kept winning. And he kept getting hard. And he kept worshiping the Carva; there was no other word for it when he thanked her and visited her and called her Mother with all the reverence of royalty in every fucking interview.

And then, in 2010, he won the championship that should’ve been Mark’s.

So when they stripped naked, and he noticed there was no plug in Seb’s ass this year—that he finally got the hint after a repeat of their activities in 2009–Mark no longer felt magnanimous or mature.

“Hope you prepared yourself,” he says, fire ants already crawling under his skin even though they weren’t inside. “Because if you want to get fucked, you’ll get fucked.”

#asks #officialmood #Seb/mark #Martian #Carva #uh should I even tag this #my fic #bc I feel… SOME way about it #also ‘oedipus was the first motherfucker’ is a line from Bo Burnham’s masterpiece ‘words words words’#Liza I hate that you pulled this from me like reaching into my stomach and pulling out my large intestines like rope #<- I say like a lying liar

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kylieswift31 · 4 months ago

Text

Taylor swift, the mastermind and a journey down the rabbit hole...

Introduction

This started off as an exploration of Taylor's Swift's music videos and lyrical analysis, but throughout the process of analysing the delicate music video I began to uncover a deeper layer to what was being shown. This in itself felt like a big connection, but upon further exploration I discovered what felt like a much bigger puzzle piece connecting everything Taylor has been working on up until this point. I thought that was where it ended only to discover more and more all over again. In the end, the rabbit hole is so much deeper than I could have predicted, but the journey was worth the wait.

I was discovering deeper layers and connections as this came together, and my intention was to provide my discoveries with you in a similar way. I could go back and delete most of it and leave you with my discoveries, but I don't believe that's what Taylor would have wanted.

If you want to share this or add to it please go ahead, but if you do, try not to spoil the ending for others before they've had a chance to find out for themselves. Being able to see the connections for yourself as you go along adds much needed context to the connections discussed, so treat this like a book and take it one chapter at a time. After all, once you open pandoras box, there's no going back.

If you're interested in learning more please keep reading, but be warned this is going to be a really long post. I have broken this down into 13 parts, (it started off as 3) so feel free to pause after each one if you need to and come back to it when you're ready.

I fear I have reached the bottom of the rabbit hole...

Will you join me?

🕳🐇

Chapter 1

The delicate music video

"Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet?"

Taylor Swift has been leaving Easter eggs in her music, outfits and interviews for years now. These can range from hidden messages in the lyric booklets to bigger clues for upcoming albums and songs, as seen in the you need to calm down music video. There are many Easter eggs in the delicate music video too, but it's also hinting at a bigger theme some have seen throughout Taylor's work over the years. If we dive deeper into the lyrics, music videos, interviews and performances we might get a greater understanding of what Taylor is sharing with us throughout her work.

Opening credits. Instead of sharing my opinion on all of this with you from the start, I'll provide my findings and allow you to make your own assessment along the way...

The delicate music video starts with a close up of Taylor on the red carpet, surrounded by people wanting the latest update on her love life.

"This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me"

She composes herself before the interview starts, stepping into the persona of pop star Taylor.

"We can't make

Any promises now, can we, babe?"

A passerby hands Taylor a sparkling note from a secret admirer.

"But you can make me a drink"

Taylor is makes her way inside. Despite the damage to her reputation, Taylor is still really popular with her fans who want to take photos with her.

"Dive bar on the East Side, where you at?

Phone lights up my nightstand in the black

Come here, you can meet me in the back"

A man dressed in a red concierge uniform tries to get to Taylor, but he is carried away before he gets too close.

"Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you

Oh damn, never seen that color blue

Just think of the fun things we could do

('Cause I like you)"

She's surrounded by bodyguards on all sides now. Taylor starts to notice how they move in sync when she does. If she takes a step back, so do they.

"This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

(Yeah, I want you)"

When she's left alone, we see her reading the note she received earlier. The location of her dressing room suggests that it's private and secretive.

"We can't make

Any promises now, can we, babe?

But you can make me a drink"

Taylor gets distracted by a group of girls walking into the room. When she turns back to the mirror her reflection has disappeared. She leaves the note next to the basin to investigate.

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)"

The people around Taylor can't see her, no matter what she does to get their attention. She appears invisible, something she's been writing about in her lyrics since debut.

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it too soon to do this yet?

'Cause I know that it's delicate"

Ditching her red shoes is the first step she takes to embrace this newfound freedom and then continues to tear away the bottom of her dress. We start to see a lot more playfulness and freedom in the way Taylor moves knowing that no one can see her.

"Isn't it, isn't it, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Isn't it, isn't it, isn't it?

Isn't it delicate?"

Taylor is dancing her way through the hotel and there's no one paying enough attention to stop her, they appear to be too focused on their roles at work to notice her.

"Third floor on the West Side, me and you

Handsome, you're a mansion with a view

Do the girls back home touch you like I do?

Long night with your hands up in my hair

Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

('Cause I like you)"

We see the concierge guy being carried away again. Here it is implied that he had made another attempt to get to Taylor, but again failed to do so.

"This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

(Yeah, I want you)

We can't make

Any promises now, can we, babe?

But you can make me a drink"

The climax of the dance scene shows Taylor start to feel overwhelmed with it all. It was fun to begin with but the look on her face shows how lonely it’s become to be doing all of this on her own.

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)

Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it too soon to do this yet?

'Cause I know that it's delicate"

Next she enters the elevator. It’s already occupied by an older woman in a red dress. She smiles at Taylor, who becomes hopeful that she’s become visible again. The lady starts applying lipstick to her lips as Taylor turns to find that she was looking at her own reflection in the mirror the whole time.

"Isn't it, isn't it, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Isn't it, isn't it, isn't it?

Isn't it delicate?"

Taylor has left the hotel and is now in an underground train station. She’s still dancing, but with less enthusiasm than before.

"Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep

Are you ever dreaming of me?"

As she steps onto the train she falls at the feet of the man, who is eerily similar to Taylor’s character in the man music video.

"Sometimes when I look into your eyes"

Taylor perks up again with a lovestruck look on her face, clutching her heart. It's a little dramatic but she appears excited.

"I pretend you're mine all the damn time"

The next scene shows Taylor dancing in the rain at night, on her way to the bar. We begin to see there is graffiti on the walls as she goes up the street. They mention Reputation and lyrics from delicate.

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)

(Yeah, I want you)"

The way she bows in this scene, as well as the graffiti behind her, reflect iconic imagery from the hunger games catching fire movie.

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it too soon to do this yet?

'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)

('Cause I like you)"

The dancing sequence concludes with Taylor's final pose on the hood of an old fashioned car.

"Is it cool that I said all that? (Isn't it?)

Is it chill that you're in my head? (Isn't it, isn't it?)

'Cause I know that it's delicate (isn't it delicate?)

(Yeah, I want you)"

Here Taylor has finally reached her destination, the bar mentioned in the note from her secret admirer. This is the first time we will see them meet. The red neon lights indicate that the bar is called the golden gopher, open nightly 365.

"Is it cool that I said all that? (Isn't it?)"

Taylor is clutching the note to her chest as she steps into the bar, hopeful for what she will find when she opens her eyes. It seems like she's making a wish that this will all work out for the best.

"Is it too soon to do this yet? (Isn't it, isn't it?)"

When she opens her eyes we see several people sitting at the bar turn to look at her coming through the door. Every person at the bar could be her secret admirer, but it’s implied the man closest to the door is her match because he's the one in focus.

"'Cause I know that it's delicate"

We’re left with one final close up shot of Taylor, rain soaked and worn out from her journey, as she lights up with recognition upon seeing the person who was there waiting for her all along.

"Isn't it delicate?"

End credits.

Chapter 1 conclusion

Choose your own adventure

Here is where I invite you to think about the story and come up with your own conclusions about how it ended.

Level 1.

Do you believe that the story is just about Taylor finding love again after her reputation was damaged? If so, the story ends for you with the guy at the bar waiting for her.

Level 2.

Maybe you picked up on a deeper layer of the story being about the girl at the bar? And that amidst her reputation being damaged she was also coming to terms with having a queer relationship that she had to keep hidden to protect her career? If so, then the story might end here for you with the girl at the bar waiting for her.

Level 3.

Or perhaps you wanted to go a little deeper still? By re-examining the story searching for clues, you might start to pick up on an even deeper story being told about PR relationships (where a public relationship could allow a private relationship to remain private). The story could end here for you with the person of your choice waiting at the bar.

Level 4.

An even deeper meaning that is yet to be revealed?

Before you continue

Looking back through my findings, the note from the secret admirer, the strange facial expressions, the concierge guy, the lady in the elevator, the graffiti and the lyrics could all be clues to reconsider and investigate before moving forward.

Chapter 2

The Truman show connection

“Help me, I’m being spontaneous!”

You might have noticed by now that this music video is a perfectly executed retelling of the Truman show. More on that later, lets explore the movie in a bit more detail first.

The Trueman show is a movie from 1998 featuring Jim Carrey in the role of Truman Burbank, who lives in the picturesque town of Seahaven. He has a wife, a nice house and car, he goes to work every day and spends his free time hanging out with his best friend. He leads a picture perfect life, or so it seems?

Truman's day starts with greeting his neighbours while on his way to work. "Good morning! Oh, and incase I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight!" It's apparent from the first day that Truman has a consistent routine with his drive to work, stopping to get the paper and making his way up to his office. Truman's life appears to be perfect and full of happiness, but slowly we start to see the cracks forming in the facade.

The first crack appears while Truman is at work. He's ripping a picture of a lady's facial features out of a magazine and making a secretive call to the directory assistance looking for someone by the name of Lauren or Sylvia Garland.

His boss delegates a job for him to complete that involves travelling across the bay via boat. As he makes his way to the dock we learn that Truman has a debilitating fear of water, caused by his dad drowning when he was younger and this prevents him from getting on the boat. The next crack comes when Truman recognises a man on the street that looks eerily like his father, but gets whisked away before they can talk.

Through Truman's interactions we start to learn that he has a dream of moving to Fiji, and to explore other parts of the world. The only problem is that he lives on an island and is afraid of water. When he mentions this plan to his wife he's reminded of their financial obligations, making it impossible to leave Seahaven.

After another day of work we see Truman in the basement unlocking an old chest that is full of nostalgic memorabilia from his past. There's old toys, photographs of his father and a map of Fiji inside the lid. We get the sense that the basement is Truman's only personal space within the house. As he pulls out a red cardigan from a plastic bag, we get flashbacks of his high school years. His attention is torn between Lauren Garland and his current wife, Meryl. We see Truman is interested in Lauren, but Meryl is persistent as she tries to get his attention.

During a study session in the library, Truman and Lauren have a moment alone for the first time. We start to notice that Lauren has green eyes (just like the picture Truman saved during his present day). She's also wearing a red rose shirt, red cardigan and a red and white badge that says 'how's it going to end?'. As the library closes they sneak away together to the beach. After a while, we see a car driving onto the beach and Lauren gets dragged away by a man claiming to be her father. She hastily reveals that her name isn't Lauren, it's Sylvia, and that everything Truman knows about his life is a lie. Her father claims that she is having an episode because of her schizophrenia. "We've tried everything. Hynotism, shock therapy." And that he's not the first, she brings all her boyfriends down here. She begs Truman to come and find her. As her father drives away, he reassures Truman by saying that he's taking her to Fiji to receive more help. All Truman is left with is her red cardigan.

The flashback ends here and we find out that Truman didn't follow her to Fiji at the time because his mother got sick, really sick. Instead he settled down and married Meryl, while living with the loss of what could've been with Sylvia. We return to the present day as Truman is in the basement holding a photo frame of his wife Meryl. It seems like a loving gesture at first, until he turns it around and opens it up to reveal that he's been collecting a collage of facial features, in an attempt to recreate a portrait of Sylvia from memory.

Eventually we see Truman on his way to work again, but this time the radio in his car is starting to glitch. We hear a strange transmission about Truman's location. There's a high pitched feedback sound as the frequency is returned and the regular channel continues. The cracks in the facade are now bigger than ever.

Truman appears sceptical of everyone around him for the first time and almost gets hit by a bus as he starts to panic. He rushes into a building near his work and just misses the elevator. Another elevator door opens, but as he goes to enter it, it's revealed that there is no elevator and it's just a storage room that is full of people moving about.

As he seeks out his best friend Marlon for help, we learn that Truman feels concerned that he is being followed or set up for something. They leave the supermarket with Truman talking loudly about his birthday and we see them again later in the day sitting at the beach watching the sunset. Marlon describes it as perfect, painted by the big man with a paintbrush. Truman begins to open up about his secret plan to go away for a while.

The next scene shows Truman's mother and wife reminiscing over photos from their past. His mother reminds him of her wish to have a grandchild before it's too late. Meryl offers to take her home with plans to discuss Truman's birthday plans, leaving him alone with the photo album. Upon closer inspection he discovers that a wedding photograph reveals that Meryl had her fingers crossed at the time, implying that her commitment to the marriage was fake.

The next morning Truman tries to confront Meryl, but she claims she doesn't have time, because she has an urgent amputation to perform at the hospital to get to as a result of an elevator disaster from the day before. Truman wishes her good luck and says he will have his fingers crossed for her, suspiciously. Truman follows her to work on his bike and sneaks through the hospital to see if she's lying about this too. The doctors are forced to perform the surgery on a patient pretending to be under anaesthesia.

We're starting to see that those closest to Truman have been lying to him. In a bid to escape, Truman goes to a travel agent looking for a flight that leaves immediately, only to learn that there's nothing available. He perseveres and tries the bus instead but that doesn't work either. Truman seems unsure of what else to try. We see him sitting in his car in his driveway when Meryl gets home from work and she gets into the car with him. Truman tries to tell her that he has figured out that the same people have been going past again and again, like clockwork.

She agrees to go to Fiji in a few months in an attempt to placate him, but Truman locks her in the car and attempts to leave town. "Blocked at every turn. Beautifully synchronised, don't you agree?" It's becoming really obvious that the town is working together to prevent Truman from leaving town now.

They reach a bridge over water that Truman is too scared to drive over at first. Instead of backing down he forces Meryl to steer while he's driving with his eyes closed. "We're over the bridge!" As Truman continues to escape, they are still faced with roadblock after roadblock. There's fire over the road that smokes up the car and an emergency at the nuclear power plant. As they stop Truman thanks the police officer for his help with directions. He replies with "you're welcome, Truman." This is the final straw that creates a big crack in the facade as Truman realises that everything he knows is a lie.

He runs off into the woods but gets trapped and returned home again by the police officers. Meryl offers to make some cocoa as if she's advertising the product at the same time. Truman confronts her looking for answers, only to be accused of having a nervous breakdown. "You're a part of this, aren't you?" he exclaims.

As they're arguing in the kitchen Meryl fearfully calls out "do something!" The next minute his best friend Marlon turns up with a six pack of beer. Meryl leaps into his arms crying as he comforts her, but he's looking at Truman when he says "everything's going to be okay, it's all going to be fine." The next scene cuts to them sitting at the end of an unfinished bridge together as Truman begins to tell Marlon what he's been through. "Maybe I'm losing my mind, but it feels like the whole world revolves around me somehow." Marlon replies by saying "that's a lot of world for one man, Truman."

Truman is concerned that everyone he knows has been in on this lie. Marlon reassures him by saying that he's been Truman's best friend since he was seven years old, that he's the closest thing he's ever had to a brother. "The last thing that I would ever do is lie to you. I mean, think about it Truman. If everybody is in on it... I'd have to be in on it, too."

The conversation ends with Marlon saying that there was something that started all this trouble, implying that he's done something to help. They turn around as we see Truman's father walk towards them through the fog. After many years Truman and his father are finally reunited.

Chapter 2 conclusion

We have now reached the turning point of Truman's story. Before we get any further I invite you to reassess your answer to how the delicate music video ended before we continue.

Level 1.

Did Taylor end up with the guy at the bar?

Level 2.

Is Taylor queer and despite the risk to her career end up with the girl at the bar?

Level 3.

Is it both? Has Taylor been in public relationships with men to protect her queer relationships with women and to keep her career safe?

Level 4.

An even deeper meaning that is yet to be revealed?

Chapter 3

Lights, camera, action!

“I think I’ve seen this film before”

The first time you watch the Truman show, the focus is on Truman and his journey. There have been cracks in the facade of his story from the beginning, but halfway through we reach a turning point as it becomes obvious that Truman is also the star of a 24 hour reality TV show that broadcasts his life to the public without his knowledge. Every move he makes is being observed by the outside. I left out some of these details from part two so you could see Truman's story unfold first, so lets go back through some of the initial clues before we finish his story.

The very first scene is not of Truman, but the director Christof, talking to the audience of the Truman show. There are many clues throughout the movie hinting at the fact that the town of Seahaven is a set designed for the viewer's access to every aspect of Trueman's life.

The first time we see Truman on the screen it is through the lens of a TV screen, the same way the audience of the show does. It feels very intimate, like he is talking to us, but in fact he is talking to his reflection in the bathroom mirror and is not cognisant of our presence. This is a space that is usually private for everyone, yet the viewer has access to this part of his life too. As Truman leaves the room the screen cuts to a black screen with the timestamp 'Day 10,909'.

When Truman leaves for work in his car we feel like we're watching him from within the dashboard, as you can see the blue numbers on the display overlaid on our view of him. The people he greets along the way seem a little too friendly and one group seem to push him back against the wall to give the camera a better angle of him.

Later on as the love triangle is explained via flashbacks, we see commentary from people working in the Truman bar as they watch the show. They explain some of his backstory for us and talk about watching his greatest hits videos from time to time. Everyone Truman comes into contact with knows who he is.

I mentioned in the last part that we were at the turning point in Truman's story. This second half of the story is when we start to get a proper look behind the scenes of the show we have been watching, as we see more from the directors point of view. Truman's best friend is receiving directions on what to say via an in ear device to convince him that they're not lying. The fog on the bridge is added for dramatic flare, there's a shot of viewers surrounded by the Truman show memorabilia and we see the emotional music playing is being choreographed too. The next scene is the first time we see Sylvia as an adult. She's sitting in her living room with an assortment of photos and newspapers in front of her, watching Truman on her TV too. It's clear she still cares about him.

The show continues with a recap of how 1.7 billion were there for Truman's birth, 220 countries watched his first steps and how the world stood still when he kissed Sylvia for the first time. They explain how as the technology improved over the years, their consumption of Truman's life increased too. "An entire human life recorded on an intricate network of hidden cameras, and broadcast live and unedited 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to an audience around the globe." We get a glimpse into where Truman is living. Seahaven island is the largest studio ever constructed within a dome like structure, and it's location is just beyond the Hollywood sign. The moon is fake and the director has been working from within it the entire time.

We start to find out how they had to manufacture ways to keep Truman on the island. His father dying played a big part of that, but to the viewers it is just a plot twist in the show they've been watching for their entertainment. They have 5,000 cameras now, but started off with just one. They've been watching Truman's life since he was conceived and he was legally adopted by a corporation to fulfil the role on the show. Everything on the show is for sale, including their wardrobe, food products and dollhouse style versions of the homes they live in. "We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented." This is the director's response as to why Truman has never left Seahaven or found out about the show.

The interviewer is still taking calls from viewers and this time we hear Sylvia is on the line. We're shown that her home is full of anti-the Truman show information, with artefacts pinned up on the walls of her home. She has been collecting evidence since she was kicked out and is still trying to protect him, with evidence that there's a darker side to the show that we haven't seen before now. The director has a persuasive viewpoint on why Truman is happy living the life as he knows it. The interviewer attempts to placate the viewers by saying "well, aside from the heated comments of a very vocal minority, it's been an overwhelmingly positive experience." The director lets the audience know that Truman's wife will be leaving soon and a new love interest will be introduced.

The next morning we go back to Truman in the bathroom again, as if he's just started another regular day. He seems playful, using a bar of soap to draw an alien outline on the mirror, while at the same time indicating that he feels alienated too. His trip to work is just like the one at the start of the movie, but this time each interaction feels a little more forced. The cameras are more visible now. We view Truman through a hidden camera inside of the pencil sharpener. His boss introduces him to his new love interest Vivian, who is wearing a red cardigan just like the one he kept hidden away that belonged to Sylvia.

After an afternoon of working in the garden, the cameramen are keeping watch as Truman is asleep in the basement. He informs the director that he moved down there after Meryl packed up and left, leaving him home alone. The director is concerned about a change in his behaviour so they send Marlon to investigate. When he gets there and finds there's a plastic snowman in the bed, Marlon's pretending that it's a game because they're still broadcasting the show. He stands in front of a map to Fiji pretending he doesn't know where to look, only to whip around and open the door.

Inside the broom closet is a hole in the ceiling Truman created that leads to a secret tunnel out of the basement. Marlon sticks his head out of the hole like a gopher to find that Truman is nowhere in sight. The director yells "cut transmission!" and the live stream is ended for the first time since it began. Everyone begins to panic as they try to locate Truman and deal with the fallout. There are soon hoards of people combing the streets. In one last ditch effort to find him the daylight gets turned up in the middle of the night. Everyone's wondering what time it is and rumours are circulating amongst viewers that Truman might be dead.

Finally they locate Truman. He managed to get on a boat and is sailing away from Seahaven for the first time. He pulls the collage picture of Sylvia out of his pocket, the only thing he took with him. The camera cuts to show us she is relieved that he's finally escaping. The director manufactures a storm to force Truman to turn around. He would rather risk Truman's life than lose the star of the show. Lightning strikes the boat multiple times before he falls overboard. Just as they think Truman drowned, he screams out "is that the best you can do?" Truman begins to sing "What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" while fighting back. The biggest wave of all hits the boat as everyone watching is waiting with bated breath to find out if he survives or not, and he does. The boat comes to a stop as it crashes into the edge of the dome. Truman tries to break his way through the wall but is unsuccessful. He begins walking along the edge until he reaches the infamous staircase that stretches up into the sky with a door leading to the outside world.

Finally in a last ditch effort to persuade Truman to stay, the director talks to Truman for the first time just as he opens the door. He's pleading for Truman to stay, to let the show continue as it is, claiming that he knows Truman better than he knows himself. "You've never had a camera in my head!" is the only thing he says in defence.

The camera cuts to show Sylvia is still anxiously watching from home, praying that Truman will have the courage to leave for the first time. The director begs yet again, saying he is being broadcast to the whole world. We get one final "Incase I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and goodnight!" as Truman takes a bow and steps through the door. Sylvia begins to rush out of her house and everyone watching at home begin cheering in celebration.

As we sit there hoping for an epilogue to the story, the credits start rolling. We’re left having to come up with our own interpretation of how Truman's story ended.

Chapter 3 conclusion

Choose your own adventure

Here is where I invite you to think about Truman's story and come up with your own conclusions about when he discovered that he was being lied to.

Level 1.

The movie ends and you go on with your day content with knowing that he was able to leave at the end?

Level 2.

Do you go back and watch the movie again? Maybe you investigate and re-examine how Truman first realised something wasn’t right?

Level 3.

Maybe you dig a little deeper still as you start to see the signs that Truman knew all along? How there was a minority of viewers on Truman’s side? And despite his struggles he found a sense of playfulness in the life he was living?

Level 4.

An even deeper meaning that is yet to be revealed?

Before you continue

The Truman show challenges our perception of how ethical it is to have such unobstructed access to Truman’s life. We’re left questioning if our entertainment was worth the price he was paying by spending his whole life living in the spotlight.

Chapter 4

The accomplice

"The devil's in the details, but you've got a friend in me"

When you get to the end of the Truman show movie you start to realise that not everything you saw was as it seems. You could accept this as the ending or you could go back and watch it again, keeping an eye out for all the clues leading us towards a deeper meaning to the story being told.

We've known for some time now that Taylor has included references to the Truman show through her use of Easter eggs, but what I've discovered is that the layers of references to this movie go so much deeper than we've ever realised before now.

We can see references to the Truman show in the first scene of the delicate music video, as we get a close up view of Taylor before the camera zooms out to reveal more about the life she leads. We start to see the cracks form the moment when someone wearing red tries to approach her too. This is the point where everything changes. We see Taylor start to pay attention to her bodyguards moving too perfectly in step with her, just like Truman notices that the people around him appear to be choreographed.

When Taylor is reading the note she received, her facial expressions and dance moves begin to mirror Jim Carrey's mannerisms. Her playfulness is short-lived and the reappearance of the characters in red take on a more complex meaning now that we can see that they are a reference to the Truman show.

The turning point for Taylor's character begins when she becomes overwhelmed. It's all fun and games, until it becomes lonely being invisible. Truman appears to feel the same way. Everyone was so enthralled by the show they were watching that they didn't notice how hard it was for him to not be able to live his life in the way he wanted to. We see him talk about leaving town over and over again, but from the outside we can see that the director is working against him. It makes us contemplate if forcing the star of the show to continue his role is worth it? There's even a point where the director talks about his hopes for the first on screen conception. When does it go too far before it becomes unethical?

Just as Truman escaped the life he felt trapped in, we see Taylor approach the same fate as she enters the bar. The name of the bar, the golden gopher, is a nod to the Truman show too (and what started this deep dive beyond just the Easter eggs). The note she's holding also reflects the collage picture of Sylvia. At last Taylor steps through the door, just like Truman did.

Looking back we can start to see the clues that Truman has known the truth since Sylvia left, based on what she told him as she was being taken away. We see Truman working in the garden several times and once he escaped we can deduce that this is something he's been planning for some time.

Here's the point where we need to consider Marlon's role in Truman's life. We know that they've been best friends since they were kids and have grown up together. So it makes sense that Marlon found ways to communicate with Truman. We start to see that is true with the comment about the sunset. It's an honest observation but said in just the right way that lets Truman know the truth about the life he's living. When he shows up to save Meryl, we see that he's talking to Truman as he says that it's going to be okay. Afterwards when they're sitting on the bridge, you can see that he means what he's saying, despite being told what to say.

Now if we go back and read the delicate lyrics again we start to see a thread of communication with her secret lover has been occurring the whole time. If we believe that Taylor's note was from a female love interest, we start to understand the motive behind needing to find a similar way to communicate without drawing unwanted attention. Looking back, the note Taylor received in the beginning wasn't the first.

At the end, both Truman and Taylor finish their story with a dramatic bow towards the camera. This is our first hint at the the secret hidden meaning I alluded to with the choose your own adventure questions earlier.

If you're ready to fall the rabbit hole then please keep reading...

Chapter 4 conclusion

These quotes are from the very start of the movie, however I’ve saved them for this section as they play a big part in the connections between Truman’s story and Taylor's story.

"We've become bored with watching actors give us phony emotions. We're tired of pyrotechnics and special effects. While the world he inhabits is, in some respects, counterfeit, there's nothing fake about Truman himself. No scripts, no cue cards. It isn't always Shakespeare, but it's genuine. It's a life." -Ed Harris as the director, Christoff

"Well, for me, there is no difference between a private life and a public life. My life... is my life, is the Truman show." -Hannah Gill as Meryl

"It's all true. It's all real. Nothing here is fake. Nothing you see on the show is fake. It's merely controlled." -Noah Emmerich as Marlon

Chapter 5

The tipping point

"When you are young, they assume you know nothing."

The key to the secret hidden meaning I’ve been alluding to is hidden within the Truman show movie. The final bow at the end invites us to go back through their story yet again to uncover the deeper layers. Is this the secret clue? At the end of a theatre performance, the cast will come back on stage one last time to give their final bow of the night as the audience applauds the performance they've just witnessed. So we then have to consider that Truman and Taylor's final bow was an acknowledgement of the fact that they have been putting on a performance the entire time. But who was the performance for? Us.

As we dive even deeper we uncover the final clues. The soliloquy he performs to himself in the mirror, greeting his neighbours with his famous catchphrase, the way he answers the radio host's questions in the car. It's likely Truman knew about his role in the show since Sylvia left, but we can't dismiss the possibility that Marlon had informed him long before that. We know they had less cameras in the beginning so it would've been easier to let it slip without anyone noticing.

From what we can see, Truman was content with the life he had and found. He displays a sense of freedom in being a part of the performance until he found out that his father was still alive. This tipping point in hindsight is when Truman became aware of how far his family went to keep the show going.

This changed everything and is the final crack in the facade that led to Truman planning his escape. As we revisit the flashback to the love triangle, we start to learn how much Truman sacrificed along the way. Through the development of Sylvia's character we start to see the significance of the colour red. To the viewers at home it is a symbol of heartbreak and loss, and that Truman's attachment to the cardigan is based on his feelings for her. But for Truman we can assume that it is more like a symbol of hope that he might finally be free one day. Other symbols we see her wear include a red seahorse pin (their school mascot) a green bauble bracelet and the 'how's it going to end?' badge. When he reads the badge in the library, he quietly admits that he's been wondering that too. After Truman finishes reminiscing about the past, he slyly reveals that the badge is still pinned onto the cardigan. The collage picture of Sylvia also shows that he never lost hope of finding her again.

Red is the colour used throughout most of the Truman show memorabilia, but done in a way that reference Truman's on screen character. What started out as a symbol of resistance slowly became a symbol worn proudly by the audience. If everyone is using the colour for different reasons, how do you know what side they're on?

As we continue the story we return to the scene with the glitch in the radio and we're starting to see more cracks in the facade. Beer seems to have become a codeword between Marlon and Truman. As they watch the sunset, Truman's comment about going away for a while is a truthful admission to Marlon, while allowing the viewer to believe that it's just another wishful thought about going to Fiji. The scene in the hospital and the amputation is where we start to notice Truman has become bolder sharing his concerns with the viewer.

The following scene where Truman is sitting in his car showing Meryl how everybody goes by over and over again (followed by driving laps around the round about while joking about being spontaneous) reveal that he's known all along that the townspeople have always moved around him like clockwork.

And if he knew the entire time, what was the point of the story? To allow the viewer time to first process and accept the information they were presented with, before being presented with an opportunity to uncover the truth. Truman reached a point where his own well-being was more important than the character he had been portraying to the audience. Those who had seen the signs watched on with anticipation and those that didn’t were left feeling shocked and confused.

There are many more connections throughout the rest of the story I could share with you, but will withhold sharing them now so you can discover more connections for yourself in the future. Our exploration of Truman’s story ends with the realisation that he discovered the truth for himself, and in turn allowed us as the viewer an opportunity to do the same.

Chapter 5 conclusion

It was never my intention to go into so much detail about Truman’s story, but the depth of the layers involved play an integral part in our understanding of the connections to Taylor's story, without needing to speculate on her personal life. Skipping over this much needed context would be like skipping to the answers in the back of the book, (or ruining the ending of the Saw movie) without having the chance to come to your own conclusions first. A lot of the upcoming expedition won't make sense if we don't learn about Truman's life.

When Alice falls down the rabbit hole it’s not a quick descent. It was a slow journey where nothing seemed to be happening as she travelled through layers and layers underground, until all at once she found that she had suddenly landed at the bottom of the rabbit hole.

"I think that it's perfectly reasonable for people to be normal music fans and to have a normal relationship to music, but... if you wanna go down a rabbit hole with us come along, the water's great. Jump in! We're all mad here!!"

Chapter 6

The cracks in the facade

"You just see right through me"

It’s well known that Taylor’s work has long been inspired and influenced by her favourite artists, historical figures, folklore and fairy tales since the very beginning of her career. But what most don’t see is the cracks in the facade of her public persona, and how the facade we see is inspired by the Truman show.

During the delicate performance on the eras tour we see how the themes surrounding the Truman show movie inspired the visuals on the stage. Slowly we see cracks forming in the glass, until at last there's so many cracks the entire thing shatters into tiny pieces. But what causes the cracks? Taylor. At first they appear as she's walking, followed by stomping on purpose and then jumping on the stage to shatter it completely. It's worth considering that the snake patterns on her outfit could also symbolise the lines of the cracked glass. This performance is the reason why I became so interested in learning more about the song.

The story Taylor's been telling us goes much deeper than just the easter eggs if you're willing to look deep enough. To understand why Taylor has referenced the Truman show in such detail with the delicate music video, we also need to consider that she relates to his character on a personal level too. I'm sure by now you've picked up on the similarities between Taylor's life in the spotlight and Truman's role as the star of a show. I'm not the first to pick up on many of the Easter eggs she has left along the way, and there are so many who have put in a lot of hard work to understand Taylor's history that have made my journey here a little easier.

It's long been known that the eras tour poster is a nod to the Truman show. We've known for a while that the stage is a key to the vault. If the era's tour is a part of the story Taylor is telling us, then the Truman show is the script she is reading from. And the actors? She showed us that in the anti-hero music video.

We have the Taylor that's trapped inside the house, the pop star Taylor that knocks at the door, the giant Taylor as well as the dead version of Taylor. If you haven't heard of this concept before you might believe that there's only one version of Taylor, the pop star version. But just like Truman's story, if you look a little deeper you start to see that there's more to the story. The Taylor inside the house and the one knocking on the door represent the private and public versions of Taylor. The dead version is the side of herself she left behind when pop star Taylor took over. And the giant Taylor? Perhaps she's represents the version of who Taylor wanted to be before she became the most famous person of our generation.

In the funeral scene we meet her two sons and daughter in law. Chad, Preston and Kimber might represent the Gaylors, Swifties, and the critics, but they could also represent the best friend, wife and mother. in Truman's story.

We could guess that the director could represent her past and present management, but it’s more likely that Taylor is the director too. After all, who wrote the soundtrack for the story being told?

Before we continue

To see the story being told by Taylor, we need to do so through the lens of queer flagging. If this isn't something you've considered before, I invite you to do so with an open mind. The giant Taylor on the tour visuals is providing us with a glimpse into the consequences of us not seeing the private version of Taylor underneath the pop star persona she's been presenting to the public. There's been a long history of famous couples having a public relationship to protect a private relationship, also known as bearding (similar to a lavender marriage). Looking into the history of queer people such as Chely Wright will give you an insight into why many stay closeted to protect their career. I won't be going into more detail on the PR side of things, so feel free to explore that side of things on your own.

Chapter 7

The Easter eggs

"Every bait and switch was a work of art."

If we know that there's a deeper meaning Taylor is hinting at, what are the clues we need to look for? When Truman told the director that you can't see inside my head, we can assume Taylor is trying to say that you can't see inside her heart. If we compare the lover house to Truman's story, we begin to recognise the facade of the pop star persona.

In the lover music video, we first see the lover house is within a snow globe and our first shot of Taylor is through the peephole. The couple dancing throughout the house seem to be sharing a romantic moment, but the entire experience feels voyeuristic. No rooms off limits as we see them in the bathroom swimming inside of a fish bowl. "Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever?" plays at the same time. It feels like we're asking that of her. It becomes uncomfortable to realise how much we want to have access to every detail of her life. We could also counter that by asking why are we being given so much access to a space that's meant to be private?

Their moments together feel so intimate that it's easy to lose sight of their performance being acted out on a set. The only room that seems to be personal to Taylor is the attic, and it’s just like Truman's basement. If you look closely you can see a similar trunk to the side as she's reminiscing over old pictures on a projector. This song hints at the performance she's been putting on for us and the lover house reveals that it's a facade.

All the little Easter eggs throughout the music video seem like advertisements now that we’ve seen that they advertise memorabilia on the Truman show in a similar way. Other Easter eggs include Taylor’s bauble earrings, her lover has a seahorse patch on his jacket and the board games are Taylor Swift themed.

One of the reasons the house is a facade relates to what we know of her queer identity. Taylor was rumoured to come out as bisexual at the beginning of the lover album release, with the Me! music video. The lover era was full of queer themed easter eggs like rainbows, unicorns and the entirety of the ‘you need to calm down’ music video. This was enough proof for those who were ready and willing to see the queer flagging. But many others don't look into these alternative meanings, and in doing so miss out on seeing any further than the pop star facade. Just before the new album was released Taylor learnt that her masters had been sold and the plan to come out was put on hold. This drastic change in aesthetic and the queer flagging wasn't well received by many fans.

Lets consider for a moment that both the reputation and lover eras had been planned to unfold in the way they did all along. Truman saw the people preventing him from leaving were predictable enough to blindside them when they least expected it. Logically if Taylor knew what the roadblocks were before she left her old record label, she would have known how they would retaliate after she left. So it seems like she started to leave clues that were just subtle enough that most people wouldn't pick up on straight away, but with more context would show that there was a deeper story being told the entire time. Everyone assumed reputation was directed at the critics from her past, but looking back this bait and switch was more of a message about the future and the beginnings of her escape plan.

The contrast between reputation and lover was done on purpose, luring the sale of her masters to happen at what they thought was the peak of her career, leaving her free to move forward with a bigger plan. We could also consider that the contrast between the themes and style of each album was done on purpose to blur the lines between the two.

Midnights and TTPD were supposed to follow lover, but were set back to a later date because of the lockdowns. The benefit of this delay meant we got folklore and evermore as well. The ‘I can see you’ music video shows us that the plan was about getting the masters back all along. We see more references to the Truman show in this music video too. The vault is reminiscent of the moon shaped structure the director worked out of and the getaway van escaped over a bridge, just like Truman did.

The teenage love triangle we hear about on the eras tour is now more meaningful than just a high school crush after seeing Truman’s experience. Taylor originally claimed this was a fictional love triangle, but as she only mentions Betty now it seems like there is more significance to the characters in the story than we first thought. And recently she's started calling herself the narrator of the story too. This feels like a clue that we should consider that she has been showing us her version of events from different perspectives all along.

Chapter 8

The one worth fighting for

"I'm the problem, it's me"

Now that we've explored how Truman's and Taylor's story ended, we can start to unravel the clues of what they were really fighting for all along.

There are many similarities to their story, but a key piece of the puzzle lies within the reflection. Truman's story starts with talking to himself in the mirror. The way he heaves out a long sigh before he turns around and walks away in the first scene begins to tell the story of a layer of frustration under the surface of the person he sees reflected back at him in the mirror. Further into his story after his failed attempt to escape, we see Truman in the bathroom again but this time he isn't talking to himself at first, just staring at the mirror. His demeanour soon changes as he starts drawing the caricature of an alien in a moment of apparent silliness. Yet, if we consider what Truman is thinking and feeling this time, we start to see the loneliness he was feeling the entire time and that the happy facade is just a mask he puts on for the audience.

During the delicate music video, the first time we see Taylor's reflection is in the mirror of her dressing room when she's reading with the shimmering golden note. The way her reflection vanishes is a similar concept to Peter's shadow, with Peter Pan being a frequent reference in Taylor's work. The battle between feeling invisible and enjoying the freedom that comes with Taylor wearing her facade as a mask is shown throughout the music video. The loneliness becomes more apparent during the scene with the older lady in the mirror. We watch on as Taylor's demeanour becomes harder to maintain, a sign that she always felt more isolated than anything else. As Taylor gets onto the train we hear her singing "sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time." And at the same time she's in in front of the character from the man music video who represents the public persona of Taylor. Her demeanour changes to a look of determination for the first time, and this is when we see that reuniting the public and private versions of themselves is what they're fighting for. And if they're fighting for themselves, the lover we see them longing for then becomes a diversion.

Before we move on, we need to acknowledge that the mask or facade they are wearing acts as a mirror reflecting what the viewer wants to see back at them. Just like Taylor showed us with the visuals of the delicate eras performance, the mask is breakable. Now we know that Taylor's the one breaking down the facade herself, it becomes harmful to refuse to see Taylor for who she really is underneath the pop star persona. And just like with Truman leaving in the end, Taylor has shown us that she's choosing herself now, regardless of the consequences. So we can choose to join her, or sit back in defiance until she walks away.

"It's me, hi

I'm the problem, it's me

At teatime everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting

Always rooting for the anti-hero."

Chapter 9

The great escape

"What if I told you none of it was accidental?”

We've spent all this time weaving Taylor and Truman's story together, and now it's time to pull them apart again so that we can see the version of Taylor's story she’s been telling us.

You might have been wondering what Taylor was alluding to when she was on the Jimmy Fallon show in November 2021?

"And so that's when the Easter eggs started, but when it got out of control was when I started to realise that it wasn't just me that had fun with this, that they had fun with it too. And I should never have learned that, because then I couldn't stop. And then all I started thinking of was how do I hint at things, like, how far is too far in advance? Can I hint at something three years in advance? Can I even plan things out that far? I think I'm gonna try to do it!"

I could spend all day going through the Easter eggs, but there’s one Easter egg in particular I’d like to focus on next.

All of the connections to the Truman show have been leading us to this final clue of the story...

Are you ready for it?

...The man wall.

It's the most talked about Easter egg across all parts of the Swiftie fandom. It's full of potential clues for future vault releases, with many theories on how to decode it. But what if the biggest easter egg of all is actually being used as a bait and switch tactic? A trap set to draw our attention in, that we don't notice the bigger picture?

"When everyone believes ya,

What's that like?

I'm so sick of running as fast as I can"

If you look close enough, you can see a polaroid shaped outline underneath the black karma letters, as if something that was once there has been taken away. Just like the collage picture from the Truman show, this missing piece represents the secret note from the delicate music video. The one piece of evidence that meant something to them, when so much of their lives were full of half truths and lies.

Taylor's song Florida! reflects Truman's dreams of moving to Fiji. Talking about going to Fiji encouraged the director to reveal ways to keep him in town, and we can see that Taylor used her attempts to come out in the same way.

So if Truman's map of Fiji was a disguise for his master plan, is the man wall a disguise for Taylor's master plan too? The wall is made up of tiles and the rerecords are laid out in a shape similar to an infinity symbol or a butterfly. But if you look even closer still, you will see the crack down the middle of the man wall map. It's not just a map forward with the rerecords, but is it concealing the escape route too?

If Taylor's been referencing Truman's story over the years, how do we know that it's because she relates to his character? We won't know for sure if the map is concealing a hidden tunnel.

Unless...

Chapter 10

How did it end?

"I gave so many signs"

...she's showed us her plan over and over and over again!

"You put me on and said I was your favourite."

By hiding the truth in plain sight for all to see, we see yet again that Taylor inner world has been invisible to us since the beginning of her career. She has been telling us a fictional story about a teenage love triangle, meanwhile the music videos have contained one of the biggest Easter eggs of all time.

The story could end here with Taylor living happily ever after, or once again we could dive a little further to see the deeper meaning of the story being told. Here is where I will invite you to consider that the timeline starts with cardigan, delicate and then with willow. This then reveals how the story began, the ways she felt trapped in the lie she was forced to live, how everything changed and then her determination to escape.

The cardigan music video is set in an old cabin, but instead of a whimsical vibe Taylor is dressed more like the Cinderella version of herself in the bejewelled music video. The attic is also a part of the set during the folkmore era of the eras tour. This is the only real piece of the lover house, the rest was burnt away on screen. And just like Truman's story, Taylor is showing us the deeper truth to her story if we're willing to see it. We hear her singing about the cardigan that holds memories of a lost lover. Taylor opens up the lid of the piano and shows us that her music is her secret escape from reality. "I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind." As the adventure through the woods continues we see her almost drowning in the ocean. "Tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy" plays as she's swimming to the piano. Just when all hope is almost lost, she steps through the lid of the piano again and returns back to the cabin. We see her sitting at the piano once more, this time drenched and cold. Taylor wraps herself up in the old cardigan and we're left with one last shot of the silver stars that are embroidered on the sleeve as she composes herself.

The willow music video picks up at the same point that the cardigan music video ended. The only difference is that there's a strand of golden light leading into the lid of the piano. If we compare this to the end of Truman's flashback, we can see that after almost drowning, Taylor has been reminded of something worth fighting for, the moment where everything had changed. Now as she follows the golden thread into the piano lid and through the woods, it's with determination. We're introduced to her lover as she looks at their refections in the river. This is the one worth fighting for. "That's my man." Taylor seems to sign her name in the glow of the tread before diving into the river. A flashback to a younger version of the couple playing in a fort begins, but just as the boy disappears and leaves the younger Taylor alone, we see that he left her hands tied up in the golden tread.

As we return to the present day we start to see reflections of the delicate music video. She steps out from a curtain and into a glass display box with her banjo and begins performing for the crowd, just like Truman did after his failed escape. As the camera zooms out we recognise the location is similar to an old fashioned circus with posters, lights and circus tents set up around her. Just as she's singing "that's my man", the lover from earlier steps forward from the shadows. They reunite through the glass pane, but it feels like the glass case was intentional to keep them apart.

Just as Taylor tries looking for a way to escape, she pulls back the curtain she came through only to find that it's boarded up. She pretends to find a way to get through the glass, only to reveal that she knew there was a trap door underneath her the entire time.

Taylor escapes through the tunnel and enters the scene with the golden orbs. She performs the dance with the group as we hear her singing "every bait and switch was a work of art" before following the golden thread once more. Her lover removes a mask he was wearing to blend in to the crowd. Just like Truman's best friend was secretly in on the escape plan, so too is Taylor's lover. The golden tread leads her through the night, through the piano lid and once more Taylor returns home. Just as she's reached the end of the golden thread she looks up to find her lover waiting there for her. They are reunited once more as he takes her hand. "Every bait and switch was a work of art" repeats once more as they turn and step through the cabin door together, and into the woods.

Chapter 11

Oh we're invisible

"picture of your face in an invisible locket"

The more we revisit Taylor's story, the more we see the deeper layers hidden within. "And so I changed your name and any real defining clues" leads us to consider that Taylor has changed the details surrounding her story and its up to us to decode it.

As we've seen in the delicate music video, Taylor's reflection represents the private version of herself. This alters the meaning behind the willow music video. As we go back again, Taylor is peering into the reflection of the river once more. She's singing "Lost in your current like a priceless wine. The more I say, the less you know. Wherever you stray, I follow. I'm begging for you to take my hand. Wreck my plans, that's my man." When we see him again through the glass in the box, we start to realise that his return is the catalyst for Taylor's escape. Just like Truman's dad's return was the catalyst for his story.

So if the man represents another side of Taylor, the man music video is more than just a commentary on the patriarchy. The man music video is the first song on the eras tour that's available as a music video. The male character is this outgoing person wanting the most out of life, yet we see that he's lost sight of everyone around him. At the end of the video we see another version of Taylor is sitting in the directors chair and realise that Taylor had been the man and the director all along. Taylor's pop star persona is no different to Truman's performance facade. So If all of the moon and black hole references are a codeword for cameras, we can deduce that the man is also putting on a performance. There's even a glimpse of the ma checking himself out in the mirror before he leaves for work with a black hole visible in the reflection.

There's another big connection we still need to make. Why does the man pee on the man wall? Is it a sign of disrespect and refusing to see the private side of Taylor and the history within the rerecords? Is he so caught up in the fame and doesn't want to stop? Our understanding of this scene requires Truman's story to help decipher the meaning behind it. His performance was a bait and switch. The facade he presented after his plan had failed had been on purpose. If everyone thought he was resigned to staying after all, nobody would see his master plan to escape coming.

So the answer to the man wall is that the first bait and switch was also a bait and switch. (Like a double bluff.)

The first bait was the coming out during the lover era and the switch was knowing the enemy would reveal their hand. And the second bait was the rerecords on the lover wall and the masters heist, with the switch being the missing polaroid picture and the hidden version of Taylor. And what's on the polaroid picture? Proof that Taylor is queer. And how do we know that? She's been telling us since the very beginning. "I'm just sitting here planning my revenge", she sings in picture to burn.

The writing on the wall implies that the old Taylor was left behind during the fearless era because it's written in red. Does that mean the old Taylor being dead during reputation was yet another bait and switch? The fearless Taylor was in the vault with the picture of speak now. The 'I can see you' music video reflects the story told in the delicate music video too. "Pass me a note saying "Meet me tonight." Then we can kiss, and you know I won't ever tell"'. Truman's story shows evidence of having help from his best friend to escape, and here we can assume that Taylor played a large role in rescuing herself. We then have to wonder if the picture was actually her reflection in the mirror all along, or metaphotically at least.

Before the story can end, we need to acknowledge that our consumption of Taylor's life has played a part in her private persona feeling trapped. In 'Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus' Taylor talks about about how she "changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules, all to outrun my desertion of you." She killed off the old Taylor, just so that we would stay. "If you want to break my cold, cold heart, just say I loved you the way that you were."

Taylor's uses codewords (ghosts, stars, maroon etc) throughout her discography to conceal her truth in plain sight. Wine is used to show us how her truth has become so watered down that she's lost sight of who she was before.

Chapter 12

The bridge

"I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairytale"

Not only did Taylor hint at the tunnel being an Easter egg, we hear the lyrics "I come back stronger than a 90's trend" at the exact same time she goes down the tunnel. And which trend is she referencing? the Truman show. Just when you think there's nothing left to solve, the clues just keep coming.

The lockdowns postponed Taylor's plans of coming out, so she had to find a backup plan. That's when we got folklore and evermore. They were both released in 2020 and she just recently combined them as sisters. Taylor's apparent disdain for evermore makes more sense if we consider cardigan represents the folklore album and that willow represents the evermore album. When you join the two halves, they become sisters. How could she love them separately when they were destined to be together?

So if we know that cardigan and willow are inextricably linked, then the golden thread we see her following in both music videos is the thread joining them together. And if it's leading the way to evermore, then the thread creates a bridge. But it's not just any bridge, but it's London bridge. And the concept is all inspired by the Tinkerbell movies.

The series was released in the early 2010's and is based on the character from Peter Pan. Tinkerbell's story is centred around feeling like she doesn't fit in at Pixie Hollow. We can see so many references to Tinkerbell's story in Taylor's work. The themes she touches on, the Easter eggs, even her philosophy and determination. If you look close enough, I think we might find that the clocks, stars, bird cages, tea cups, rainbows, car and doll house can all be references to the series. And lets not forget the karma coffee cup and clock too. Both the golden thread and the orbs are created with pixie dust in Pixie Hollow, but the key for it to work is that you have to believe.

And here is where we discover that "every bait and switch was a work of art." The ending of the Truman show was really a trap all along, with the door coming down during the karma performance used as a distraction. The real ending was about rescuing and then reuniting the sisters, the private and public versions of Taylor. The secret to this was in the seasons. Tinkerbell and the great fairy rescue is all about spring and summer, just like folklore. And then Tinkerbell the secret of the wings is all about fall and winter, just like evermore. The shift that occurs between these two movies is the first one is about wanting others to believe in you, and the second is about learning to believe in yourself. We can't forget the third part of the love triangle though, Tinkerbell and the lost treasure. And then Tinkerbell and the secret of the wings might just be the epilogue to the story.

"Just because you've never seen a fairy, doesn't mean they're not real!"

"Now, Lizzy, seeing is believing, and without proof, it's just a fairytale."

"You don't have to understand,

you just have to believe."

A big theme in Tinkerbell and the great fairy rescue is a difficulty communicating. As she befriends a girl who loves fairies, they use clues and symbols to communicate. Something both queer and neurodivergent are familiar with, communicating differently to the majority. I believe that's a big reason why the majority of Taylor's identify with either or both of those, and why a lot of us see the same traits in Taylor.

All of the connections we made to Truman's story are still important now, but there's one correction I'd like to make in light of the Tinkerbell references. The lover house. "Dear reader, burn all the files, desert all your past lives." I believe Taylor burnt down the lover house from the lover era, but the house we've had since folklore reunited is now the fairy house. What once was a facade is now a safe haven.

Chapter 13

The tortured poet

"The professor said to write what you know, looking backwards might be the only way to move forward."

There has been many connections made so far that link songs from the tortured poets department to previous eras, and I believe this is intentional. If we examine Taylor’s work from a muse-less perspective we can see more connections to the story. If we take a look at the tortured poets department summation you will see it's inviting us to look back to find the answers. Tinkerbell helped create a book in the third movie as a way to communicate the truth of the fairies. So if midnights and TTPD had been the plan all along, then dear reader and the manuscript become bookends for Taylor's story.

We're now left with only one question left unanswered.

What was the conversation that lead Taylor to change everything?

"People often greatly underestimate me on how much I'll inconvenience myself to prove a point…"

I never expected to be answering this question, but what's one more revelation when we've already discovered so much? I won't go into detail on this, but if we know that Taylor changes the pronouns and the details to hide her truth in plain sight, then you can begin to uncover the deeper layers to see the story she's been telling us over and over again.

This is Taylor's version of a book she has hidden inside her work...

"All too well"

Dear reader

An upstate escape

The first crack in the glass

Are you real?

The breaking point

(Champagne problems)

The reeling

The remembering

Thirteen years gone

The manuscript

The epilogue

If we look back at the aesthetic of the lover era, it reveals the plan was laid out from the beginning. The false coming out was intentional so the master sale wouldn't disrupt the grand plan. But it was also an opportunity for Taylor to leave the clues for those who could hear her truth. The me rainbow shows us the bridge between the two sisters, and the butterfly is how they will reunite. We've all been waiting with bated breath to see what comes next. But then again, we saw it all play out in the fortnight music video.

Taylor has hinted at bridges during the eras tour, but the once place we haven't looked for one is on the man wall. Looking back we can see there's a teal blue and green bridge across the top of the wall. Debutation perhaps? Have we been so focused on the the map that we haven't seen that the bridge/tunnel was hiding in plain sight ? It's always looked like it was just another part of the wall. The man gets married 58 years later. There's also the train station connection to the man and Taylor from the delicate music video. Did he take the missing polaroid picture at some point and we're going back to see how he did it? Just like we figured out that Truman had planned his escape all along, Taylor is showing us that she's breaking the glass on purpose and these music videos are outlining her plan to do it.

And the eras tour is still the key. If the lost treasure is the masters heist of the rerecords, it's happening each night with the surprise songs. Adding TTPD to the setlist was an intentional distraction from the reunion that occurred when the folkmore sisters merged on the setlist for the first time in Paris. All that's left is to cross the final bridge when the tour returns to London and I think Travis has an integral part to play in that during the folkmore set. And when the two sides of Taylor reunite?

Her version of the collage picture.

"Like a rainbow with all of the colours."

🌈

Conclusion

Every bait and switch truly was a work of art.

To finish off with a fairytale reference, Taylor's ability to be leave a Hansel and Gretel style trail of breadcrumbs through the forest has led us to gingerbread house full of Easter eggs. Her ability to weave together such complex layers of connections over many years without being detected is going to be a legacy to rival the success we've seen within her music career. The way she has weaved both the stories of Truman and Tinkerbell throughout her career is truly worthy of the mastermind title.

The stylistic connections to the Truman show felt like a significant piece of the puzzle. Throughout this process I never expected to stumble so far down the rabbit hole that I feel like I'm left holding the golden ticket in Charlie and the chocolate factory, when I relate more to his grandparents in real life. Taylor's work has provided a deep sense of comfort and reassurance in the midst of a chronic illness relapse that left me bed bound. I've been a huge fan since the begging, but have also stayed because of the community I've found within both the swiftie and gaylor side of the fandom. I never would have come to find all of these connections if it wasn't for the hard work everyone else has put in before I came along.

I recommend going back and watching Taylor's interview with Jimmy Fallon during the release of Red TV. The box of lies skit is worth a watch too, Jimmy Fallon's reaction is exactly how I felt seeing all of these connections come together.

The story Taylor has been showing us was never a revelation of her muses, but a slow unravelling of her experience as a famous person who has had very little privacy throughout her life. She's giving us a peak behind the curtain and allowing us to see who she really is beyond the larger than life character we've all built her up to be.

All I hope for is that Taylor chooses herself in the end.

"All's fair in love and poetry"

Sincerely, a now very tortured poet,

Kylie x

🧡

Tortured poet credentials: I've been a huge fan of Taylor Swift since 'love story' was released in Australia and became a Swiftie following the release of Midnights. I began catching up on the parts of her discography I was less familiar with earlier this year, and then in the midst of a severe M.E. relapse I began to dive deeper into her work. 'Soon you'll get better' has been a comfort and lifeline along the way. I became a Gaylor not long after TTPD was released, as certain songs such as 'but Daddy I love him' didn't make sense to me at the time for someone my age to be singing about. Listening to TTPD with the context of a female muse, as well as the new visuals on the eras tour, added some much needed context to the story being told. I came for the music, but stayed for the community during a time in my life where I felt more 'invisible' than ever.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading x

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