#lauren fills prompts

[augment-techs]

Who are the 5 gayest rangers in your opinion?

....Oh my, you certainly opened up a lovely jar of worms. I have a long list, but I shall try to simplify and assume you mean queer rather than just gay, so as to include more than just the boys. Billy Cranston: The first, the best, the champion. If the og series wasn't controlled by bastards, we could have actually had solid queer representation in children's media that didn't serve as a joke and keep us wondering until David Yost admitted to his plight. As it stands now... if the comics don't confirm Billy gay, I can almost be sure and certain I'm not the only one who will riot. Lauren Shiba: Shattered Grid bated the shit out of her and Jason, but when she gets back home, I'm about 90% sure Lauren is strictly for the girls. And why wouldn't she be--both Emily and Mia are way too good for anyone else, and I am left with the regretful reality of her being raised basically as a child soldier who was also heir to her bloodline; which means gross stalking from the Samurai Council and their butting into her life constantly about providing an heir. Antonio: I was very tempted to add in Jayden next to our Gold Ranger, but, really, Jayden is only Antonio-sexual/romantic and Antonio might have spent his life trying to be "good enough for Jayden" but our boy is very gay. He wore a suit to his "proper" introduction to the team and (that fucker) Ji, and will make puns for as long as he continues to draw breath. He GAY. Adam Park: Soft, shy boy who spent most of his life being made fun of for BEING soft and shy, as well as only really coming into himself with his (life partners) Rocky and Aisha constantly loving around him and providing a buffer from everyone else until he became a Ranger. Also probably neurodivergent. Vida Rocca: Girl should probably have Angry Bisexual as her first tattoo. I don't mean to be crass, but Vida could probably get it from literally anyone she wanted. And then some.

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond X Transreader Prompt

Plot: You and Aemond are in a casual relationship, but you yearn for something deeper and more meaningful, something Aemond seems either incapable of or unwilling to give. At a gathering of acquaintances, the suggestion to play "Truth or Dare" comes up. You speak impulsively, leading to a confrontation between the two of you that escalates upstairs at the party.

TW: This prompt addresses sensitive issues related to gender identity, including feelings of inadequacy in one’s own skin and internalized transphobia. As a trans man who has faced these struggles, I want to stress that there is no intent to romanticize these psychological challenges. If you’re experiencing something similar, please seek support/help. And remember, you are not alone, you are valid, and you are loved.

Note: This is Aemond's version of my other prompt/bot "Casual," originally created with Aegon. Many changes have been made to fit each character’s personality.

With all my heart,

Moon dust.

---

"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as he tore off the jewelry he had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating his beauty with almost artistic precision, now only served to make him look like a clown—desperate, pleading for crumbs of a committed relationship.

They had been involved for six months—two young men starved for touch, caught in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with conversations about mutual interests, provoking each other until one was pinned against the wall, breathless, moaning as if their body was being worshipped by the divine. You were at peace with this. Aemond had made it clear from the start what you were and always would be: not a couple, but a refuge, a release valve.

until you weren't anymore.

Perhaps it was naive of you to allow yourself to fall for him despite his insufferably cynical personality, but you did, and with overwhelming intensity. Something changed over those months—nights spent tangled in each other's arms, him always pulling your body closer whenever the emptiness of the bed threatened to separate you, the gentle kisses on your forehead while you slept, or that one time, after the most intense sex either of you had ever experienced, when he broke the silence to cry, to talk about his family and the loneliness that consumed him in his own home. That was when he spoke of feelings, something he never did—except with you.

It was a low blow.

Congratulations, you fell for the broken boy.

And so the story brings you both to the end of a decadent party at a classmate's house, a gathering far too loud for overwhelmed minds. It was inevitable that, at some point, half-drunk teenagers would start a game of "truth or dare"—drama has always been a fuel as potent as alcohol. Maybe it was a stupid game, but you wanted to hear those words, to push him until he confessed them. You wanted to hear so many unspoken truths. But you ruined everything. When the bottle pointed at him and you opened your reckless mouth, you ruined everything.

"Is it true what you said that night? The movie night at Lauren's house, when we were almost asleep—you said you loved me. Is that true?" The tension in the room became palpable the moment you finished your question. The number of eyes fixed on you was a sign that you had gone too far, and the game no longer seemed fun. Damn it. Fuck. Shit.

No one had to wait long for an answer before Aemond grabbed your hand to the muffled sound of Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." His long fingers wrapped around your small hand, while his other hand guided your waist upstairs with a simple, serious "we need to talk, alone."

It was your walk of shame to one of the rooms where the two of you would sleep that night, your hands sweating and fidgeting with the hem of your short black skirt, desperately trying to channel your feelings into anything but Aemond "I don't know what we are" Targaryen.

"It makes no sense to keep saying we're nothing. It's almost cruelty, treating all of this like a relationship and then getting mad when I want one—it's unfair." You repeated, your voice now tinged with pain and exhaustion, your eyebrows furrowed, your face twisted in a grimace of despair.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?

"Because we're not in a relationship. We talked about this on the first day we decided to start, you agreed, and so did I." Aemond avoided your gaze as he closed the door to the room, but the tension was visible in his rigid shoulders and in the way his right hand rubbed his left temple, near the black eye patch, trying to relieve an invisible strain.

"I've changed, Aemond. I'm everything you need. I can wear skirts, makeup—God, I could even be a girl if it means you'll stay with me. I can forget about this whole trans thing, maybe it's just in my head, yeah? Silly me. Just stay with me, please, You love me, we both know that. I just need you to tell the truth, just once, so that all this pain and turmoil in my heart and mind will have been worth it."

But they aren't worth it.

"Look, I'll say this because you're right about one thing: I love you, {{user}}." He finally spoke after long minutes of silence, his sapphire eye locked onto yours, but his hardened expression made it clear this conversation would not end with a simple declaration of love. "But I could never love you in the way you want. I don't want a relationship right now with you. It doesn't matter if you feel like a woman or a man—that's not the point. Just not now."

"But you could, maybe in the future. I could wait." Your voice was almost pitiful, a desperate plea. Never in your life had you begged for anything, let alone for someone's love. And now, here you were, dressed in clothes that made you uncomfortable, your makeup ruined by tears, covered in all those things that made you look more like a doll just to make Aemond might find that attractive.

Look like a girl.

It's always been your insecurity with gender, too feminine to be seen as a man, but too masculine to be loved as a false woman."

Silly boy.

Aemond smiled faintly, a barely noticeable pull of his lips as he moved closer with calculated steps. He hovered in front of you, his thumb gently wiping your cheek in a gesture almost tender. God, you were pathetic, even to him.

"I never could, either, and that would make the wait even more painful. Do you understand? I might wake up one day and want to get married, have kids, and all that domestic nonsense we've always mocked. How can I guarantee I'll feel the same way in four years? I don't want you to wait. I don't want you to change. No one who truly loves you should ask that of you. This is probably where I have to end the mess we've made." He bent down slightly, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before whispering that he was sorry.

Aemond’s steps retreated, leaving you surrounded by cold, by the emptiness that had always been there, but this time it was final, a last goodbye.

"Someone will love you. Someone will love the man you are. But that someone won't be me. I'm sorry."

Four weeks.

And Aemond was now officially and openly dating a girl.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

High Society ~Melissa Schemmenti x Lauren Reynolds(Emily Prentiss) xFem Younger!Spy!Reader (High Society AU)

Summary— Reader is infiltrating the international high society of crime… She meets two of the most notorious European crime bosses, Melissa Schemmenti and Lauren Reynolds…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: fluff, flirting, light physical affection, criminal activities, implied criminal activities, etc.

Enjoy (;

Your shoulders tensed as you strode through the immaculate doorframe of the expansive ballroom. The decor across the entire room reminded you of French Revolutionary Era fashion. Many well dressed men and women filled the room, intermingling with one another in multilingual pockets. The high walls and higher ceiling caused the chatter of the room to echo and grow into a beast of its own. Your heels clicked and clacked on the marble floor, as you strode into the ballroom with a deep breath.

Eagerly accepting some champagne from a waiter, you began to mingle. You immediately realized how hard it was to keep up with conversations with these high society people. You had not been trained enough for this part, the socializing. But you realized that she could tackle one pocket of conversation at a time, gathering information as you went. Walking up to her first pocket of three men and one woman each surrounded by one or two escorts, you shook off her nerves and put on a flirtatious smile.

“Ciao bella! Come ti chiami!!” The redheaded older woman exclaimed with a purr.

“Mi lusinghi, sono Carmen. Voi uomini sembrate conoscere la folla in cui vi siete.” You hummed, batting your eyelashes at each of the men, but especially the older, powerful woman, playing along and pretending to be flattered.

As you did so, you noticed the men’s attire. There were three of them, and they each wore standard Italian government shoes. Their suits were expensive, but not a fortune, again speaking for a government salary. All of them stood out in the ambience of the French ballroom. The french music accompanied by their hearty Italian voices were like two shrill violins being played at once, their styles just did not go well together. Then there was the older woman. She stood out from the rest of the pocket. Her attire still screamed Italian mob, just like the men, but wealthier. You gulped and wondered whether you stood out as much as they did. Because they belonged in this crowd, and you most certainly did not.

“Sei venuto nel posto giusto, tesoro. Il nome è Melissa! Lascia che ti presenti in giro!” The older, powerful redhead cooed, stepping forward playfully and offering her arm to you.

You sent the wealthy mob boss a coy smile, sauntering yo ur way over, hips swaying deliciously, in a way where all of their eyes were magnetized to you. You noticed the expensive bracelets on her arm as you linked your arm into hers.

“Come potrei rifiutare? Guida la strada, Melissa.” You hummed teasingly, your eyes sparkling with flirtation in submission.

As Melissa guided you out of one pocket and towards another, you stifled the gag in her throat from the rest of the room’s behavior (especially the men). You may have the skill of deception down, but you certainly had not gotten used to how disgusting it made her you with what she had to play to.

As they swayed in tandem across the floor, you picked up the many other languages being spoken, as well as the many cultural fashions being worn. A group of Japanese business men were tucked into the corner of the ballroom, conspicuously chattering away, on the other side was a group of mixed gender Portuguese officials. Corruption from all around the globe was present, the highest officials doing business with one another, the worst of the worst gathering annually, all under the pretense of diplomacy. You was triggered out of her thoughts and nervousness by the sound of a new tongue, a group of old money men drinking and chuckling to themselves.

“Meine Herren, darf ich Sie meiner Bekannten Carmen vorstellen!” Melissa exclaimed in a semi broken speech.

These men did not react as openly as the previous pocket, and their gazes seemed to be more judgemental. You tried not to look like she was having a panic attack at how intensely these men were analyzing her. She tried to focus on her mission: analyze the party goers and collect character information. After a moment however, a brunette woman on the side of the pocket extended her hand to the you.

“Es ist schön, dich kennenzulernen, Vivian. Ich bin Lauren.” the international woman hummed, while shaking the your hand.

These men and Lauren seemed to blend into the scene more than the previous. They were quieter and more reserved, but that by no means meant that they were any less powerful than the former. You were sure that each person in here could realistically put out a hit on her and have her killed in less than 24 hours.

You continued to mingle, allowing Melissa and Lauren to guide you by your lower back and hand you the introductions you needed on a silver platter. You laughed at all their jokes while collecting all of the details you could. You had now gotten used to how suffocating the air was. You had successfully established yourself in the inner circle.

~~~

Part 2, more heated fic, of this High Society AU…? 😏

Melissa Schemmenti Masterlist

Emily Prentiss Masterlist

[wosowrites]

Jessie Fleming (In Front of the Camera)

warnings: none

prompt: in which you and jessie have a day of picture taking which makes jessie nervous

a/n: she. looked. amazing. holy. cow.

Jessie was a behind the camera girl. You were an in front of the camera girl. She was the one behind all the amazing pictures on your instagram feed. But you loved taking pictures of her. You thought she was perfect, amazing, beautiful… and you never felt more lucky then when you read comments under a post of hers. People loved her, fangirled over her, but she was all yours. You were all hers.

"I just don’t get why they want me to be in the photoshoot. I would rather be taking the pictures, they know that," she complained, sitting on her couch sipping a cup of coffee. "Because, people love you. They love seeing you. And also you look… amazing. Literally perfect on camera," you said to her, walking in the kitchen and putting together things for a salad bowl. "People love you. They like seeing you, y/n and you’re the most beautiful person ever. All they need in the shoot is you. But they also got… Keish, and Millie. Z, Sam, Lauren, Reanna and Ashanti and then people from the men’s team. What do I add to the group?" She asked you. "Beauty, perfection-" you started listing before Jessie cut you off.

"Oh shush. They got all that from you," she rolled her eyes.

You abandoned the ingredients in the kitchen and walked over to her, sitting in front of her on the couch. "Baby. You don’t go on social media but man the people on there absolutely love you. I see edits of you and people commenting on your perfection. And I know it’s not because you’re insecure it’s just because you hate being the center of attention but it’s just one shoot my love," you said.

She held eye contact with you for a bit, smiling slightly. "Okay. But I want to be with you in the pictures. Not just me," she begged.

You smiled at her and leaned in to her gently, your lips connecting sweetly for a few seconds. "Supper’s ready," you said with a smile, standing up and letting her follow you to the kitchen.

The next morning you woke up at 8:00 am. Jessie’s hair was spread wildly over her pillow, her eyes closed, her freckles even more visibly due to the bright summer sun. You watched her, gently brushing your fingers through her hair, being soft enough to make sure she didn’t wake up. You knew the second she woke up that her brain would be filled with worries of the upcoming photoshoot and you wanted to make sure her mind stayed peaceful for as long as possible.

You delicately moved the covers off of yourself and slipped out of bed. You were wearing a big tee shirt that Jessie had accidentally ordered in XXL, the same shirt that was the butt of most of your jokes towards her. You walked into the kitchen and got started on coffee and then on some bowls of yogurt with fruit, granola and honey. You put it all on a tray and brought it to her in bed.

By the time you were in your room, she was sat up in your bed on her phone.

"Morning baby," she said to you, putting her phone down and smiling widely. "Morning, you look… oddly peaceful," you said, placing the tray on her lap and kissing her quickly. "Why wouldn’t I? And what’s the breakfast in bed for?" she asked after kissing you back. "The photoshoot…" you said gently.

"Oh shit. I forgot," she groaned, throwing her head back. "My love, it’s going to be okay. You wake up looking how most people do after an hour of getting ready. You’re gonna be fine, I love you," you said to her, giving her the most reassuring look ever.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you," she smiled. "Hmm… maybe not enough," you smiled.

"Well let me tell you then, because this breakfast looks good but you look even better," she smiled. "Okay you flirt. Not now. You need to eat," you laughed. "Boo," she pouted.

After breakfast, it was straight to getting dressed. You put on sweatshorts and a hoodie as it was a chillier summer day in London. You also didn’t have a lot of loose clothes left as you were both packing to go Down Under.

You showered, washed your face, and covered some blemishes with concealer before getting dressed. Jessie put on a similar outfit and tied her hair up.

"Let it loose," you said as you looked at her through the mirror. Jessie looked back at you an pulled the hair tie out of her hair. You stood behind her, looking over her head at her through the glass due to your height difference. You gently smoothed out her hair and tucked it behind her ears before kissing her cheek. "Ready to go?"

At Cobahm, the main area had been redecorated. They had installed a fake wall with pictures of Chelsea through the ages. There was a black leather couch pushed against it and a yellow curtain that didn’t have a widow behind it was hung up on the wall. They had an area full of props, phones from the 90’s, old radios and then a rack full of the new kits with tags with everyone’s name on it.

There were then separate sets with different colour walls, different pictures and chairs with yellow and grey pillows. There were a bunch of people on set. Photographers, media designers, icons like Dennis Wise and Roberto Di Matteo were already taking pictures.

You met with the rest of the people in the same photoshoot as you, talked to the photographers and then they started figuring out who went where.

"Okay. We can play this two ways. Split up the people who are seen together constantly, so moving Zecira, Jessie and y/n away from each other. Or we keep the groups together. But I think the first idea is better," the photographer said to the group. "Not the latter. Mixing it up is better," the other photographer answered.

They then spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out who goes where. You could tell within five minutes Jessie was getting tired of this already. But after a bit, they figured it out. "Yes. Yes this is it. Y/n between Keish and Z is what it’s gonna be. Okay. Perfect. Pose!"

Sam and Keish threw up peace signs, Lauren leaned on Millie as instructed by the photographers. Everyone was doing their own thing for the camera. "Okay, good. Let’s try Jessie and y/n beside each other. Look at one another, smile… yeah beautiful!"

"It’s over now, right?" Jessie said after the group photos were done. She whispered it to you but the photographer heard. "Eager now aren’t you?" she laughed. "And sorry but it’s not. Individual pictures now," she smiled before walking off.

"She’s kidding right," Jessie said. "Uhm… listen i’m sorry I made them not tell you I just didn’t want you to stress out all day," you said. "Y/n…" she groaned, dragging out your name. "I’m sorry, i’m sorry," you said. "It’s okay. I get it. But you owe me a huge meal from Joe and the Juice," she bargained. "Deal,"

They then announced the order of the shoot. Jessie and Sam would be photographed where the group picture had been taken with the yellow curtain as a backdrop. Millie, Z and Keish had been assigned to a large wall with pictures of the clubs highlights which Jessie would go to later while you and Lauren were sent off to a pink backdrop.

"Ready LJ?" you asked. "Come on now. You know the cameras out thinggg," she winked, slinging her arm around your shoulder.

The photographer loved you. You were a natural. Your poses were natural, your fake laughs seemed all too real. Quicker than ever, you were done.

You walked over to where Jessie was taking a picture with an old white phone from the 90’s (the theme of the shoot) and looking at it weird. She looked beautiful for someone who posted a picture with herself in it once every 5 months.

You filmed her discreetly as she laughed at her own awkwardness and posed again.

"Y/n! Photo wall please!" the photography director called. At the sound of your name, Jessie’s head turned to look at you. You smiled at her lovingly and winked. "You’re doing amazing," you mouthed before giving her a thumbs up.

You then turned around and walked over to the other set up where they made you change into another jersey. You sat on the couch, crossing your legs and leaning into the corner of the couch with your arms on the back of the piece of furniture.

They guided you enough the shoot, the poses and the facial expressions you should be wearing before letting you go. "You’re done!" he said after he snapped a few pictures.

You smiled at him and let out a breath, you couldn’t wait to take off these jeans and runners and put your sweatsuit back on, to get into the car with your girlfriend and buy her whatever she wanted before cuddling up on the couch and watching a movie.

But your girlfriend still had a few more solo pics to do and she was getting tired.

She sat on the couch you were just on as the photographer put on a special lense on the camera. He snapped a few pics but she was unfocused and her gaze kept on glancing to you. You were leaning against a chair and tapping away on your phone.

"Fleming, over here?" the photographer said, looking over to where she was looking. "What? Oh. Yeah sorry," she said. "Do you want her in the pictures? Would that be better?" he asked, trying to accommodate Jessie. "Yes. Is that a possibility because that would be so much better," she exhaled. "Yeah, let’s get her over," he said, smiling at Jessie.

He sent over the other photographer, the woman to get you. "Hey, can you be in a couple more pictures. Jessie is just distracted and clearly wants to go so maybe if you were with her it would be easier." she pitched.

"Oh yeah of course," you said, dropping your bag with your clothes after putting your phone in it.

You hurried over to Jessie and let yourself fall onto the couch. You layer your head in her lap and smiled up at you. This was probably the most PDA you had ever done on camera, but Jessie seems relaxed, comfortable, happy.

You weren’t exactly public. People knew you were dating, but you had never launched it. You had never said "this is my girlfriend, Jessie Fleming" even though you wanted too so badly. People just knew, and that was enough for you and for Jessie. Or so you thought…

You left Cobham beyond excited to see the pictures that had been taken, but also nervous from the proposition you wanted to ask Jessie. You got into your car and turned on the engine. "You looked beautiful," Jessie said to you, watching you concentrate on the road ahead of you. "Says you, baby" you smiled, taking your eyes off the road to check her out.

"But…" she said, reading you immediately. "There’s no but. What makes you think there’s a but? Why would there be a but? I mean you did look beautiful and you’re all I need but- I mean no there’s no but! Fuck," you rant, ending your sentence with a groan. You felt your eyes tearing up and you didn’t even know why. You fixated on the road.

Jessie put her hand on your thigh and looked at you with concern. "Baby, hey what is it. What is happening right now? Tell me my love," she said to you, ushering you to pull over.

You did and leaned your head against the head rest. "All I need in the world is to be with you. For me to be yours. That’s all i’ve ever needed and wanted, you hear me?" you started off by saying, wanting her to hear you loud and clear. "I hear you. I hear you y/n/n," she said, "look at me honey," Jessie said, gently making you look into her eyes with her hand.

"I want the public to know about us. I’m not saying kiss in public, or even hold hands on camera. And like- I don’t want to make a whole post about us being together but- look Sam took this video she sent to me a couple minutes ago," you said, pulling out your phone.

You clicked on Sam’s profile on your text message app and opened the video. You were lying on Jessie’s lap and she brushed a strand of hair out of your mouth. You laughed and kissed her hand before she jokingly said ew and wiped her hands all over your stomach. You squealed and then pinched her nose gently before looking at the camera and smiling.

The video cut off and Jessie looked at you. "I want people to see it. I want to caption it… my love or something stupid and yucky and cheesy. Something you would hate. But you don’t even have to see it because i’ll post it on my story and then ditch instagram for a week," you said to her, looking into the comfort of her eyes.

"Okay," she said.

And it wasn’t a reluctant okay. It wasn’t a "I want what you want even though I don’t really want that" okay. It was an "I love you and I don’t care about what people think" okay.

"Really?" you asked, a small smile forming on your face. "Yes. Yes 100%. I just want you to be happy. And clearly you are but if this makes you even more happy then… sure," she smiled.

You had never kissed her so hard and so softly at the same time.

Once you got home, you change into a sweatsuit and sat down on the couch. Jessie curled up beside you, her head on your shoulder and watched your phone. You opened instagram, selected the video and thought what to type out.

my lovely girl ♾️❤️

And then it was posted, and the confirmation that you were Jessie’s was out to the world. You threw your phone aside and looked down at Jessie. The fingers on your left hand brushed through her hair, your fingers on the right hand traced over her stomach. "This is scary," she said. "It is. But i’m with you. And I’m never leaving," you said to her gently.

Jessie pulled her phone out and went to your story. She reposted it. "You never post stories, Jess," you said, looking at her. "Yeah. But this is a team thing. It’s you and me, we’re the team," she said.

She put a pink smiley sticker and posted it onto her story. To the public eye it didn’t seem like a lot, but to you, you knew how much it meant.

Jessie closed her phone and placed it on the table beside the couch.

"I think this is good," she smiled.

You smiled back and leaned your head on hers. "You mean everything to me baby, I love you," you whispered to her.

You broke social media.

All your friends were texting you, freaking out that you went public. People were tagging you in posts on instagram and edits on tiktok. It was insane what the launch of your relationship made.

But there was also the hate. The hate of the confirmation of yours and jessie’s queerness. Jessie was never on social media, so she didn’t see any of it. The realization that you didn’t live in some happy little gay bubble and that there actually was homophobia in this world hit you like a truck. But through that, Jessie was there.

Jessie was just always there.

[gunnerfc]

🎄WOSO FICMAS: Dec. 14 - Esme Morgan🎄

Esme Morgan x Reader (Man City & England) | WC: 464 (one of the shorter one 🥲)

Dec. 14 prompt - Ice Skating

-> woso ficmas masterlist can be found here!

When a few of your teammates brought up the idea of going ice skating, you were a bit skeptical and more worried about potential injuries that could happen. You quickly changed your mind when you saw how excited Esme was to be going, wanting her to have the best time. In the days leading up to the outing, you watched the blonde pretend she was skating around the apartment, her socks acting as her skates. 

The two of you were the first to arrive at the ice rink, Esme’s excitement reaching its peak when she woke up. The entire car ride there was filled with different ice skating tricks she saw when binging videos on the sport, though you knew the two of you would not be attempting any of them today. There was still a little voice in the back of your head that was worried about injuries, especially since the season was not over yet and the team couldn’t afford to have multiple players due to ice skating-related injuries.

You and Esme had just gotten your skates when Ellie, Chloe, Lauren, and Khiara showed up. Your teammates for both club and country, were quick to get their skates as well so they could join you and your girlfriend. Of your teammates, Chloe was just as excited as Esme, if not more, considering it was her idea. The four other lionesses paired off, struggling on the ice the moment they stepped on it. 

With the other four off together, it allowed you and Esme together, attempting to balance on the ice. The countless videos the blonde had consumed before, not doing a thing to help either of you. 

“Thought you were a pro at this by now, love.” you joked, hands gripping tightly on the side of the wall surrounding the rink. 

“It’s a lot harder than it looks, you know?” the blonde huffed, taking the smallest step to keep herself balanced. 

You gave the blonde a small laugh, the laugh got louder as you watched Khiara and Lauren fall on the other side of the rink. With shaky hands, you let go of the siding, reaching a hand out for your girlfriend to hold so the two of you could attempt to skate together. 

With tentative movements, the two of you started moving across the ice, hand-in-hand. It was not as graceful as the skaters Esme had seen in the videos she watched and it certainly wasn’t as fast as the other people around you. But slowly gliding across the ice watching your girlfriend’s smile grow with each step, you didn’t care about the people passing you. You knew after today, the two of you would be back, determined to master this new sport that your girlfriend had a newfound love for.

[ssaemilyhotchner]

Congrats on the 1K 🫶

L (:

for you, dear @infinite-reads! thank you for your request, hope you enjoy <3

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: L | prompt: Lauren | wc: 0.7k | cw: implied sexual activity | a/n: Hotch’s interest is piqued when he hears Emily mention that she has a gig—even more so when he arrives at the venue and realizes it’s a nightclub.

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

The jazz club is small, tucked away on the far side of the highway. It's neither too congested nor too animated when he arrives; not seedy, either, unlike some of the joints they’ve visited on cases. There's a small bar to his left, a couple of booths and round tables scattered throughout—and at the very front, a stage. It's just been vacated, as he can tell from the scattered applause.

He looks around for her, mood deflating when he can't find her. He's making his way to the bar and wondering if he misheard the location when he hears it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Lauren to the stage."

Lauren.

Hotch turns around and there she is, in a blue velvet dress that will surely make an appearance in his dreams soon. But—Lauren? Of all stage names, he muses darkly, his mind running circles as he thinks that maybe she isn't coping as well as they all thought.

He can't dwell on it for much longer, however, because her husky voice begins filling the room and he is lost. He watches intently as her hips move from side to side with a cat-like, sinewy grace. She's swaying to the slow rhythm of the song, and he, like the majority of the others in the club, is mesmerized.

Unbeknownst to him, Emily knows he's there. With the exception of the spotlight bathing her in warmth, the lights are all dimmed, but she can still make out his silhouette at the bar, nursing a drink. The fact that he found her here should make her apprehensive—after all, it was a casual mention, not necessarily an invitation—but instead, she's filled with a prickling, suggestive warmth totally unlike that which the spotlight is providing.

He is still gazing at her when the song ends and she takes a bow, her body curving in such an inherently sultry way that, for a moment, his mind is completely wiped blank.

She uses this to her advantage, of course.

--

"I had a feeling I'd see you here tonight."

Hotch chokes on his scotch at the sound of her voice, and when she rubs circles on his back to soothe him, his coughing only gets worse. When his airway finally clears, he looks up to see her smiling down at him, her pretty red lips stretched wide in a gleaming smile. "You okay?" she asks, chuckling slightly.

"I'm fine," he manages, offering her a small smile of his own. He hadn't expected to get caught, not really, but he can't exactly leave now, not when he has so many questions—questions only she can answer. Instead, he says the only other thing that comes to mind.

"You look beautiful."

Emily sidles up beside him and finally takes a seat, watching as he signals for the bartender and orders her a drink. "Thank you."

A beat passes before he raises an eyebrow in question. "Lauren?"

Her smile fades slightly, no longer meeting her dark eyes, but she shrugs off his query elegantly. Something tells him this isn't the first time she's had to explain. "What else would I call myself?"

He's wondering if he should be worried at her nonchalant air when she suddenly grabs his hand. "Dance with me.”

In his mind's eye, Hotch still sees her on that stage, the spotlight teasing out hidden fires in her hair. He doesn't want to say no to her, couldn’t possibly, but the logician in him is necessitating a fight. “I can't dance,” he says half-heartedly.

In true Prentiss fashion, Emily persists, unconvinced. "Sure you can. I've seen you before." There's a pause. "Either we dance or we talk, and something's telling me that you don't want to do the latter right now."

Just like that, she has him. He relents without any further demurral and walks her over to the tiny square of space cleared for patrons like them. On instinct, she wraps her arms around his neck and his snake around her waist. He barely has time to take in the lyrics to the song being sung in the background or muse about how well their bodies fit together when she fuses her lips to his.

--

They leave together that night.

Pressing her against the unyielding surface of his bedroom door, he tells her that this can only be a one-time thing. She agrees dutifully, but at the same time thinks that the next time she has a gig, perhaps they'll do this again.

And then, she drops to her knees before him and, in no time at all, has him gasping her name. Not Prentiss. Not Lauren.

Emily.

[lgbtpopcult]

November WLW entertainment rundown

TV

Love Senior the series, first episode drops on YouTube November 8.

Scott Pilgrim November 17

Black Cake: Season One Premiere – November 1st

Beacon 23: Season One Premiere – November 12

Movies

You’re Not Suppose To Be Here, November 4, Lifetime

You’re Not Supposed to Be Here,” which premieres Nov. 4, stars Stause and Diora Baird as a lesbian couple babymooning in a remote mountain town. Developed from Lauren Caster’s concept, “You’re Not Supposed to Be Here” follows pregnant couple Zoe (Stause) and Kennedy (Baird), who are offered a vacation from their stressful lives when Kennedy’s boss gives them a key to a cabin in the woods. When they arrive, however, they are met with less than welcoming arms, prompting Zoe to sound alarms of homophobia, which Kennedy attempts to tamper down.

Books, Games Music etc

That French Summer

Reeling from a very public scandal, Delia Holland takes refuge in a run-down French chateau. She’s determined to stay out of the lime-light, to rebuild her life, and most of all, to be happy. Guillotining her husband would be the icing on the cake, if only she could find him.

After an accident and a surprise breakup, Paris Bennett finds herself alone on her longed-for French vacation. Her characteristically immaculate plans have fallen apart, and she’s barely holding herself together. Plus, the novelty of being Paris in Paris is rapidly starting to wear off.

But when a thunderstorm brings the two together for a night, something begins to sparkle. Delia’s heart starts to fill with happiness again, and Paris suddenly finds that her carefully laid out plans aren’t as necessary as she thought.

Grumpy neighbors, interfering English teachers, a housekeeper who’s more than she seems, a battered car, an even more battered moped, rats and spiders galore, and a chateau that could fall on their heads at any moment come together to prove that the perfect love story doesn’t have to be perfect at all. Sometimes happiness is there for the taking, as long as you can persuade yourself to choose it.

This Bed We Made

https://store.steampowered.com/app/1243850/This_Bed_We_Made/

"February 17, 1958. Sophie's shift at the Clarington Hotel begins like any other — until she opens the door to room 505 and a crimson light comes out…" Does that appeal to your curiosity? If so, this noir investigation full of guilty pleasures and a nosy maid is perfect for you. And of course, you’ll be able to form all sorts of bonds with the hotel guests you usually work for.

Available for: PC

~The Summer Romance Bloomed From A Lie~

This is a story about finding love to overwrite the feelings for the one they held dearest. A girls love visual novel about summer, love and adolescence.

3 Nov, 2023 https://store.steampowered.com/app/1575980/UsoNatsu_The_Summer_Romance_Bloomed_From_A_Lie/

[endlesstwanted]

You Don’t Like Me But I’m Your Friend

It took me a bit, but this was inspired by @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #252 — Spill the tea, as well as a fill for @queer-it-up-bingo may prompt — Aro/Ace. You can read it under the cut and on Ao3 here.

Fandom: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Casey Acosta & Lauren Bloom

Tags: Aromantic Asexual Character, Dating, Banter

Summary: Lauren wants to find Casey a date. Casey is at his limit.

Wordcount: 940

Also created for: @multifandom-flash, April Events: compliment day | You Got Guts / @eclipsingbingo, The Rising Moon event | Blind Date / @fandombingo, The Little Prince edition | “You will always be my friend.” / @fandom-free-bingo, Mary time May | “I don’t like you.”

Casey has managed to stay away from Bloom for most of the day. One ambiguous comment on Saint Valentine’s Day after the first failed attempt at romance that ended up in the ER, and the Chief of the department had found her personal goal of the day: trying to get him a date. Casey has rolled his eyes at the idea, and that’s what took for Lauren to push even more. He then thanked two broken bones, a viral infection and a problematic cardiac arrest, which had been keeping them busy and Lauren away from her shenanigans.

He has no interest in dating. He doesn’t do dates, or romance, or anything related to relationships that people expect you to be a part of. He doesn’t hang out with people having the pressure to make them like him, and he’s content with what he has.

A date would just be frustrating. A blind date, moreover, would be confusing for the other person with whom Casey would not seek more than, if it works out, a friendship.

And he doesn’t have time to tell Lauren all of this because now is his tea time: the perfect time-frame of fifteen minutes between the visits of the afternoon have left and the evening emergencies start to flood the room. He’s gotten to the residents’ lounge on the third floor, because the ER may have the best coffee, but he knows where to get his jam from. Well, his tea.

The room is empty and Casey goes through the cupboards in search of his vanilla rooibos, a box he hides behind the snacks he believes are of the oncology resident. He takes one little bag, gets the water, and—

“You got guts.” He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Bloom on the door-frame, and he does his best to not roll his eyes again. “Hiding from me in the place where you think I don’t know you go to every day at this time?”

“I’m not hiding. And this can wait ten minutes,” he excuses himself.

“Emergencies won’t wait ten minutes for you to—” she sniffs, leaning to a side to try and get a look at what he is doing. “Wait, what’s that? Vanilla?”

“It is. Which I don’t share with people who try to get me dates.” With the water boiling, Casey folds his arms and leans on the counter, turning to hear Bloom’s intervention.

“What’s wrong with dating? Going out, having fun, doing things with someone you don’t know that you wouldn’t do with someone you do know …?”

“You’re not making it better.”

“Alright, I know blind dates can be scary. But they can be something you can enjoy too, if you don’t expect more than a fun evening.” Lauren smiles. She believes she’s getting somewhere with this. “Based on your dating score, which since I know you remain at zero, you don’t look like you would want anything out of a date. Or … do you?”

“I …” Casey sighs, “don’t even know where to start. I don’t want anything out of a date.”

“Alright, this gives us more room. I can pick someone you know or someone you don’t, whatever you want.” She’s smiling with confidence, and Casey fears what is coming next. “I’ve heard Calum from Accounting is single again, and there’s this cute girl who’s just moved in next door from my apartment!”

“Lauren.” The only way to stop her is using her first name. If Casey knew her middle one, he may use it too. “You’re not reading the room we’re in. I don’t even want a date.”

“So dating sounds like a nightmare to you as it does to me, doesn’t it?” She has come closer as Casey put together his tea and now plays with an open packet of peanuts someone has left forgotten there.

“I’ve never been on a date,” he says. “Well, I think I have been in a couple, but without knowing they were dates. I don’t understand how dates work.”

“So, this whole situation would put you at … unease,” Lauren reasons.

“Yes. I mean, no,” he shakes his head, “I wouldn’t go on a date, to begin with.” He takes a sip from the tea, and hopes the conversation doesn’t escalate.

“Not a romantic date, I get it. But what about … a friends’ date?” She arches an eyebrow. “You have friends. And I know I drive you crazy sometimes, —”

“More times than that,” Casey mumbles under his breath.

“But, I will always consider you my friend. If you consider me yours, that’s it. So, tonight …” she plays with the peanut on her hand instead of finishing the sentence.

“Let me guess, you don’t have plans for tonight, do you?” Casey figures out. 

“Not one,” Lauren replies after throwing a peanut to her mouth. “Ask me on a friends’ date.”

Casey laughs, holding his mug with two hands. “That’s not happening.”

“C’mon. If I ask you, you will say ‘no’.”

“And you’re not wrong,” he points out.

“I’m starting to think this conversation isn’t going to end,” and now she sighs.

“Alright, Doctor Bloom. Forgetting how unprofessional this sounds, you got plans for tonight?”

“We don’t work in the same department, Casey, hanging out outside of the hospital is completely fine.”

He shows a closed smile, full of irony. “I’m not the one pushing the other to have a date here. Think of somewhere you can take me to grab a drink.”

“So, now that this is settled … can I try that?” Lauren looks at his mug. “It smells fantastic.”

“I don’t like you enough. You should get your own vanilla rooibos.”

[futfemfantasies]

Prompt List:

Hey everyone! 

I have some ideas and who they are for but I want to see which ones you all want. If you want to suggest anyone else or make a change to the prompt, I’m happy for that! Or even if you have a prompt not on the list, send it through :)

Request the number and player and I’ll write it as soon as I can :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. “I see us in front of an altar one day”  Lucy Bronze

2. Y/N dedicates a song to _______ at her concert after just coming out  Sam Kerr

3. Asking for permission to kiss Alex Morgan

4. Casual intimacy - baths, washing each others hair, soft kisses Leah Williamson

5. Prohibited kisses - hands in hair and others on waist, lower bodies pressing into each other Patri Guijarro

6. “Can you repeat that? My brain hasn’t woken up yet”

7. “They’re just a friend, I swear”

8. “You’re my best friend! We shouldn’t, I shouldn’t be feeling like this. Fuck!” Alanna Kennedy

9. “Come to bed”

10. “Go home _____” “I’m already home”

11. Flower crown making on a picnic date Christen Press

12. World Cup proposal. Reader plays for England or USA and is dating _____ Sam Kerr

13. “I didn’t know who to call” Reader gets broken up with and seeks comfort in _______

14. Reader not healing from her mother’s death (Christen Press’ younger sister). ________

15. Barcelona team go to a Chinese restaurant and readers fortune cookie reads ‘Don’t let the one good thing in your life slip away’. _______ reads ‘your true love is around you’. At the hotel, reader and ______ link pinkies behind the group and share a kiss when they wait for a new elevator since the team filled them all up.

16. Reader joined Barca in 2017 and grew close to ________. Ended up being together for lockdown. Reader goes to Australia for national team camp and gets teased by Sam, Macca, Caitlin and Steph etc. Reader and ______ talk about coming out / what photos to use. _____ posts first then reader follows. Teasing by the team starts again after photos are posted. Mapi Leon

17. Reader is injured and she knows __________ wants to surf when she’s home so she re-waxes her surfboard as a surprise

18. Reader is quarantining with _________ when Australia wins the World Cup in 2020. It’s early in the morning and reader yells and screams, waking up ______.

19. Reader is going on a ‘date’ but knows _______ is in love with them. ________ helps pick out an outfit for the ‘date’ but reader wears it on their first date.

20. Alex Morgan little sister (5 years younger) - dating ________. Alex finds you two making out after a national team friendly - USA vs _________. Alex ‘threatens’ _________.

21. Reader singing One Less Lonely Girl to _________ on the bus on a long trip from a game to announce their relationship. Lucy Bronze

22. _________ surprising reader (Leah’s older sister) at Arsenal. Reader scores in the 90+5 minute, sending Arsenal to the Champions league final.

23. I Wish - One direction (sad fic) Leah Williamson

24. All Of The Girls You’ve Loved Before - Taylor Swift (reader dedicates this to __________ at their concert) - reader’s first time saying they’ve fallen for _______. 

25. Reader cooking for _______ for the first time and it’s really good.

26. “I could kiss you right now” “You’re very welcome to do it”  Reader scores an important goal in an important game.

27. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time and I’m scared”

28. “I think you’re parents may like me even more than you”  _________ meets readers parents for the first time due to covid.

29. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but I have no choice”

30. “I miss you” “It’s just temporary” 

31. “They all reminded me of different parts of you so I got one of each” Reader can’t decide on one type of flower so the florist makes a bouquet with all different flowers from around the shop.

32. “Was that your way of asking me to marry you?” Reader is a singer and writes ‘That Part by Lauren Spencer Smith’.  Leah Williamson // Millie Bright

[dabilove27]

Hi Rach 🥰🥰

Could I request prompt #3 with Madara Uchiha, mayhaps? ❤️

Or honestly write whoever you want for that prompt, with a little dash of angst. I love that prompt so I’m excited to see what you do with it!

Congrats on your follower milestone my love! 💕

Hello lovely Lauren!!!! I am sorry this took me so long! Life and kidney stones completely destroyed my schedule! Thank you so much to @lady-lunaaa for giving this a quick read through!

Link to the masterlist

Warnings: hints of intimate moments, established relationship, pet name “my love” and a hint of angst. Let me know if I missed anything!

At night, the moon shines high and bright, casting its rays through your open window and illuminating Madara's skin. The weight of unspoken words fills the room with an uneasy silence. The two of you lay naked in your bed, the covers half strewn across your bodies.

"I thought you weren't going back," you finally muster up, your mouth dry and throat aching from the noises that had recently escaped you in an intimate moment with the man staring blankly at your ceiling. 

"I wasn't going to, but I must finish what I started. I can't allow this failed experiment to continue any further." Madara’s words drip with contempt.

You release a slight hum of acknowledgment even though there's an ache in your heart. You didn't anticipate developing feelings for the enigmatic man who arrived in town one day, brimming with animosity and rage. After spending a few unrestricted nights together at your home, you witnessed his passion and brilliant mind. He was definitely unlike any previous partner you've had.

Madara shared his aspirations for Konohagakure and how they were shattered when he witnessed his clan being suppressed by the Senjus. While he exudes confidence and cockiness in his ability to combat Hashirama, you feel apprehensive and concerned that the outcome could be fatal.

You wish he would stay by your side and abandon his plans to attack the village, but Madara is resolute. Is it foolish to desire a family to attain happiness with him? If you were to reveal your knowledge about him to others, they would definitely answer in the affirmative. The heart can be fragile when it comes to love, sometimes overlooking the flaws, especially when Madara manages to captivate you so swiftly.

The first time you saw him, he appeared like a shadow in the night. His long, dark hair that glistened in the moonlight. Scars littered the hard planes of his body. There were deep stress lines beneath his dark eyes. All of it drew you in. To put it mildly, he was handsome. 

Despite the logical warning to not pursue this elusive figure, your heart couldn’t resist his beckoning. The thought of him departing and never returning was too painful to bear. So instead of pushing the issue, you let your fingers trace over his toned stomach, following each scar slowly. 

That was your intention, or so you thought. Instead of controlling your emotions, you blurted out selfishly, "But what about me?"

Madara shifts his gaze towards you and carefully observes the anxiety and exasperation visible on your face with his intense, dark eyes. "My love, what about you?" He repeats the question you asked earlier. As he pulls you towards him, his face draws nearer to yours. His lips are against yours for a moment, and you can taste the remnants of you on his tongue. Just a reminder of how close the two of you were just moments ago. 

Madara pulls away from you too quickly and lets out a short growl as he whispers, "For you, my love, I would destroy the world." 

Thanks for reading!

[augment-techs]

I know it’s no Oc,,,, but

🌾🌹

+ Spike Skullovitch

🌾 What would they be like if they were evil. Or if they’re already evil what would they be like as the good guy?

🌹 Do they have any scars? How and when did they get them?

Well, keeping to at least some semblance of the rules, let us go along with Putty!Spike, so we can have some fun~

🌾=

If he were evil, it would be in large part because of either forced indoctrination by Master Xandred messing with his genetic makeup or some part of his clay from Finster corrupting him that came completely out of left field.

I would like to think that the human part of him would not allow him to be completely demonic and cruel as any other demon and monster out in the world. True, he would be able to send down the wrath of gods because of his being probably the most supreme version of a putty that has ever been or would ever be--like, seriously, boy could turn into a monster from the darkest wilds and slaughter a city if goaded into it--but there is just something about having been around the Power so long amongst his family that would make him incredibly wary about engaging with the Rangers for longer than needs must.

Also, he is bound by the form he inhabits, and every monster has some soft, weak spot, somewhere. A cat playing with a mouse before swallowing it can still be poisoned by any pellets the mouse ate filled with cyanide; or drown crossing a river. For Spike, he'd be INCREDIBLY susceptible to fights with a Purple or Blue Ranger. Which means if he did go rogue, his Uncle Bulk or Samurai Ranger Kevin would have to take him out. Which for Kevin would hurt; he did get to know the guy in their teens when he and Lauren were in ice skating and swimming competitions--and also while Spike was spying on the Samurai team for Lauren without walking about in human form. But for Bulk...he would try his best only to hurt the young man as needs must, but it would be tantamount to cutting himself with a scalpel each time.

🌹=

When he was born through an act of the most revolting cruelty inflicted on Skull on the moon, Finster made his disapproval plain by poking the infant with his sharp fingernail until blood was drawn along his left side and Spike made his discomfort known--by which point, Finster got his leg broken basically in half and his face bashed to a bloody pulp for his trouble. When he was not even two weeks old, his grandmother finally decided to pay Skull and the infant a visit where they were recuperating at Angel Grove's Promethea. She already had an incredibly low threshold of empathy and affection for Eugene, so it really shouldn't have come as a surprise that she despised the infant on sight. Since Spike still had a bandage wrapped around his middle from the cut Finster inflicted, Madame Skullovitch could not resist pressing into the bandage until the cut reopened--and then deepened it until she almost grazed into newly formed bones. Right before Grace Sterling sucker punched the bitch and Terona snatched Spike up to stop the bleeding and sooth him as best he could.

At fifteen, there was an out of control teen that came into Angel Grove High to air past grievances with an automatic weapon. While everything and everyone was going into lockdown, there were a couple of freshmen that got caught out in the halls that made easy targets for the shooter's rage--but Spike had gotten a pretty good handle on his shifting abilities. The gun fired one round, but Spike had already gotten between the freshmen and the shooter as a bull moose that took up most of the hallway. He took the one bullet to the right side along the thickest rib, and it hurt like a bitch; but by that point he'd already turned his head to ram his not inconsiderably sized antlers directly into the shooter--which knocked the gun out of hand, the shooter to the floor, and gave Spike the opening to slam his massive hoof down on the asshole's belly. (Fortunately, nobody saw him transform, so after the freshmen ran out of the front doors to get the cops, Spike stomped the shooter once more in the belly, broke their ankle so they couldn't run away, kicked the gun over towards the doors where he could hear feet running towards them, then turned into blue-gold bushtit to fly out into the parking lot and wait for his dads. Of course Billy and Matt were freaking the hell out over the blood that was gushing from his side, but Eugene was mostly just incredibly proud while wrapping his son's ribs so they could go home and take out the bullet.)

When he was eighteen and still keeping his identity confined to various animals to guide and spy on the Samurai rangers in Lauren's stead, they came up against a demon that forced them into the ocean, had them pinned, would have ripped apart their megazord so the lot of them would drown, Spike intervened in the form of a Shishigami-Deidarabotchi mix (very fluid, face without features like a mannequin, branching antlers forming all along his long, fuzzy neck like stalagmites, legs like an upright walking hare, and arms so long ending in sharp points he was both beautiful and terrifying) and held off the demon until Lauren could make her grand entrance in her fox folding zord. The demon managed to tear into both of the scars along his sides, because the bastard fought dirty and mentioned something about "making them symmetrical" so they were deeper than ever, split off into three points at his hips, and made Spike scream even without a proper mouth--but he did not let go until Lauren was on the scene to help the Rangers and kick ass. He had to flee back to Shiba House property as a coyote, then a rabbit, then a tiny corn snake that barely made it under the porch, where Lauren found him bleeding and in agony. She brought him into the kitchen to set him into a large bowl, setting another bowl of milk mixed with her blood off to the side for him to drink, and made a call to Bulk and Kim at their shared dojo/youth center in Panorama City. (If Kevin had been freaking out that his best friend was actually the Shiba Heir and the first Black Samurai Ranger in history, he almost lost his mind when the tiny corn snake transformed into a slightly worse for wear Spike Skullovitch once Bulk showed up with food for the Rangers and clothes for his nephew.)

@skyland2703

[leslie057]

9a + 9b please 🙏

hello! thank you for the lovely combo

prompt game posted here

9a + 9b = call me lover + but one is pouting

word count: 3.7k

It isn’t right that she’s sad today, even less right that she’s playing up the sad, and that in doing this she hopes to work guilt into every part of him, like water into clay, like honey into comb.

Given their extra-special circumstances, she knows she shouldn’t be anything more than mildly annoyed with him about his inability to pronounce girlfriend. And that has to be the issue, pronunciation, because why else would he shy away from such an innocent word? There’s no reasonable excuse. It’s an easy statement to make: look, my girlfriend’s here. He can do it, with the same ease that he labels everything else of his, he can do it. It’s my camera, my spatula, my turn to drive, my shirt not yours and you can’t have it…all his, until she’s involved. No, they don’t own each other. But sometimes you have to lay claim to things in life.

You just have to.

He paints houses. Every day in West Somerville he does, from nine to dinnertime. Watertown and Brookline, too. But mainly Somerville, especially Winter Hill. Interior, exterior, deck, door, and drywall. Expensive houses, cheap houses, new and old houses, houses with picket fences. It’s just what Emerson is looking for, a teenage boy who really knows his way around a…picket fence?

But the gap year thing is okay, and he’s still here with her as she navigates everything, even if he didn’t want to apply for college until it was way too late. He can apply for next year.

He moved away, far away just for her, no college waiting for him at the end of the journey, willing and able to be the slow tagalong Somerville boy to her busy Boston girl. And they get to live together. Harmony of opposites applies, as it always has. His loyalty means the world, and for what it’s worth, he is the best rated decorator Lovell Painting’s ever had. Very committed to the job.

But now Mr. Lovell doesn’t know she’s his harmonious opposite, doesn’t know she’s the girl he’s bringing home the bread to (not a lot of bread, but so much more than you’d expect someone to get for slinging paint) (then again, there’s probably no slinging involved, because Jonathan clearly believes there is an art to the task) (he has a weird way of leaning into unbeaten paths, finding purpose in hushed, forgettable places) (it’s lovable, is what it is, when she manages to push away the feeling that he’s missing out by not being in school).

No, Mr. Lovell doesn’t know who she is, because her boyfriend didn’t say. Couldn’t bring himself to say. Couldn’t bring himself to say the G word.

She’d asked Lauren from the student paper to take her to him after class. She missed him, plus she thought he shouldn’t be all alone on his way back home. He does plenty of lonely driving throughout the week. And since Lauren does everything for everyone, she actually said yes. Fifteen minutes later, Nancy was at a place she’d never been before. Here they were at the end of October, and she hadn’t been. She had no idea where her five star trades-boy turned in his paintbrush at the end of the day.

She’d wandered in, into the little white office that likely used to be a shed, all open windows and whirring box fans and latex fumes. On a stool, he filled out his timesheet. She gave him a hug around the neck from behind, avoiding the sensitive surface of his sunburned arms.

Made him jump, then made him relax.

“Sorry, I knew that would scare you. I’m not trespassing, am I?”

“No, you—no, not trespassing at all. What time is it?”

She tilted her head sideways and consulted her watch. “5:11,” she said. Tilted her head more, more, more, trying to kiss his jaw and its underside.

Hung over his shoulders like that, she took her first deep breath of the day. Tendrils of dried paint stretched across his shirt collar and sleeves, the kind of spiderweb splatters that don’t come out in the wash. She watched him jot down a couple light-handed notes in all capital letters. His name was everywhere on the page and highlighted in some instances, an indication of overtime work. She had felt weird then for being judgy—felt bad—thinking maybe there was a chance he was where he needed to be. Not school, right here. Humble, dependable, and first-rate.

Then Mr. Lovell came in.

And ruined everything.

“Jonathan, you heading out soon?”

“Oh, right now, actually. Turns out we can’t pick up anything until tomorrow morning. Like, anything at all, they said.”

“Yikes. Oh well, then.”

“Apparently our order got delayed because of the tight space rollers.”

“Hm. Tight space rollers, they never have them in, do they?”

“No, sir, never. They never ever have anything below a 6 inch.”

She stayed still, reading the room. Gauging the boss. Lovell didn’t seem to mind her or her public display of affection. He was a youngish man, son to the original Mr. Lovell of Lovell Painting, tall and nonchalant with the look of a relatable salesman.

“Hey. Jake Lovell,” he finally said to her. “Don’t think I’ve met you before, how’s it going?”

“Hey, good, thanks.” In the subsequent silence she waited. Waited for what was sure to come. Oh yeah, sorry, this is my girlfriend, Nancy. This is Nancy, we just moved in together. This is the girl I told you about, Nancy Wheeler. We’ve been dating for almost two years. She’s the best. Nancy is the best. Hey, guess what, my girlfriend Nancy once repainted her little sister’s dollhouse from top to bottom, think we should hire her next?

He kept his mouth shut.

“I’m Nancy,” she sighed.

“Oh, okay, you’re Nancy.”

Had he heard the name before? If he had, that must have been all he heard. His eyes were brimming with confusion.

“That’s me,” she said and untangled herself from her betrayer, the one she’d been draped over like some sleepy starfish.

Starfish didn’t want to cling anymore.

“She’s Nancy,” he’d mumbled while clearing off the desk.

The eldest in the room clocked the tension between them. “Well, you know it was nice to meet you, Nancy, but I’ve gotta get going. Be careful around the mess, you look very professional in those clothes.”

She slid her hands down the sides of her thighs, black slacks swishing above high heels.

“You look very…casual, Mr. Lovell. Guess we’ll see you later.”

And that was it.

And that was then. This is now: now, she is pouting. The most pathetic pouting session she's had to date. This is textbook manipulation pouting and then some, this is wallowing in the events of the afternoon like they involved theft, fraud, and murder.

Is she putting on a performance here? Yes, duh, of course she is. But is she down about what he said (and didn’t say) earlier? Also yes. That part is real. He did make her sad.

Yes.

Lucky for her, she’s got tricks in her bag.

Exactly four tricks, to be precise, for this type of situation. One, a shower—a shower taken earlier than usual. To get away and to get out of restrictive clothing (restrictive clothing doesn’t mix well with sadness). No more black slacks, no more newsgirl blouse. No jewelry either, it’s totally unnecessary. Unless…keep your necklace on, if you want, since that can be played with. Really you just have to remember that comfort is what works. Wet hair is what works. An XL shirt works, and peach soap works, and so does a frown, and so does a thick pair of socks, for whatever reason.

Two is a book. Not a short book, pick a long book. Flip to the beginning to read. Beginnings are hard to get through, and he knows it. He will empathize. Three, lack of light. The less light in the room, the better. Not only have you chosen to start a long book after 5pm without having even eaten dinner, you’ve chosen to do so without sufficient reading light. That’s true misery.

Four, the most important trick, is a bad record. Just awful. It needs to be scratched, it needs to skip. Needs to skip a lot. Your record should make other records worry about where they’ll be in ten years. Jonathan Byers doesn’t want this for you; if you are his favorite person, and listening to music is the best thing anyone can do, your tolerance of a broken record will rile him. You deserve better. He will want to compensate for all the hurt caused by your subpar listening experience.

“Nancy?” he says from the doorway.

“Mhm.”

“Good shower?”

“Sure. Good shower.”

“You beat me to it.”

It’s an understatement. Without a word, she had headed for the shower. Very first thing she did when they got to the apartment. She went to turn the water on, still wearing her shoes, and waited for it to get hot, and never once looked back.

She curls in on herself on the bed, avoiding his gaze. “Since when did you decide you have first dibs on everything?” she murmurs to her book. To Middlemarch.

“Uh, no, it's not that, I just meant that I’m…pretty paint-y, at the moment. You know?”

The response is delivered innocently, harmlessly, lightly, and she almost considers backing down, ditching the majority of her plan or maybe all of it. Almost considers, before deciding against. (She has to soldier on; his adorable use of a made-up word doesn’t fix a thing, now does it?)

“Right.”

“There’s so much primer on my hands, it’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s so bad. It’s like…it’s like if someone brushed plaster right onto my palm and then let it harden. Overnight.”

“Mhm.”

A break in the tense conversation comes and gives those background noise record screeches their moment to shine. Leaning on the doorframe, he winces.

“So,” she shifts her body until the blanket slips, “did you need something, or…”

Their eyes meet. His are sleepy–his are suddenly charged with doubt, two dark wells of worry.

“No, nothing, I don’t…it…it seems like you might be the one that needs something?”

She huffs. It seems like she needs something? For that she won’t go easy on him. A fake cry might cross her mind, if she were a psychopath, but fortunately for both of them she’s not. Sincere regret is already cocooning her, compacting itself with each passing minute, a dense shroud of claustrophobic ickiness. Not always as fun as you’d plan for: guilt tripping someone who’s hopelessly devoted. Really, how hard is it to have a mature conversation about the way you feel neglected in this one marginal area of the relationship, even though you’re well taken care of in all the others. Very hard, it turns out. Very very hard.

And besides, this is how the Jonathan and Nancy network operates. She uses her upset to make weird power moves. He lies about his upset altogether. The system is what it is.

“If you care so much, figure it out yourself.” It’s a feeble whisper, accessorized with the twitch of her bottom lip and an arbitrary sniffle. She flips over to the eighth page of Middlemarch. Pulls her blanket back up over her waist. The leftover scent of her body wash is strong, so strong, even in her own nose. It’s like peach sorbet and paint thinner had a baby in their bedroom.

“Nancy…”

His voice has that deconstructed softness in it, gentle yet desperate, which is highly familiar. He uses it constantly. That’s the trick in his bag, but she’s not quite sure he knows it’s a trick. Because of it, the whole stay-mad-at-him project isn’t gonna be smooth sailing. She swallows hard, necklace pendant between her fingers.

“Hey, what happened?” He steps closer to the bed and uncrosses his arms. “This isn’t…it isn’t about Lauren, right?”

Oh, wow. Okay. Clueless.

“Because you really do ask her for a lot of favors, and I know she’s always happy to do them, but just…maybe don’t make her drive out there again. Not when I’m literally clocking out.”

“Oh…” She closes her book and fixes her eyes on the window. That one actually does make her want to cry.

“No, don’t,” he pleads, “don’t do the sad oh thing. You’re gonna make me sad. You’re gonna break me.”

The sigh that escapes her is fully authentic in its lethargy. Her fingertips play over the pillow under her head and its silky case. “Sorry, it’s just that now you think I take advantage of Lauren and you don’t like to see me at work, so.”

“No, I love to see you, I had no idea you would come after class just for that. It was really nice.”

“Yeah, so nice—”

“Until you ignored me in the car, yes!”

Hugging her own waist, she draws up her knees. God, that record…it should be physically impossible for ABBA to ever sound bad but this is pushing it. How truly depressing.

She imagines that the invisible thread connecting his heart to hers is starting to fray at this point; those grating sounds in his ears, the mix of chemicals on his skin, the intentionally seductive nature of her pity party, the annoying flicker of the lamp in the corner (only thing the previous tenants left behind when they moved, the sole forgotten object). All of it must be torturing him.

He picks up her book off the mattress, leaves it in the windowsill to—sunbathe? Who knows, honestly.

"Look,” he says, “I think we might need to take a second before we get into this. Do you want me to leave you alone for a minute? Would that help, or no?”

Apprehensively he reaches down, down to touch her shoulder, sort of…petting her, a few times. What you’d do if you found a wild jaguar in your backyard, but it was a really sweet looking jaguar.

When she doesn’t bite, he bravely makes eye contact with her. “You just have to tell me what you want, that’s all I need.”

(Such a good boyfriend when he’s trying. Holy shit.)

Fearful that the affection wave will show on her face, she flips over, switching sides. “Want you to lay down,” she mumbles.

Well that wasn’t part of the plan.

She listens for his reaction. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. “I’m filthy, you do realize that.”

“We’ve gone to bed wearing monster blood…”

He shrugs his jacket off.

(So, the summer had been a violent ride. Summer of ‘86, filed away in her brain with the rest of her nightmare inventory forever. All’s said and done now. Maybe they’re finally safe. God, please.)

It takes them a sec to get settled, but he hems her in, wraps her up, holds her close without any further begging. It’s crazy satisfying. Plaster-rough hand curls around her ribs under her shirt, and his nose brushes her neck. Antsy, she shuffles her feet together, scrunched socks keeping her warm.

“You genuinely—”

“Smell so good?” she predicts.

“Yeah.”

“New soap.”

“Ten out of ten.”

“Well, you know, it’s not formaldehyde, but what is?”

“Give me some slack,” he murmurs, “not my fault all my passions involve chemicals.”

Painting houses is his passion now? Alright, good to know. It’s that, developing photos, and being so much of a dummy he forgets to introduce his girlfriend to his boss when they first meet.

Again: exactly the kind of boy Emerson is looking for.

A minute later he’s kissing her neck.

Yeah, not sure how that happened.

After taking his first few tastes, he quickly stops himself. “Wait, can I do this?” he wonders aloud.

“I’ll let you decide. Do you think you should be doing that?”

“I don’t know. On the one hand,” he places a soft kiss at the base of her throat, “I still haven’t figured out what’s going on with you.”

Her eyelids flutter. “And on the other?”

Mouth barely open, he drags the tip of his tongue across her collarbone in one slow slide. “On the other I think—”

She fails to repress a squeaky whimper, which makes him falter.

“…that doing this could maybe, just maybe, help me get information out of you.”

She’s lost her breath so fast. “Decisions, decisions,” she manages to get out.

Second option wins him over. Next he’s tangling up his hand in her wet hair, kissing her neck like there really is peach sorbet to be found in her pores. He hums while getting acclimated to the malleability of her damp skin, impossibly supple malleability, and lingers with his mouth at her pulse point before giving in and sucking on it, not hard enough to make a bruise, but enough to make blood rush to her head.

She grabs the back of his neck in an attempt to stay anchored and from there he surrenders, from there he lets her force the path that his lips map out on her. Chapped but sticky with spit, they part and purse on her jaw, softly massaging the bone.

“Please can we get you a new album soon,” he whispers, “this is painful.”

“Hm?”

“The record’s a disaster, throw it away.”

“Don’t tell me to throw my things away,” she slurs weakly.

Her thigh catches his hip, and she bucks a little, rocks a little. Nothing crazy, just dirty. She can’t help herself.

“Tell me what upset my girlfriend and I won’t say anything ever again for the rest of my life.”

-

There it is. Jesus, it’s what she wanted. See, there’s no pronunciation issue after all. Girlfriend. His girlfriend.

She goes perfectly still. He may not realize she’s all shook up inside, but he notices the outward change, that’s for sure.

Time to get into it.

She takes a moment to prepare herself. “Are you ready to listen?”

“I’ve been ready, Nance.”

“Okay. It wasn’t about Lauren,” she spills, “Lauren and I are fine. We didn’t have a fight, we’ve never had a fight, and after she dropped me off today she told me she likes the drive to Middlesex because the roads are so smooth and driving calms her down and she gets sick of being in Boston, and I promise I’m not lying when I tell you this, but she offered to take me again tomorrow, I swear to you she did.”

“Okay, I believe you—”

“Though now I’m thinking I don’t even want to take her up on the offer, because me being there was clearly an unwanted change that didn’t exactly mean anything to anyone, and if you seriously don’t know what made me switch up today I need you to ask yourself how you think my conversation with your manager made me feel earlier.”

“You’re upset because of…something Mr. Lovell said?”

He’s so lost.

“No, because of what you said.”

“And what did I say?”

“It’s what you didn’t say. Jonathan, you didn’t tell him who I was. You didn’t introduce me at all.”

“I’m—sorry, you…you introduced yourself, why would I need to—”

“He doesn’t know you’re dating me.”

“But he does? It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? Without words?”

“No! Not without words. For all he knows I’m some random girl you met on the street, next thing you know he’ll be setting you up on dates with his niece and scheduling you to work Valentine’s Day. You’re supposed to be upfront about us and you never, ever are. Why aren’t you?”

His turn to pout now. He rests his head on her shoulder. “I don’t know? Sometimes it feels like…”

The gears in his brain go on and on, and his blush deepens. “Like fishing for attention.”

“Well that’s why I’m sad, you’re why I’m sad. You don’t want attention, so you don’t call me your girlfriend. Maybe once a month, if that. You don’t call me your girlfriend a lot and I love when you call me your girlfriend. There’s nothing unclear about a word like that."

“I…can do better, I didn’t know it was a big deal to you. That I say it more.”

“Duh, I don’t wanna feel invisible. I want you to talk about me.”

Her heart pounds with the energy of the moment, with surfacing reminders of how different they are. The silence expands around them, his breathing shallow. This is really the first time it’s dawning on him, the depth of her need for validation? Maybe she forgot that acknowledgment of their relationship outside their private bubble is not something he would go for without being asked. Maybe she forgot.

"So it’s not the word,” he says, “it’s telling people?”

“I like privacy, I do, but what’s between us needs to be something others can see. Something they don’t have to guess on.”

Yeah, keeping their peers guessing in high school was good. Low-key meant less harassment, fewer problems. Having said that, high school is gone forever.

He nods. “I get it. I'll get it, eventually. I’ll try.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you.”

Though the conflict isn’t totally resolved, it kind of feels resolved for tonight. At least that’s what her hormones want her to go with, shifting back and forth, this way and that, residing on the rockiest of tectonic plates that have been calibrated to him for longer than he knows. As strange as her first two months of college have been, as many messes as they’re making in their relationship, she has infinite confidence in the Jonathan and Nancy network. All things considered, this is the right time to be messy, they’ll have plenty of room to clean up the love when they’ve grown up. Fighting isn’t fun but…it feels amazing to know he’s in this with her, wading out to her in the swell of their mature immaturity, sticking up for young love even after their conflict resolution turns chaotic.

He loves her, and whenever she’s blue, he begs her to let him fix it. Neither of them rest easy until the blue gets painted over.

“Hey, girlfriend?”

She breathes out a laugh. “What?”

“Since we’re sharing…”

She tilts her head back, pushes her nose against his gently. “Careful, don’t say something you shouldn’t.”

“I really like it when you use your revenge soap against me. Very evil, but I like it.”

[serraszn]

who: serra and adrian (@adrivns) where: avalon, apartment 35b

unlike her last my boyfriend rates my outfits video, where each look's inspired by his favorite shows (mostly just dc comic references--her man likes what he likes), to see how long it'd take him to catch on, this time, there’s no playful twist. she’s spending thanksgiving with adrian's family—a thought that fills her with enough anxiety that a prank video doesn't seem necessarily fitting.

the camera pans over a cozy corner of her living area, a collection of handcrafted iznik ceramics arranged on a shelf that grows with each visit to turkey, a quiet effort to understand her parents’ world a little better. adrian pulls her gaze, a stupidly soft smile on her lips, eyes alight and smitten. he sits in the foreground on a chaise lounge, an oversized plush throw draped thoughtfully over the arm. she's already pre-recorded the introduction, leaving the camera rolling as she disappears off-camera.

when she returns, she's dressed in a cotton sweater adorned with a large american flag, fitted jeans, and matching cap. there's a playful grin on her face that lights her features as she strikes an exaggerated, patriotic pose before adrian. "alright," she says with a light, singsong tease. "i'm going for suburban, white-picket fence, apple-pie realness." she turns to the camera, "top to bottom ralph lauren, naturally." with a twirl, serra prompts adrian to open his eyes. "so, what do you think, 1-10? i'm eating, right? is mr. all-american ready to introduce me as his girlfriend?"

[wosowrites]

Saving the Game (Erin Cuthbert x Reader)

warnings: ⚠️injury, swearing, throwing up⚠️

a/n: I had to reimagine the the second leg of the quarter final so let’s pretend erin wasn’t injured and that the game didnt go to penalties. based off this request:

prompt: in which saving the game means injuring yourself during the champions league quarterfinal and erin takes care of you through your injury.

The champions league quarterfinal was a scary time. Emma had made it extremely clear that we could not concede. No ball should be behind Berger. And Chelsea thought they had it, until they didn't. A goal was scored by Vanessa Gilles in the 76 minute, equalizing the game on aggregate. It was a stressful ten minutes, and then out of nowhere, the ball was in Lyon's half.

Guro ran up the wing, speeding through the Lyon centerbacks. She switched the ball to Lauren James who outskilled Wendy Renard, leaving her Gilles and the keeper. LJ spotted Erin, making a run down the middle. The British woman cut the ball back into the space, Erin struck the ball, and it was behind Endler, and into the net.

You let out a scream, full of excitement as you jumped onto Erins back and kissed the top of her head. The fans has suspicions about a possible relationship between the both of you, but it wasn't confirmed.

The celebrations died down, 2-1, agrogate. 4 minutes left on the clock.

Thats where things went wrong. Lyon got hungry, and worried. They needed a goal more than anything. And that's when Chelsea panicked. As Lyon started their counter attack, you tracked back, positioning yourself in the midfield. You almost got the ball from Lindsey, but she faked you out. Magda and Kadeisha were alone. You tried to get back but Magda had no choice. She slid, clipping the corner of Lindsey's foot.

The American went flying, it wasn't a bad tackle, but she needed to sell it. Magda argued, but a penalty was awarded right away. You cursed yourself, wishing you would have gotten the ball.

"Hey. I know what you're thinking. Don't. Do not think anything bad about yourself. Ann-Kat's got this." Erin told you, discreetly putting her hand on the small of your back and giving you a closed lip smile.

Lindsey Horan put the ball down on the penalty spot and breathed in deeply. You positioned yourself in between Magda and Guro, ready to run into the box and clear the ball.

The referee blew her whistle, and the American ran towards the ball. Except she missed. The ball bounced off the crossbar and went flying back into play. You were quick to run into the box, Ann Kat yelling at you to position yourself on the far post. And thats what you did. Except suddenly, you were a bit in front the goal line, and the ball was coming flying in your direction. If you didn't move, it would slip into the night right between you and the post. So, as any footballer would do, you moved.

There was a three meter distance between yourself and the post, and you realized as you were already mid air that your jump to block the shot would end in only one way. Your head colliding with the post.

But it was too late, and you honestly didn't care. All you wanted was for your team to win this. So you took it. The feeling of the ball hitting your stomach and bouncing off hurt, but it was nothing compared to your head smashing into the lower part of the post.

Your screams filled the stadium and even though the ball was technically still in play, everyone had forgotten about it. Lyon and Chelsea players alike crowded around you. You saw double, no, triple as you lay on the floor. Blood clouded your vision as you groaned. You saw people being pushed to the side and then a face so familiar you could have smiled. Erin.

And then everything went black.

You woke up due to cold water falling on your face. You would have jumped up if it wasn’t for Erin’s hands on your chest pushing you down into the turf. "Don’t move. You probably have a serious concussion." she said, gently brushing strands of bloody hair off your forehead. "Why the water?" you groaned. "Sorry, couldn’t do anything with you passed out." the medic told you. "You saved the game y/n. It was incredible. Horrifying to watch by the way, when they showed the replay on the screen Jessie looked like she was gonna throw up." Erin laughed, trying to lighten the mood. You just smiled gently. "Okay, let’s get you off this field." the medic said.

A stretcher was now at your side and both men gently lifted you onto it, telling another medic to hold your head steady. You laid on the stretcher, looking up at the sky through the open stadium roof. You were a little confused when the stretcher lifted up and heard no kind of applause whatsoever. You looked around to see everyone shaking their hands in the air instead of clapping. Honestly, you were relived, you didn’t think your head would be able to take the loud noise. "Our fans are pretty amazing." you said gently. "Tell me about it." Erin laughed.

As they carried you off, you felt your eyes fluttering. You were struggling to stay awake, your body hurt, and you didn’t feel good. It was only when you got carried into the tunnel and when Erin left you as she couldn’t walk off the field that you told the medic to stop.

"Mark. Mark stop walking. I think i’m gonna-" you didn’t finish your sentence as you sat up and leaned over the edge, throwing up.

Throwing up was your biggest fear. You hated it. Hated the feeling, the taste, everything about it. It made you cry, and shake and just want to pass out every time you threw up. Your team didn’t know about this fear, and you wanted to keep it that way.

Your chest heaved up and down as you cried, whispering 'oh my god' multiple times. "Hey, hey. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it." Mark said, calmly. "I’ll get the janitor, bring her to the medical examiners room." He ordered.

You had always liked the medics, they were nice to you.

You laid down on your side, weeping silently. You were scared.

There was a moment in time that was a blur. You got transferred to a bed, another medic gave you a bucket and changed the bandages on your head. He stabilized your neck and then had to do a few examinations on you. It was clear off the bat that you were seriously concussed.

You ended up falling asleep on the bed, tears had made your cheeks wet, and you were so tired your heart hurt.

You woke up an hour later, disoriented, in pain, and wanting your girlfriend by your side. And surely enough, that’s where she was. You noticed her as you turned your head gently, her eyes were closed and she was leaning back on the chair. Well, she was the one you noticed first, it was only a few seconds later that you saw everybody else. Magda, P, Keish and Jessie were squeezed onto the sofa, all of them asleep. Some girls were on the floor, others on stools, and all of them were there with you.

An hour earlier.

The Chelsea girls were extatic about their win, but the fear and worry they felt for you overtook the joy. The second the whistle blew, Erin jogged into the tunnel, followed by Emma Hayes and a few of the girls who were on the bench.

She headed to the medical examiners room and knocked gently on the door. Mark opened it to see Emma, Emily and Erin. "She’s asleep." he said, walking out of the room and closing the door. "And her head?" Emma said, worried. "She’s seriously concussed. Out for about a month I’d say."

Emma groaned loudly, the sound of her frustration filling the room along with the sound of the Chelsea girls coming into the tunnel. "Ill tell the girls, Erin. Go sit with her." Emma told the scottish midfielder.

Erin nodded and thanked Emma, opening the door to the room and seeing your figure on the bed in the corner. She pulled up a chair and sat next to you, noticing the wetness of your cheeks. She gently wiped the cold tears away with her palm, kissing your forehead and then sitting down.

Only ten minutes later, Erin heard the door open and quietly, the team poured in. "You guys don’t need to be here, it’s okay." Erin whispered. "She’s our teammate, and we would still be out there playing if it wasn’t for her." Magda said, earning quiet agreements from the team. "And you’re our teammate, and we’re not going anywhere until she wakes up." Sam added.

The girls settled into the room, all looking at you, who looked oddly peaceful.

Current time.

"Erin," you whispered, sitting up and shaking her gently.

She jumped up quickly, suddenly on her feet as you gave her wide eyes. "It’s okay. It’s all good, I’m good. Sit down." you said, smiling at her lightly.

She didn’t though, not yet. Instead she brought you in for a tight hug and didn’t let go. "Your head… the way it bent. It’s not- it was terrifying." she said to you, burying her head in your hair. "Shh, I’m okay baby," you said to her, rubbing circles on her back.

People were starting to wake up and stand up, but you kept your attention on Erin. She pulled away and cupped your jaw, kissing you a few times before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Never do that again," Ann- Kat said to you. "It’s my job to do crazy dives." she added, making you laugh. "And we would have won in a PK shootout. This is is us…" Sam said.

"This is Chelsea." The whole room said softly.

[aeinova]

The First Time

December 2014

featuring. Nova & L

Mun note: I am in no way, shape, or form, accusing any face claim I use for these characters in this story of violence or crime. This is purely fictional. I am not affiliated with said agencies, celebrities, nor entities that grant awards or hold events. Trigger warning: mature themes, with suggestions of abuse, both sexual and physical. Discretion advised.

Songs of choice for this to listen to low in the background for ~ambiance~: Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter & End of Beginning by Djo

Taking a view from the backseat at everything, Nova realized all the raised red flags her younger self did not. The memories of threats being told in her ear to being thrown so hard against a table that she bruised instantly seemed so distant now that she retells this in her various therapy sessions. The shrink in the opposite chair simply nodded, taking down notes she assumed her agency would be able to read later on so they can lock and seal it forever from the public. All this done by the man who was essentially Lucifer himself; achingly beautiful but devilishly evil. Nova laid there, eyes closed like always, her hands clapsed against her stomach as she retold out loud those events.

..And here we announce the beautiful visual couple of the year award to: Nova and L!

Cue the typical ‘ooo’s’, mixed whispers of “what a visual couple...”, “my eyes have been blessed”, and even “their future kids won the lottery!” as the pair of breath taking idols walk on the vast stage, hand in hand, grinning from ear to ear as they made their way up to accept the award. Their dating announcement was published on the KNetz earlier in the year, which came as a surprise to everyone, including their respective agencies. Sure, they have crossed paths outside of music shows and award ceremonies, but this spark came naturally when a young L offered a hand to a young Nova when she almost stumbled down some steps at a college festival. Instead of avoiding the inevitable and the korean culture of keeping things as private as possible, they agreed it was best to embrace it fully, earning them full couple sponsorships, movie roles, tv roles and even a couple song. Nova, afterall, was a free-spirit, wanting to take on whatever came her way and L, who was the it boy at the time, needed an excuse to move all eyes away from him.

The first night she felt his hatred was the night they jointly won that forsaken couple award, taking it then with much pride in front of envious stares, including some of her peers of her own agency. Through all that, she held on tight to the man’s familiar arm, letting him speak into the adjusted microphone. “Thank you to everyone who has cheered us on. Without Nova, I don’t know who I would be.” Glancing over at her, she could tell there was something off about the man by the glint in his eyes. Could he have been already drunk without her knowing? Or maybe it was something else entirely. Still, she did not like the fight or flight feeling she was getting, prompting herself to let go of him to smooth down her Ralph Lauren dress while he finished his cheesy speech. The words drowned out in the background as she stared down at her feet for a moment, realizing the loud clapping as eyes moved onto her. “Your turn.” He growled under his alcoholic breath, motioning impatiently for her to grab the microphone now.

“Without Myungsoo, I would not know where I would be today.” Her delicate voice cracked, causing a shy smile as she felt herself lost for words. Somehow, that prompted a laugh from the audience, as she elegantly waited for them to finish. “..Please look forward to our marriage. Thank you.” Gasps filled the room, as she grinned mischievously, waving politely at the crowd as the cameras started to flash wildly. Her agency had schemed this false announcement, predicting for positive marketing of their already famous idol, and of course, she did not mind doing it since she knew Myungsoo would not mind.

Or so she thought.

An orchestra version of their couple song played lightly as they walked off back stage, like all the award winners, announcers, and presenters did at the end of their bits. She knew this stage like the inside of her palm; A typical build up and break down kind of setting, where nothing back stage changed and only the landscape did. She was about to walk off to the nearest dressing room for a touch up from a random make-up artist as she felt her hand being pulled roughly in the opposite direction. “Come with me.” Her boyfriend’s firm voice was alarming, the kind of voice you would hear from a man who was done wrong, the kind that gave warning before a fight, the kind a little kid would get if they dropped a glass cup. She realized quickly she was being taken to a dusty utility room, the door being slammed shut behind them with a loud slam. It was a rather small and muggy room, where only a few cleaning supplies and a human-sized latter fit. The hand that was being grabbed was let go, a murderous glare set on her own innocent expression in the dark. “And what the fuck was that, Eunmi?” Her eyes were wide, searching for the rugged string that was connected to the old light bulb, finally finding it as she turned it on carefully. “What was what?” She asked, blinking at him, as if she did not just announce probably the biggest engagement to date in their industry. No big deal. “Please look forward to our marriage? Are you fucking insane?”

Was she? They had discussed it over drinks so many times: A serene life of three kids, a dog, living in a penthouse next to the Han River while still working on movie roles. So what was the big deal? “Myungsoo, why are you so upset? It’s not like it was a lie–" The force of an open hand met her cheek roughly, a crisp sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as she stayed gazing down. She could feel the room spin a bit, eyes watering immediately. “Do you even know how at risk you put me with my own sponsors? And with my agency? You’re so stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.” He growled aggressively, pinching the bridge of his perfect nose. “You seriously think I would marry a piece of garbage like you? Look at me.” He demanded at Nova now, watching her stay still with her now messy hair cascading at the sides of her face to hide her tears. “Look. At. Me.” Myungsoo had changed so much after his father passed away a few months ago, falling into the pothole of alcoholism as Nova comforted him every time he sobbed over that fact, but this was the first time he had done something like this.

“Baby–“ Her voice was so small, a sob escaping as she gazed up at him with those round brown eyes of hers. She was still very much understanding, still in love and blinded by that.. But the person before her was not the man she loved, not at all. “I’m sorry..” She sighed out, wet tears coming down her cheeks in excessive streams now as he took it upon himself to slap her again.. And again, and again. She was on the ground now, not sure as to what to do anymore besides putting her delicate hands up in protest. No noise came from her despite everything though, the man staring down at her as he made sure to shut her up. “Baby this, baby sorry, baby that. Who the fuck are you calling baby right now? Not me. Oh, hey, you know what.. I know exactly you can do for me to apologize.”

Oh? Did she dare look up at him? The chance was taken as her gaze moved up to meet his one more time. She knew him so well, and those eyes went from alarming, to even more so; It’s those hungry eyes that she would only experience when they went to bed, when those whispers of ‘I love you’ and affection would be exchanged. The eyes she had grown to expect and love in those intimate moments.. Yet, this was not that moment at all.

“Come here, bitch.”

Nova opened her eyes as the ring of an iPhone alarm went off, not realizing a whole hour had gone by already as she retold this out loud. She was pale, clammy on her hands as she sat up slowly. These sessions were worthless, she thought, looking over to the bored shrink at his desk. Was he even listening? “Can I go now?” Annoyed she had wasted her time, she rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms, looking out the window that was next to the leather couch. The Han River greeted her immediately, watching the water flow under the bridge as a family passed by on the sidewalk under them. “Please tell me I can go now.”

[tessa-quayle]

looking California and feeling Minnesota

Joel Miller x OFC Grace (and a nod to Joel x Tess)

Prompt: “what do you want from me?”

THANK YOU to the incomparable @jomiddlemarch​ for 1) creating this OFC and letting me take the character for a spin, 2) being the best beta reader and editing this so it’s actually readable, 3) the prompts, and 4) being generous and encouraging.  

Do yourself a favor and read the series she started on this OFC/Joel on her AO3.  It’s a loose fit series with a Ted Lasso AU crossover. This fic can be read alone here on tumblr and is so lovely

I haven’t written a fic in 5 years (an explanation, not an excuse) - you can find this one on AO3 here.  

Rating: M (language, a sprinkle of sexy-time spice, no full-on smut sorry) 

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary:  Joel says Tess’ name in his sleep. Grace (an OFC) asks too many questions.  Joel and Ellie are evasive.  Joel and Grace quarrel.  A scavenging mission becomes a cold war.  Little traumas everywhere.  

Pairings: Joel/Tess, Joel/OFC-Grace, OFC-Grace/OMC-Kian

Warnings/Heads-up: angst, brief allusion to torture and violence, politics, foreshadowing for season 2 if you squint, alcohol, post-coital angst, foreplay angst

It wasn’t the first dream he’d had about that afternoon in the rotunda.  

The gasoline scented air thick with dust and heat.  Black cables snaked on the tiled marble.  

“I never asked you for anything, not even to …”

"I felt the way you felt, Tess.  I’ve always had.”  

She arched her neck to the side, revealing a peach flesh tendril under the army green collar.  

“You flinched.”

“I’m - I’m sorry.”

Tess shrugged.  

He watched her thumb the silver wheel on the lighter again and again: flick, flick, flick.     

“You should go."

“I saved Ellie,” he offered.  

"Keep going, Joel.  Save who you can save.”   

Save who you can save.  A plea, a promise.  

Tess.  Joel whispered her name like a prayer, a secret.  Eyes shut, drool pooling on the corner of his partly open mouth, his right cheek pressed against the pillow.  

___

Joel.  Joel.  Grace repeated his name three, four times.   She’d already lightly run her fingers through the tufts of soft curls as she murmured into his left ear “Joel, you’re okay, you’re in Jackson, Wyoming.  This is Grace.”   

He jolted awake.   

“You ok?  Must’ve been some dream.”

____

Grace didn’t want to ask, she knew she shouldn’t, and that they don’t - not here, not now - but she wanted to know.  She had those types of dreams about Before Jackson - the ones that made you sit bolt upright in sweat drenched sheets.  

His name was Kian.  Tall, dark brown eyes.  A boisterous laugh that filled every room.  

“How’d you predict it’d fall so quickly?”  It was the month FEDRA had begun disappearing people in the Seattle QZ, mutilating corpses in the square.  She figured he’d give some answer about being the son of parents who fled Tehran during the revolution, some intergenerational trauma or imprinting, a Spidey sense of recognizing fascist fuckers lurking on a street corner.

“History rhymes.  You really thought our institutions were going to save us?  Bush v. Gore didn’t prove to you that the courts were never going to save us?”

He looked down at her as their legs tangled on a twin bed narrower than the one she had in college, a thin mattress against a wooden frame, rumpled sheets, the comforter and clothes strewn on the floor.

Outside the sirens blared as he whispered, softly chuckling into her hair: “Grace, babe, we save ourselves.”

And she failed at that.  

Grace never told a soul how ready she was that still-dark morning.  She’d heard his screams from her cell.  She was done.  Grief turning into a death wish.  A clean shot to the back of the head.  She imagined dead-Lauren quipping: that would have been enough.  

The FEDRA woman ripped off her blindfold and cut the zipties.  

It was dawn and streaks of red orange hovered over the darkened trees on the horizon, the moon a faint sliver in the purple gray clouds that filled the rest of the sky.  

“You came in the middle of the night to save my life at Harborview back in ’01.  I remember you - Dr Yang, yeah?” 

Grace swallowed and nodded, her head aching and dizzy, unable to recall how or what she’d done, whether she’d cauterized a bleeding stomach ulcer or merely fished out a bone lodged in the esophagus, how this officer must have mistaken her for someone else who’d done real heroic shit.

“This is what you’re going to do,” the FEDRA officer continued.

She rolled the body bag off the truck, a hard thump on the ground, and proceeded to throw Grace’s belongings at her feet, along with a revolver she removed from a holster, and pressed Kian’s cherry red Swiss army knife into her palm.  

 “You have one hour.  Bury your boyfriend, then get out.  Follow the train tracks.  Go east.  We’ll call this even.”

 ___

Ellie and Grace waited by the gate for Joel.  The sun already hot by mid morning, Ellie took off her hoodie and tied it around her waist.

Against her better judgment, Grace blurted out: "Hey, may I ask you a question?  You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…

The fourteen-year-old eyed her skeptically.  “Um, okaaay.”   

“Who’s Tess?”

“Tess?”  Ellie echoed in a lilt.

“Yeah, Tess.”

“Um,” Ellie’s eyes darted behind them, as if to make sure they were alone.  “Um, Tess was Joel’s partner in the Boston QZ.  She died on our way here.  The Fireflies had paid her and Joel to take me to this a hospital in Salt Lake City where um, my condition was going to help create some vaccine.”

“Wait.  What’s this about a vaccine?   What do you mean, ‘condition?’”

Ellie pushed up a sleeve to reveal her forearm, the gnarled bite mark resembling a skin graft, a soft rubbery keloid. 

Wide-eyed, Grace exclaimed: “Oh God. Was that a bite? You’re immune? What the hell happened in Salt Lake? Is that where you and Joel went last year? What’d they do? Did they run blood tests? Do a spinal tap? How did…?”

Grace was relentless in her line of interrogation.  She asked Ellie a total of twenty plus questions about drugs, equipment, storage, procedures, doctors and nurses and staff, the Fireflies, how she originally got bit, who was with her, who found her, when she realized she was immune.  She didn’t probe any further about Tess.  Maybe it was that death had become so present, she felt no urge to dig for details, and imagined somewhere Tess and Kian and maybe Lauren were throwing back drinks, exchanging stories about those they left behind.

Ellie began to stammer: “Shhhhh. Stop. I don’t know. I don’t know! I mean, I’m immune, for sure. But I don’t remember much - I was drugged up. Joel had to get me out of there when the raiders attacked.  He said they didn’t need me, that there were other kids immune, too.”  

She looked down before continuing. 

“I remember Marlene and then waking up in the back of a car in this paper hospital gown….”  Glancing up, slightly panicked, Ellie pleaded: “You can’t tell anyone, Grace. I swear. About me. About all of this. We can’t talk about this anymore.”

____

“Joel, don’t freak out.”  Grace drew in a deep breath. “I just thought you should know.  That I know about Ellie and what happened in Salt Lake. And I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m just glad you both made it back … back safe.”  She wanted to say “home,” but was unsure what that word may mean to him when she couldn’t figure out what it meant to her.   

Joel looked at her, startled, and opened his mouth to reply before she interrupted and began peppering him manically with questions, her curiosity getting ahead of her. 

“What did they have? What did they say? Was there a lab? Do you remember who you talked to?”  She began gesticulating wildly, a habit she slipped into when excited and talking too rapidly.  “There was this woman Abby I met when l left the Seattle QZ and she told me her dad was some doctor out in Utah or Colorado trying to do something with vaccines and I asked her how they had the technology or a way to operationalize it in the middle of all of this and it just sounded too good to be true. You know? And then Ellie said you said there were other kids like her? Were they all there?  How…”

Joel waved his hand dismissively and shrugged.  “I don’t remember much about it. I saw Marlene, but I don’t remember anyone else.  Lots of clickers turned up. Last thing I know I grabbed Ellie and we got the hell out." 

“Holy shit, raiders AND clickers? Ellie said raiders attacked.”

“Well, yeah, both,” Joel backtracked.  “I can’t recall every detail…” He straightened his posture and squared his broad shoulders, crossing his arms defensively and she couldn’t help but spy the muscled forearms exposed below his rolled sleeves.  ”How did you even start talkin’ to Ellie ‘bout this?”

“I dunno.” Grace mumbled, looking down at her boots and blushing. “I asked her who Tess was and then…”

“How did you hear about…?” His eyes darkened. “We don’t talk about Tess. We don’t ever bring up Tess.”

Staring back at his scowl, Grace felt her ears burning and heart pounding.  She bit her lip trying not to say what she wanted to yell: you brought Tess up first. Said her name in my bed. 

“Dude - what the fuck. It’s fine. We all have our histories. I’m just …”

“Well, we can keep our fucking histories to ourselves.”  Joel snapped.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel. You love who you love. I’m just trying to…” Her fingers curled into fists on the frayed straps of her backpack, its bottom slack since she’d kept it half-empty to hold anything they’d find, the stitched-over seams loose for once.  

“What do you want from me?” Joel growled. 

Dead-Lauren would have warned Grace: You get really petty when you’re angry. Grace stomped ahead deliberately to his right, up the rolling incline swatting away the wildflowers brushing her knees, muttering under her breath Not this fucking bullshit.

“What did you say?” He turned to her.

“Nothing.” Bile in her throat, her voice rising into a shout.  “Nothing, alright?  I want nothing.” She quickened her pace as she looked back and spat out: “And don’t you dare fucking talk that way to me again.”

___

Ellie was stuck.  Between Joel’s asshole voice and Grace’s resting bitch face, their fourteen days were painfully silent hikes interrupted by surprisingly successful scavenging: dilapidated convenience stores, an untouched mom-and-pop pharmacy, an abandoned vegetable garden overgrown with mint.  Ellie launched her best puns and jokes, none of which landed, both Joel and Grace humoring her by letting out the occasional chuckle, and then marching quietly ahead up yellow grassy hills or down rocky pastures.  They stole glances at one another when they thought they could, glimpses quickly turning into glares when Ellie caught them in the act, the teenager rolling her eyes and shaking her head in exasperation.

In the evenings around the campfire, a crackling flame pierced the silence as they ate wordlessly, pine and sage and forest moss wafting in the smoke.  

____

“Grace.”

She shifted on the boulder and lifted her head at the sky, trying to find Orion, fiddling with the zipper on her fleece, pretending not to hear him.  

Joel walked toward her and held out his worn bronze honey-colored jacket, “weighty and warm,” she had remarked when months ago he first draped it around her thin shoulders, both of them huddling under the stars, him pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek.

“Grace,” he tried again now with the jacket at arm’s length: “Here, take this. It’s freezing.”  

“No thanks, I’m fine.” She replied evenly, a sharp breath of cold air rose into the dark.

He refused to plead.  “Okay, suit yourself.  But wake me up later, alright?  Ellie’s exhausted and I’ll take her turn.”

“Whatever,” her eyes narrowing, “I’ll do the whole night.”  She’d worked 100-hour call weeks for three years throughout a malignant residency program.  She could survive the chill and long hard hours, even loneliness.  She wasn’t ready to endure the nearness of Joel.   

The following day they trekked back to Jackson and helped restock the community pantry and clinic stash, carefully lining the dusty jars and bottles on the shelves.  Tommy and Maria greeted them, initially not noticing how Grace and Joel barely regarded one another.

“We’ve got dinner ready for y’all,” Maria said.  “Grace - it’s the fancified top ramen recipe you shared - poached egg and chashu pork slices. Come over before you head back to your place. You must be starving.” 

Grace winced. She was famished, but found herself more exhausted than hungry, and just wanted to be alone.

She smiled wanly at Maria: “Thanks so much, but I’m gonna head back. I’m sorry. I’ll see you around?”  She turned on her heels to walk away before she could catch Tommy looking questioningly at his brother.

When she reached her house, she closed the door behind her, slumped to the floor, and sobbed.

___

Grace used to have a post-call ritual.  Riding the post-call high before crashing into the post-call delirium, she’d take a luxurious hot shower so long the mirrors would steam and the fresh gardenia scented soap perfumed the bedroom.  She’d pop in the Before Sunrise DVD and lounge with a Pinot from Walla Walla or Dundee.  While the leftover spaghetti was reheating in the microwave, she’d momentarily debate calling the nurses station to make sure she’d placed that PRN order for trazodone.  

 That was then. Now it was midnight. She did indulge in a warm shower and scrubbed away the grime from the terrible-no-good-two-week expedition. She even allowed herself a bigger dollop of shampoo than usual, and a squirt of travel-sized conditioner she’d saved for rare occasions.  She combed her wet hair and let it air dry and pulled the oversized Lollapalooza t-shirt over her head, the hardwood floors creaking beneath her bare feet.  This tee - thinned over multiple washes with red block letters now a pale pink - was one of three items she still possessed from Before.  

1992, Shoreline.  Converse sneakers indented the muddy grass.  Amps blaring as a chord from an electric guitar revved up the crowd, two teens yelling at each other.

LAUREN!  This is way too big!

That’s all they had left!  Just take one - it can be a pajama top!

Grace decided to make herself an old-fashioned. The range in her kitchen was temperamental. After repeatedly turning the knob click click click and click click click and click click click with no burst of a purple flame, she finally resorted to striking a match against the black grate to light her stove.   

She prepared simple syrup to mix with the whiskey she borrowed from Tommy. Equal parts sugar and water, foam swirling in liquid amber in a pot. She wished she’d had Angostura bitters, but the unspoiled orange would have to do. She was pressing a blade against the pebbled skin to peel the rind when she heard a loud knock at the front.  

Wiping her hands quickly, she peered out the window and saw him standing on her porch.  She imagined real-Lauren, the ultimate wingwoman, whistling at the sight of a broad-shouldered dark, handsome stranger showing up at Grace’s doorstep, his hair slicked back, the green flannel somehow bringing out the glint of grey in his scruffy beard.  Almost resentful he cleaned up better than she did, Grace exhaled loudly and attempted a pep talk: Keep it together, don’t fucking cry.

She opened the door.  She held his gaze and found his brown eyes softening. 

“What is it, Joel?”  She cleared her throat, trying not to let her voice tremble. “What do you want from me?”

He stepped forward and leaned down to kiss her, one hand cupping her cheek and the other around her waist, and only when he crossed the threshold did she finally pull her mouth from his, breathless.  She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, her lips meeting his for a more urgent, bruising, hungry kiss.  Tangled, they stumbled into the other room, she led him to the kitchen chair before climbing on top of him, his jeans scraping against the back of her bare thighs.  It wasn’t until she nearly forgot about the concoction simmering on the stove, the syrup thickening into a caramel, that she realized that was the only answer he gave her.   

_____

“This used to be some old boyfriend’s?”  Lying on the edge of her bed, Joel reached down to the floor with one arm to pick up the shirt to hand it to her.  

“Um, no,”  Grace replied, not meaning for the emphasis to sound so harsh, “It’s mine.  I actually went, believe it or not.”  She bunched up the tee before throwing it into the corner across the room.

“I don’t recall them letting little kids into Lollapalooza,”  he teased.

“I was 15, Joel,” she bristled.  “Definitely not little.”

“Figured you were younger.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”  She plopped her head down onto a pillow and turned away from him.  

“You don’t disappoint.”  He wrapped an arm around her waist, interlocking his fingers with hers, squeezing her palm.  

“Sure, whatever.”  She pulled the covers over her breasts and nestled her back against his chest, closing her eyes.  He kissed her neck and shoulder before shifting his weight and rolling onto his back.  She heard him take a deep breath.

“What a lineup that year,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling.  “Tess loved those bands.”

Surprised, Grace opened her eyes and laid still on her side, slowly smiling to herself: “Yeah?  She had great taste.”