#lauren fills prompts

[augment-techs]

Whump Wheel! LAUREN SHIBA and mind control (Evil lauren........)

Shinkenger gave us this the least Samurai could've done is to channel the RAGE LAUREN SHOULD'VE FELT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Is there a difference between being left holding the bag and being betrayed?

Lauren was pretty sure there wasn't.

She didn't expect to be welcomed into the team with open arms, what with the lying that her father had insisted upon, and Ji had enforced, and Jayden had very little choice but to go along with. But she also hadn't expected to be treated quite so coldly towards for a decision that had never had anything to do with her.

She did not want to fall into the trap of blaming everyone else for her problems, but where else was she supposed to direct her rage when she was injured and left to her own wounds as Jayden left, seemed to be chasing his own death with hunting Deker, with Antonio following after, with Ji seeing to the other Rangers in his incredibly inept way?

Was it any wonder that while wandering the halls of Shiba House, a place she barely recalled even on her best days of never ending training and loneliness, that she piqued at soft whispers and notes floating into her ears? Was it any wonder she walked out the back gate without being noticed and stood before a demon with an offer of making it all go away?

If she happened to break a few spirits and morphers and zords in the interim of finding something like peace...so what? She was owed a little selfishness after over a decade of a destroyed childhood and abysmal mental health. Let them hold the bag for a while.

@skyland2703

[neysaadept]

congratulations on 175 followers 🎉🎉 I was wondering if you are comfortable in writing something about a music band member reader, maybe guitarist or bassist with Emily? Something like stage diving (jumps off the stage into the crowd during a live show, the crowd typically catches and lifts the performer as they dive).

The inspiration is from the prompt 97(when you fall, I will always be there to catch you) and the song Jump Then Fall of Taylor Swift, kind of “jump and fall both physically and emotionally.”

And again congratulations about 175 followers! And l am looking forward to see more about the story of Prometheus!

I'm glad we talked a little about this and hope you like the rest of the prompt coming alive. I had fun researching this.

Ecstasy When I Fall

Emily Prentiss x Female!Bassist Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, Emily sometime before the Lauren Arc, swearing, minor sexual content, established relationship. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 1.3k

It finally happened – headlining a small venue tour in the Midwest with your indie rock band. All the years of showcasing your talent online through Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram, traveling anywhere that would give you a chance to play live, even if it meant for free, sending out demos to venues and uploading your music to Spotify, Bandcamp and Apple music, and marketing yourself on your own website with merchandise to buy got you a loyal, and very loud, fanbase.

Tonight, you were at the Cobra Lounge in Chicago and the place was at capacity because of your band. Patrons filled the tables in the back and all the barstools, pumping their fists in the air, whooping and hollering between drinking and eating. What really got the endorphins skyrocketing is the crowd surrounding the small stage at the back of the venue. The basic lighting was enough to provide a colorful effect and keep focus on your lead singer who was working the crowd during the chorus having them shout back the lyrics.

Dozens of faces were looking up at you, others had their eyes closed letting the music take over and get lost in the rhythms, others slapped the stage floor to play along in time with the music – even one person was trying to parrot you as you pluck the bass strings. You smile at them as you plant your non-dominant leg atop the speaker and head bang during the next riff.

When you bring your head back your eyes immediately locked with the best thing that had happened to you since the band was able to pool together enough money to buy a van to cart all of you and your gear around. Beautiful brown eyes are only eclipsed by the bright smile that your girlfriend has for you. You were lucky that Emily Prentiss was between cases to catch a flight in to see you play. Just like you were lucky she happened to be at the Black Cat in D.C. when you were in town trying to extend your fanbase. It was an all-female rock line up that night, and she wanted to unwind after a hard case. She vibed with your sound and after the concert ended up vibing with you in the red room during shared drinks. You exchanged numbers and a lingering kiss goodbye full of promise that night.

That was almost a year ago.

And now, you’re winking at her before blowing a kiss. You watch as she throws her head back in delighted laughter while clapping. The rush of happiness mixing with the euphoria of playing live – the cheering of the crowd, the beat of the drums and your notes vibrating through the stage, the rhythm of the guitar bringing it all together in a harmonious symphony of rock was fucking intense.

Adrenaline courses through your body, high on the sounds surrounding you and the smell of sweat and booze. Emily and everyone around her had their hands in the air in excitement. The scene felt electric and there seemed to be an unspoken connection coalescing with understanding and in the next beat, the air felt supercharged.

You stop plucking away for a moment and point at the crowd in front of you with an unspoken question, nodding along as you see the crowd wave you on. Some are jumping up and down with anticipation and there were riotous ‘Come ons!’ encouraging you. Emily was laughing when your eyes met because it finally dawned on her what you were about to do. Your eyes narrow in question, and she nods.

Then you let go and trust in the moment.

You step off the speaker and raise your arms in the air as forewarning and the crowd erupts loudly as you quickly take the two steps it takes to get to the edge of the stage and launch off of it. You twist at the same time to make sure to land on your back, forcing your legs up as much as possible to not accidentally kick anyone. You’re in firm control of your instrument, hugging it to your body lengthwise as you undulate under the control of the crowd below you. You feel light and euphoric with the trust you placed in crowd and manage to start playing again which only makes the moment even more intense as your passed around.

“FUCK YEAH!” you cry out, feeling as if the connection had firmly cemented. You vaguely hear your lead singer adlibbing the lyrics based on your stage dive along with the pounding of glasses and bottles urging you and the crowd to keep going.

You feel weightless and free and safe. So safe that you closed your eyes as you’re brought down to stand in the crowd. You don’t even have to take a guess as to whose face you’ll be staring into when you open your eyes. You can tell by how familiar the hands were gripping your sides possessively. You rock your head, laughing in exhilaration as you cautiously keep your instrument against you, plucking away as the crowd was patting your head, shoulders, back – really anywhere they could respectfully.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were staring into beautiful brown orbs. Emily was there to catch you, personally making sure that you wouldn’t fall and land safely. People were patting her shoulders and back, just like you, excited that she was the one that got to hold you. Caught up in the moment of absolute perfection and endorphins running high, you capture Emily’s lips in a fierce kiss.

The crowd around the two of you jumped up and down cheering, which only grew louder as the two of you briefly deepened the kiss. It wasn’t for show, no. This was a solidification of the love you felt for one another, and it brings you back to the moment you shared your first real kiss together.

You were in the passenger seat of Emily’s car, biting your lower lip shyly, because you were torn between reaching over to take her hand or leaning over to close the distance and kiss her. You two weren’t shy at the club when you kissed goodbye because the alcohol had taken the edge off inhibitions. Now, this moment was purely a conscious decision in Emily’s car with Taylor Swift of all people playing on the radio.

Every time you smile, I smile And every time you shine, I shine And every time you're here Baby, I'll show you, I'll show you You can jump then fall, jump then fall Jump then fall into me, into me, yeah*

Emily was the one to reach out first to cup your cheek with a tender smile. Your eyes grow heavy at her touch and the feel of her thumb lightly caressing your cheek. It sent a shiver straight down your spine and forces an unwanted sigh to escape past your lips. She immediately takes the opportunity to lightly brush your lips together, testing the waters, before you were the one taking over with a wanting moan …

You continue to play through the kiss, even with a teasing tongue sneaking its way into your mouth that generated a surge of want straight through to your core. The familiar taste of cigarettes, sweat and booze grounds you in the moment so it felt as if it were just the two of you. The tactile sensations became dampened by Emily’s kiss, the way she squeezes you harder, to make sure that everywhere here knows that you are hers.

Everyone was witness to the prolific declaration of love. It was a heady sensation of freedom to love and be loved with acceptance.

It was a flawless state of being, the two of you, together.

The bottom's gonna drop out from under our feet I'll catch you, I'll catch you When people say things that bring you to your knees I'll catch you The time is gonna come when you're so mad you could cry But I'll hold you through the night until you smile*

*Jump Then Fall - Taylor Swift

[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

[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.

[janamelie]

New Red Dwarf Challenge

Day 25 Favourite Fanfic, Fanart or Fanwork (Part 2)

Part 1 here. https://www.tumblr.com/janamelie/770805438431264768/new-red-dwarf-challenge?source=share

Softlightpen - “Correction” (E).  This one really earns its E rating as Low Rimmer and Sebastian Doyle get it on.  Steamy.

@ohhhyestottytottytotty - “Hop, Skip And A Jump” (E).  Sham-glam Lister from “Timeslides” meets a “The Beginning” era Rimmer.  Sex ensues.

Lauren (Laurenthemself) - “Quick Fix” (E).  Author summary - An alternative method of escaping the psi-moon during 'Terrorform'. PWP.  I also recommend the sequel which is a “fix-it”.

@laurenthemself

Kahvi & Roadsterguy - “Standards” (E).  I can’t not include these two who’ve written a vast amount of L/R fic.  Authors’ summary - Yet another supply raid on a derelict leads Rimmer and Lister to an argument, which in turn leads to... something that's still fairly close to an argument. You get lonely in space, but you do have standards.

Janed - “Passion Pod” (E).  Author summary - AU.  Sex pollen!  Yes, one of Red Dwarf’s few sex pollen fics which is sufficient recommendation in itself but it also captures Series 1 Lister and Rimmer’s relationship really well.

@arcanemoody - “Everyone Is Wrong Here” (M).  Author summary - Post “Demons & Angels”.  Lister thinks (and dreams) about what he saw on the Lows’ ship.

Diminua - “Dream Lover” (E).  Remix / sequel to the above fic.  Rimmer finds out.

SugarCrystal - “The Boyfriend You’ve Always Wanted” (M).  Author summary - Fill for Red Dwarf Kink Meme on Livejournal. Prompt was: "Lister/Rimmer. Anything with either Rimmer or Lister seeing the other when faced with a Psiren or Pleasure GELF and the others finding out. Humour please!"

@feline-ranger “Rimmer’s Report” (Not Rated).  Lister / Rimmer and Lister / Todhunter.  Pre-accident fic.  Rimmer realises that Todhunter has feelings for Lister and his own repressed desire comes spilling out in a hilariously revealing rant.  

And finally - much missed RD fanartist Zolturates may no longer be on Tumblr, but some of her art was also posted to AO3, so have a link.  Enjoy.

[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/

[goodnighttheysaid]

palindrome.

title: palindrome

rating: T

pairing: art donaldson/you, art donaldson/reader

words: 1483

warnings: alcohol mention

notes: inspired by this prompt. (full prompt list here.)

⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱

Hometown holiday gatherings were, in an oddly reassuring way, the great leveller. 

It didn’t matter how far you’d flown from the nest, or in some cases, how world-famous and successful an athlete you’d become—to friends of your mother, you’d always be the weird little kid who was too intense about tennis.

If, that was, you were Art Donaldson. 

If, on the other hand, you were the neighbour girl who grew up with Art Donaldson but had negative-zero inclination for sports and had mostly fled as far from home as you possibly could to avoid inevitable expectations of the white-picket-fence variety; then coming home for the holidays mostly just meant endless questions about why you weren’t married yet, and when you were getting married, and why weren’t you dating anyone because obviously the whole point of your existence was to find a man and lock it down. 

But then again, where all things you were concerned, at least you weren’t recently divorced, retired, and standing in your mother’s kitchen wearing a Christmas sweater and a tense smile while your aunt tried to set you up with her friend’s friend’s daughter from church. 

‘I don’t think Art is Lauren’s type, to be honest.’ 

You snuck up on the unassuming aunt, finally making yourself known after skulking around for the better part of the last half hour trying to avoid the unavoidables, and hunting for something to spike your coffee with. Here and now though, you swiftly earned yourself a withering stink-eye (from the aunt) and a glowing, relieved smile (from Art) respectively, which you followed up with another biting bit of commentary, just to ensure the deal really was sealed.

‘Lauren’s great,’ you started before taking a long sip, mostly for dramatic effect. ‘But you’re not married. So, you know—not really her type. Not anymore, at least.’

And while you shrugged, feigning indifference to the mortified look spreading across Aunt Jean’s face, Art nearly choked on his mouthful of water.

‘You’re not married either, dear.’

‘Well, that is true, Jean. And as you know, I have few morals, but contrary to popular belief, they do actually exist. So, you know, no married dudes, that’s rule number one. Rule number two,’ Aunt Jean held up a hand to stop you before you could go on, disgust and the sudden desire to flee both evident on her judgemental face. ‘Mine’s not a high bar, Jean. You know that.’

There was a running joke, you knew full well, that the most obvious reason why you must have moved so far away to the wild foreign lands of New York City—but not for love or with the intention to marry—must surely have been because the city had turned you into a woman of ill repute. 

The truth of things meanwhile was much more boring—as a kid, and then as a misfit teenager, you’d felt suffocated by the weight of expectation and the constant eyes-on-you judgement of your close-knit family and all their friends. And so, unremarkably, as soon as you’d been able, you’d run away. 

The only person you had missed at all from the life you’d left behind, had been Art. But soon after you’d made your escape, he’d left too—off to Stanford, and then on to conquer the world. 

All of your sweet, childhood declarations to keep in contact and email more than once a year just for the festive season had faded slowly but surely with time. You’d both grown up and gone off in entirely different directions. You’d been determined to get an MA, burying yourself in dark rooms filled with books and bad to zilch phone reception, while he’d aimed for bigger, bolder, and altogether more. 

Neither of you were the little kids who ran riot together across the neighbourhood anymore, adventuring and loving each other in that innocent, open-hearted way that only children could. But it was in moments like these—in the exchanging of mischievous, knowing looks that at their heart were full of understanding—that the long ago felt just that little bit nearer, and the kids you used felt all the more alive. 

‘Thanks,’ Art smiled at you again as soon as Aunt Jean was out of earshot, his head ducking down quickly to greet you warmly with a kiss on one cheek. 

‘Been a long time,’ Art’s gaze swooped over you, subtle but fond. ‘You look nice.’

‘Oh, this old thing?’ You tugged at the sweater you were donning; an oversized number your grandmother had made for you eons ago. But to her credit, it did bring out your eyes, and the mishmash of colours suited you even if you did still drown in it after all of this time. 

‘I remember the Christmas she made that for you.’ Art took another sip of his water, and then you offered him a sip of your dangerously boozy coffee instead. He sniffed the sloshing liquid, grinned, then fixed you with a look that had you wondering if you were warm all of a sudden just because the whiskey had finally kicked in, or if there was something else—something more—to blame for it. 

‘I got books and this thing; you got racquets and a new kit bag.’ The thing left unsaid between you was the fact that it had been the last Christmas you’d spent at home together before you’d moved away, and before life had come at you both quite so quickly. By the time the next one had rolled around, Art was seventeen and was already a junior doubles champion, and you had moved to the city without leaving so much as a forwarding address.

‘How are you?’ Your next line seemed like the most obvious thing to say, even if the answer might have been redundant. 

‘I’m good,’ But despite assumptions, Art smiled at you warmly in return, and looked like he meant it—that he was, in fact, good—and then stole another sip of you drink before finally handing it back. ‘How’re you?’

There were a thousand things you could have said to him—Fine, the most basic among them. Or, you could have been honest and said: a little unmoored, ravaged by writers block, seriously considering moving—not home, but away from the city. You could have said you felt like a ghost, unseen by anyone after the breakup that had left you reeling a little over a year ago. You could have told him about how lost you felt in the world, and how worried you were that you didn’t know who you were anymore. But when you looked at him all you could see was caring, plain and simple, and the echo of the kid you used to know, and who knew you, right back. 

‘I’m here,’ is what you settled on. ‘You know, still standing. On paper, all’s well.’

Art nodded sagely, then gently, reassuringly squeezed your arm before leaning in conspiringly. 

‘I know the feeling,’ he whispered, overly dramatic and with the express want to make you laugh. 

‘Are you here alone?’ Another far-removed aunt with an uncle in-tow were hovering, so before he answered you, Art moved you with him in the direction of the back patio, his hand gentle and steering on the low of your back. 

‘Yeah,’ he said finally, shutting the door behind you both with a soft click, so that it was just him and you alone, with the softly falling snow. ‘Lily’s with her mom until the day after Christmas. We agreed on alternating years.’

What Art didn’t say was that this was his first holidays alone since his marriage had fallen apart, and so it was also the first festive season Art would be spending apart from his daughter, you assumed, since she’d been born. But he didn’t need to say as much, because you could see it there—the shadow of sadness lurking behind his big, blue eyes—and so now it was your turn to reach out to him. 

You brushed a comforting hand over the crest of his shoulder before joining him to rest leaning over the balustrade, and all the while you were determined to ignore the look of contentment your simple touch seem to bring to his handsome face. 

‘I’ve missed you, you know?’ 

Art broke the comfortable silence after a spell, his nose pink with the cold, his eyes brimming with sentiments left long overdue. 

‘I’ve missed you too, Art.’

There were a thousand precious, incalculable things that needed to be said—feelings that deserved, after all this time, to be ushered softly into the sunlight. 

The air between you crackled with it, and the soft skin of your hand, cradled gently in his still-calloused one—tucked safely between your two pressed-together bodies, where no one else could see—tingled with the faint hope of something old, but something new. 

[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.”

[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.

[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!

[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.”

[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.