#so this means the lining pieces are going to be too short and I’m almost out of that fabric!!!

[midnightmindcave]

the saga of the terrible bag continues 😭

[lovelettersfromluna]

Welcome to the Party

Summary: what’s worse than your older brother?…..his extremely attractive best friend

an: this Ellie has been living rent fucking free in my head and I absolutely cannot carry on any longer without writing about her…..also my last Ellie fic was sickly sweet I need some mean!Ellie to soothe the burn 😌 (also credit to @absdoll for writing Ellie as someone who listens to PartyNextDoor?? That is a HUGE reason that inspired me to write this bc that is absolutely so very accurate)

Warnings: SMUT!!! MDNI!!! 18+ ONLY!!, angst!, toxic!Ellie, mean!Ellie, brothersbestfriend!Ellie, Ellie is just all around a piece of shit in this one idk, oral (r!receiving), mentions of alcohol, mentions of weed, Usage of the word slut, slight degradation, there’s a brief scene with reader and Jesse but they aren’t flirting I promise Ellie is just delusional, pls lmk if I missed anything!

“Please honeybee? It’ll only be for a little while. Your father and I will be back before you know it, just in time for you to go back with your friends” your mothers voice rang through the phone, her tone gentle and reassuring as she spoke to you.

You exhaled loudly in annoyance, toying with the hem of your sleep shorts as you laid in your bed, a soft pout on your face as you stayed silent for a moment, contemplating your mother’s wish.

“Baby? Are you there?” She tried. You can practically hear the way she bites her lip, chewing on the skin as she awaited your response.

“I….you do realize that Derek is the oldest sibling, right? Isn’t he supposed to be the one making sure I’m not getting in trouble?” You huff out, still holding out on giving her an answer to her request of you.

You hear her sigh over the line at the mention of your older brother. “I know sweetheart…but your father and I just need you to make sure he doesn’t burn the house down while we’re away. I’m sure it’ll only be him and Ellie there anyways” she tries assuring you.

But the mention of the girls name has your skin running cold.

It makes you pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply as you truly try to outweigh your options at hand.

Your brother was a fucking moron, and you knew that the minute he heard your parents were going away for the summer, he jumped at the opportunity to ‘house sit’. It was almost comedic how clueless he was, your parents knowing your older sibling far too well to know that he’d tear the house down brick by brick unsupervised, especially with his partner in crime there with him.

So it left your poor mother to ask her baby (you), to stay the summer at their house, just to make sure things didn’t get too out of hand.

The minute she called and asked you to go down there, your entire summer had changed. All of the plans you made with your friends at university, the trips you were to make with them, all suddenly fizzled out as you were faced with the task to spend the summer with your idiotic brother and his bully of a best friend.

As much as you wanted to say no, tell your parents to figure it out or simply tell your brother he couldn’t stay there for his break, you simply couldn’t find it in yourself to do that. Your parents were amazing to say the least, and the one time they actually chose to go away for the summer in one of the first times since you were born, you’d feel like an absolute villain to take that away from them.

You let out a low sigh before you finally spoke. “I’ll be there mom….you won’t have to worry about anything” you assured her, the sound of her sighing in relief putting a gentle smile on your face.

“Oh baby you are an angel. Your father and will come home as soon as we can, okay?” She assures you, to which you give a gentle chuckle before you nod.

“Have fun, okay? Tell daddy I said hi…I love you” you mumble out gently through the phone, bidding your goodbye to the woman before you hang up, letting out a loud sigh you’d seemingly been holding from the moment your mother asked you to go back home for the summer.

And as you stared up at your ceiling, you began to really think about it all. How bad could it possibly be?? It wasn’t like you were all kids still, there was no way Ellie and your brother would torment you the same way they used to when you were all younger, not when you were all adults in college, right?

Right?

You let out a soft sigh as you drove down the familiar road to your parents house, the street quiet as everyone there had similar situations to your mother and father, empty nesters who had time to get away for the summer.

Pulling into the driveway gives you a bit of relief, as you notice your brother hadn’t gotten there yet, which you could only chalk up to him and Ellie waking up entirely too late after a night of partying to get to the house at a decent time.

Some things just never changed do they?

Your brother and Ellie had been friends since elementary school, the two of them glued at the hip for almost as long as you could remember. While you really couldn’t stand the two of them, you had to say the perseverance of their friendship was kind of remarkable. You couldn’t take their bond away from them, no one could.

One day the house was only filled with your parents and your older sibling, the next there’s an extra person.

Ellie.

Things were fine in the beginning, the three of you would actually play all together for the most part. Sure, they would tease you and leave you out of certain things, but that’s what older siblings did. You were no stranger to the little sister treatment.

Things changed when they got to high school though.

The two of them started a year before you obviously, leaving you behind in middle school. You’d been through it with the transition from elementary to middle school, so you weren’t too worried. In fact, having the two of them enrolled before you was comforting in a way. It at least gave you a sense of belonging since you knew at least two people there.

But oh were you wrong.

Because in true teenage boy fashion, who the hell would want their little sister trailing behind them? No your brother and Ellie were far too cool for that, the two of them already the talk of the entire school, everyone wanting to be their friend. It was always like that, the dynamic duo absolutely stealing the hearts of everyone around them. They simply couldn’t have you asking for help on where your classes were, or even worse, having you eat lunch with them.

You weren’t even given the cold shoulder, they were just outright mean. Your brother wasn’t so bad, brushing you off and telling you to go somewhere else.

But Ellie? Oh she was vile.

She’d say the meanest things to get you to leave, laughing under her breath whenever you’d pass by, she’d even go out of her way to make her entire friend group ignore you for a week, pretending you didn’t exist at all.

Yeah, high school is when things got really bad.

You have up on keeping the familiar sibling bond you had with your brother rather quickly during your time in high school with him, ignoring the both of them when they were around, only really interacting with him whenever Ellie wasn’t with him, which was extremely rare.

Soon, you were going off to university, and you were able to live a life that wasn’t in your cool older brother’s shadow. You were able to be you, and thrive in a way that you really weren’t able to before.

You loved college for that.

But now you were back home where it all started, without the protection of mommy and daddy on top of that too.

You groaned softly as you finally brought the last of your things up to your room, sighing softly as you looked around at the familiar space, thinking about just how much time you’d be spending there for the next month and however many weeks.

You were almost done filling your empty drawers with your clothes when you heard the familiar roar of your brother’s black Jeep pull up the driveway outside, a familiar brunette sat in the passenger seat.

The plan was to steer clear of them entirely while you were all there. You were only there for your moms peace of mind, and you truthfully did not care what Ellie and your brother got up to for the summer, as long as it meant your parents house stayed in tact.

However once you’re finished packing and you decide to make your way downstairs to get a feel for things before they both arrive (or so you thought), you were only met with the sound of your brother and Ellie complaining very loudly as they walk in through the front door.

“I told you I don’t know! My dad said it was cool if we crashed here, they didn’t mention anything about her being here too.” Derek groans loudly, lugging his suitcase in behind him, unknowing of your presence stood in the very kitchen that he was walking in to.

You turn your head to catch the two of them walking in, your brother sighing in defeat as Ellie groans loudly behind him, throwing her head back in annoyance. “Do you know how much of a fuckin’ cock block she’s gonna be? I swear to god if she tries to so much as complain about the shit we’re having I’m gonna-“ you watch as your brother jabs his elbow into Ellie’s side, trying to get her to shut up once he spots you in the kitchen.

You roll your eyes as you close the fridge door shut. “It’s nice to see you too Ellie” you sigh out softly as you turn around, resting your forearms against the island counter top, leaning your hips against the edge as you watch the both of them eye you expectantly, your best guess being they wanted an explanation.

“What are you doing here?” Your brother mumbles out awkwardly, arms crossing over his chest as he gives neglects to even greet you properly.

You sigh softly before you shrug. “Mom called me and asked me to make sure you guys didn’t do anything stupid. Trust me, I’m just as upset as you are that I’m here” you mumble out, eyes casting downwards as your fingers trace along the pattern of the smooth counter top.

Ellie scoffs softly, mimicking your brother’s stance as her tattooed arms go to cross over her chest as well. “Is this some kind of sick joke? What are you even supposed to do anyways? Keep us in line or something?” Ellie barks out, obviously annoyed and wounded over the fact that your parents didn’t trust her.

You have to hold back a laugh, biting down on your bottom lip as you give her a shrug. “That’s something you gotta take up with the owner of the house, which unfortunately for you is not my brother” you hum out, your tone a tad playful as you give your brother a knowing look before rounding the table.

“Your summer is gonna be fine. In all honesty I couldn’t give a single fuck what you two do, just do it without breaking anything.” you explain, your tone softer as you eye Ellie for a moment.

You had to bite back a smirk when you caught a glimpse of their faces. Your brother was shocked with the way you were acting, his eyebrows raised and jaw slightly agape as you made your way upstairs.

Ellie on the other hand? She looked like she wanted to kill someone. Here you were, her best friends little sister, practically granting her entire summer a death sentence by your presence, at least that’s what it felt like. Her eyebrows were furrowed, nostrils flared, and you swore you could even catch her freckled cheeks growing pink with the anger that bubbled up inside of her.

And to be quite honest? It felt good.

Ellie was being ruthless

While you couldn’t say you didn’t expect it, you didn’t think it would be this bad. You of course knew that they’d be upset about you being there, but your brother’s reaction to the entire thing was much closer to what you prepared for than what Ellie was exhibiting. He was confused to say the least, but that didn’t mean he was rude to you. It was the same as any other time you and your brother were with each other, you weren’t close by any means, but you were his little sister.

Ellie on the other hand? She was like a bat out of hell.

You thought when they first got there, that would be the only time you’d get a taste of Ellie’s annoyance with your presence. You were adults after all, and there was no way she’d make your entire stay there a living hell, even when you weren’t the one that had the bright idea of staying there anyways.

Oh were you wrong.

That same night, you decided to make somewhat of a peace offering. You were honest in your words to them earlier, you didn’t have any interest in raining on their parade. Ruining their summer did little to nothing for you, even if they went out of their way to taunt and tease you when you were a kid, you didn’t dwell on any of that.

You prided yourself as somewhat of a good cook. You took over meals once you were old enough to stand at the stove without your parents doting over you, begging you to not burn yourself. Once you passed that hurdle, you all came to the realization that you were pretty good in the kitchen. You could even recall certain times where Ellie and your brother would ask you to make something for them, further proving your skills.

So while they were both in the front yard playing basketball, you knew they’d work up an appetite once they came inside. You took it upon yourself to start working on something with what your parents had in the fridge.

You were far too lost in thought once you got into it, humming softly to yourself as you stirred up what you were working on in a pan. You barely heard your brother and Ellie walk in together, chucking to each other at something Ellie was saying. The two were engulfed in the aroma of your yummy cooking the second they walked in, watching as you worked your way around the kitchen to cook something up for the two of them.

“You cooked?” Your brother asks curiously, moving to rest his forearms on the island as he watched you.

You hummed softly as you nodded, keeping your eyes on the various pots on the stove. “There wasn’t much in the fridge, so I’ll have to go food shopping tomorrow maybe…but I figured you’d both be hungry” you finally turn around, giving them both a half smile.

Your brother nodded, seemingly opening his mouth to thank you for the kind gesture, his stomach already grumbling for a taste of whatever it was that you were cooking, all of it smelling ten times better than anything he’d been eating for the past two years at college.

But Ellie was quick to cut him off, eyebrows furrowed as she gave you a death stare so intense, it was a miracle you hadn’t keeled over from it alone.

“We’re going out to eat” she deadpanned, her tone firm and harsh.

It makes you turn around fully after lowering all the spots on the stove, grabbing the kitchen towel you kept nearby and drying your hands off, your hips resting against the kitchen counter as you watched them.

Your brother frowned as he looked up at Ellie in confusion, the man clearly not have gotten the memo.

“We…are?….but you were just saying how tired-“ He mumbled out softly before Ellie landed a hard jab to his side with her elbow, making your brother quickly shut his mouth, getting her message loud and clear.

Ellie didn’t want anything from you.

You inhaled deeply, fighting back the urge to stoop down to her level, no matter how much it stung that she was doing this out of spite, simply over something that was asked of you.

“That’s…that’s fine. I hope you guys have fun” you gave them a nod and a soft smile before you turned around to continue working on the food that you’d be eating alone.

Ellie’s angry expression softened into a frown when you didn’t fight back, fully expecting you blow up and make her seem like the victim who’s getting her summer ruined by some fucking she-demon or something. But you didn’t, you simply bid them a good time and turned around to busy yourself with whatever you were doing.

Your brother frowned as he watched you turn around, already feeling bad for not only leaving you alone for the night, but making you eat alone felt even worse.

But Ellie was already scoffing, mumbling softly to your brother to come upstairs with her so they could get changed and leave so they could get something to eat, her eyes lingering on you angrily as she stomped upstairs like a child.

You spent that night alone, eating your dinner with a glass of wine, showering and watching a movie downstairs, silently hoping the pair would have a change of heart and walk through to spend the night with you, acting as a way to kick off the summer on a better note than it was already starting off on.

But they never did. You ended up doing all of that and more and they still didn’t get home. You decided to simply send your brother a quick text letting them know you’d leave the porch light on and to get home safe before you went to bed.

That wasn’t the end of Ellie’s little scheme of being terrible to you. No, that was honestly only the beginning.

The second time of her being mean was about a week later. You managed to stay clear of the both of them for a few days, busying yourself with getting the house situated for yours, Ellie and your brothers stay. You got a good amount of things done, groceries, laundry, getting your car through the car wash. You even picked up a dozen bagels from yours and your brother’s favorite bakery in the city nearby, knowing how much him and Ellie would appreciate them for breakfast, even if you knew she’d bitch once she knew you bought them.

But once all of those chores were done, you found that you’d started to run out of things to keep you occupied. There was no more laundry to do, no more groceries to buy, nothing more for you to tend to that would keep you away from the house.

You were bored out of your mind.

You sighed softly as you laid in your bed, staring up at your ceiling as you toyed with the hem of your denim shorts. You were contemplating what to do, how to entertain yourself in the confides of your bedroom. It was hard because Ellie and Derek spent almost all of their time in the living room, leaving you to either do things outside of the house, or stay in your room.

It made you sad, because you wouldn’t have this problem had you stayed at Uni. You would’ve been outside with your friends, at parties, restaurants, bars. Anything that there was to offer in the city, you’d be there.

Another huff passed through your lips, your arms moving down to rest against your pillow. You were beginning to get desperate, your mind void of any ideas to keep yourself occupied.

You sat up, looking towards your door for a moment before you looked back down at your hands in your lap, your mind falling deep in thought before you finally let out a sigh. You felt ridiculous, forcing yourself to be a prisoner in your own home for your own comfort. Ellie didn’t even fucking live here, this was your parents house and you deserved to walk around as you pleased!

So you finally tossed your legs over the edge of your bed, and opened your door to go downstairs.

The second your room door was open, you could hear Derek and Ellie downstairs, the two of them laughing and shouting at each other. As you walked down the stairs, you could hear the sounds of their video game playing through the speakers, paired with the sound of their fingers harshly clicking down on the buttons of their game controllers.

Video games sounded fun.

You hummed softly as you watched them from the bottom of the stairs for a moment before you walked into the living room, simply watching the two hunched over, completely locked in on their current match.

“Don’t fuckin’ push by yourself you’re gonna die. Lemme just heal really quick” you hear Ellie groan out to your brother.

“I’m good! I’m good I got this” your brothers words follow, a blanket of silence falls between the two of them, only to hear your brother and Ellie groan loudly in unison, followed by Ellie sucking her teeth in annoyance.

“I told you not to fucking-“ her words are cut short when she notices you in the corner of her eye, the girl deflating as she slouches back into the couch, her eyes back on the screen.

“Great…” she mumbles out, which you try your best to ignore before taking a spot on the opposite end of the couch, tucking your legs underneath yourself as you nod towards the tv.

“How many have you guys won so far?” You hum out softly.

Your brother’s eyes don’t leave the tv screen as he responds, fingers already clicking away at his controller the second Ellie managed to resurrect him in the game. “A good amount…especially when Ellie’s here to save my ass” he grins out, which earns an annoyed sigh from Ellie.

You hum softly as you nod, watching as their characters run around on the split screen, the two of them looting and taking out other players as the number of people in the game grows lower and lower, waiting until the game was almost over.

“Could you guys use a third?” You ask softly after clearing your throat, eyes still glued to the screen as you watch them play.

Derek licks his lips as he continues playing, his eyes quickly shifting over to Ellie for a moment to gauge her reaction to your question before he responds.

You and him would play video games all the time together, and there were even times where all three of you would play together. Sure, they’d do petty shit like leave your character in the storm to die when you needed help or made sure your controller was close to dying, but they’d at least let you play from time to time.

However, Ellie was quick to speak up and give you a response.

“No. You’re shit at this game” Ellie quickly responds, pink tongue sticking out of her mouth as she concentrates on the game.

While you can tell she’s not joking, her words make your brother chuckle softly as he gives her a gentle nudge. “I’m sure one game is fine? Watching her play will be kind of funny to be honest” he tried, yet Ellie wouldn’t budge.

She shook her head firmly. “Nah. She’s gonna fuck up our winning streak. Weren’t you upstairs anyway? Why did you even come down here….go back up” her eyes finally break away from the screen once the game was finished, looking over at you and nodding her head up towards the stairs.

And while Ellie would sometimes chase you away when she was over, it was always in good fun. Sure she was a dick to you but this?

This was so different.

It makes you choke up a bit, eyes widening at her words before you look at your brother, silently begging for him to defend you from the girls mean words.

But he doesn’t, he clears his throat, avoiding your eyes and grabbing his own phone to scroll through it so he wouldn’t have to be put into the awkward situation of getting between his sister and his best friend.

It makes you inhale deeply before you silently get up from the couch, slip past the two of them, and make your way back upstairs like Ellie told you to, your throat burning with hot tears as you tried your best to hide them from the pair on the couch.

Your brother finally looked up when you slipped passed the two of them, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he eyed Ellie. “I know she’s annoying but…that was kind of fucked up man” he mumbles out softly, his eyes lingering on Ellie for a moment only to watch her shrug, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Shut up. She wouldn’t leave unless I was mean…” she mumbled out nonchalantly, which makes your brother sigh softly, turning his head back to the screen and starting another game.

You realized that this wasn’t a game. This was Ellie being awful to you for the sole fact that you were staying there and being a ‘cock block’, and in her book? That was more than enough of a reason to take her anger out on you.

It made you take one look at your bedroom when you finally got upstairs, tears in your eyes, when you realized that you had to get quite comfortable there, seeing as you’d be spending far more time locked up than you thought you would have.

You managed to avoid Ellie and your brother for the remainder of the week, for real this time. You had no interest in being around them or spending any time with them, not since Ellie made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with you, and you were the bane of her very existence.

You decided that they could spend their summer like they wanted to, without you there.

Any time you needed something from downstairs, you’d either go and get it extremely early in the morning or late enough at night so that they wouldn’t be there, which was hard sometimes since they’d spend almost the entire night downstairs, drinking beers and eating snacks until they were too tired to go in anymore.

Tonight was different though.

Because tonight was the first Saturday of the summer, which meant anyone and everyone was looking towards your brother and Ellie for a party to kick things off. You knew they’d do it of course, but you knew it was actually happening once you could hear the faint noise of the two of them setting up downstairs, paired with the roaring sound of your brothers Jeep pulling in and out of the driveway, making multiple runs to the store for last minutes things for the party.

And your plan for the night? You were going to shower early to avoid any awkward drunk run-ins, take a melatonin, lock your room door, and fall asleep with your noise canceling headphones underneath a mountain of blankets. While it would be nice to let loose and party for a night, you wouldn’t dare even ask them if you could attend, already knowing Ellie would have quite the mean words in store if you tried that.

On the bright side, this all meant you were responsible for the clean up in the morning.

You let out a soft sigh as you tugged on a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t shirt, moving to grab your bottle of melatonin gummies before you moved to sit on the bed, wanting to wind down a bit before bed.

Right as you were about to take your vitamin and lock your door though, you heard a gentle knock, making you frown as you looked over at it. Surly the party hadn’t started yet? Did you seriously have to put a note on your door to alert drunk idiots that your room was off limits for hook ups?

You frowned before calling out. “Go away! There are other rooms!” You called out loud enough, hoping that whoever was on the other side would get the memo.

Instead, you hear the knob turn, the door creaking open as your brother peaks his head in, making you sigh in relief.

“Oh…I thought you were some idiot party-goer” you explain as you scrunch your nose at the mere thought of it before you unscrew the top to your bottle. “What are you doing here? You have a party to host” you explain before you look up at him, only to find his eyes wandering your bedroom before he shrugs.

“Wanted to check on you…make sure you’re okay” he explains before he finally looks down at you, nodding towards the bottle of melatonin in your hand. “Going to bed already?” He asks, which you nod to.

“Yup…trying to get a heard start before the noise sets in” you hum out softly before you bring one of the gummies to your lips.

Your brother quickly speaks up before you can take it. “You should come down…for a little bit. It’ll be fun” he quickly gets out before you eat it. He knew the moment you took it, you’d be lulled away to sleep, and there was no chance in him reconciling with you tonight.

Because in all honesty, he felt horrible for the way Ellie had been treating you. Not only did he fear you’d tell your parents (he knew you wouldn’t), but he also felt like he was being a shit big brother for not standing up for you, even if he knew that you knew it was a tricky situation since Ellie was his best friend.

Your shoulders slump at his words, giving your brother an unamused look.

“Your friend wouldn’t even let me play video games with you. Do you seriously think she’d allow me to come down tonight l?” You groan out softly before you shake your head, bringing the gummy to your lips once again. “I’m gonna go to bed. I don’t have time for either of you” you sigh softly.

Your eyes widen when your brother steps forward and slaps the gummy from your hand. “What the hell Derek??” You shriek out, which only makes him groan in annoyance.

“It’ll be fun! And Ellie will be too drunk or high or both to even notice you’re there…” he whines out like a child, which makes you roll your eyes.

A blanket of silence falls between the both of you as you think about it, weighing out the pros and the cons of going downstairs and joining everyone, risking the chance of Ellie blowing up on you the second she sees you there, assuming you’re attending for the sole purpose of shutting down her fun.

Derek sighs softly as he moves to sit down next to you on your bed. “I’ve been a shitty older brother…and you deserve to have fun this summer too” he hums out softly before he leans over, nudging your shoulder gently with his.

“Come on…it’ll be fun” he urges once more, and it reminds you of when you were both kids, your brother slowly turning into the person that you recognized rather than the person he was whenever he was around Ellie or his other friends.

You finally sigh out softly before looking over at him, giving him a slight nod. “I’ll change and come down once I hear the music start playing…I’m sure that gives her enough time to get her drunk goggles on” you hum out playfully as you refer to Ellie.

Your brother smiles brightly, his mimicking your own before he nods. “You’re gonna have fun” he affirms once more before he gets up to leave your bedroom, closing the door behind him so he could get downstairs and finish setting up.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you look down at your clothes, frowning at the faded band t shirt paired with the frayed ends of your old sleep shorts.

You needed to change.

It wasn’t long until you could hear the faint sound of the loud music booming through the house, paired with the various cars that slowly started piling up in your driveway and along the side of the ride in front of your house, the party guests making their way to your place like clockwork.

You had changed into a pair of baggy blue jeans that hung low on your waist, and a simple white tank top hugged your curves in a way that looked like you put in way more effort that you actually did, wanting to keep things comfortable enough that you could slip out of it the second you wanted to dessert the place for the safe haven that was your bedroom.

The party was in fully swing by the time you made your way downstairs, a person filling up everyone single space as music blasted loudly throughout the entire place. You inhaled deeply, slipping past the growing sea of people to get to the kitchen, and get a drink.

Your eyes scanned the space as you stayed leaned up against the counter, red solo cup pressed against your lips as you babysat the mixture of liquid and soda, people watching as everyone around you became acquainted with one another, your drink making you grow warmer and warmer with each passing second.

Like a stroke of luck, you catch an empty spot on the once full couch. It makes you sigh in relief, once again slipping past the bodies in your house to catch it before someone else does, which you thankfully do. You plop down onto it, bringing your cup to your lips as you rest your head against the back of the couch.

You didn’t even realize how drunk you were until Jesse, one of your brother’s old friends plops down next to you with a loud sigh. The second he was next to you, the strong smell of weed was filling up your lungs, you swore you felt the tiniest bit high from the smell alone.

“If I so much as smell a blunt, your tv is gonna grow legs and start walking away” he groaned out, making you stifle a laugh.

The sound catches his attention, the man turning his head to look at you, his hazy expression slowly tugging into a smile.

“Nooo way. I remember you! You’re Derek’s little sister” he gasps out, which makes you hold back a laugh before you nod.

“I am in fact his sister” you confirm.

To be frankly honest, you’d known Jesse since high school. He was pretty close with Ellie and Derek, he was actually the only one out of the group of gremlins that was actually kind to you whenever they were all around. However he was currently so far gone, he could barely remember that you two already knew each other.

“Maaan I haven’t seen you in so long! He didn’t tell me you’d be here” he chuckles softly, bringing his hands to his face as he groans softly.

“I’m…I’m sorry I’m so high right now. I can barely think” he apologizes, the man visibly melting into the couch as he lets his hands fall down beside him, staring off into space.

You giggle softly as you shake your head, bringing your cup to your lips as you take another sip of your drink. “You’re fine Jesse…the companies nice” you nod before you rest your head back against the back of the couch, allowing Jesse to carry on with his belligerent complaints.

You were so consumed with Jesse’s rather entertaining word vomit, that you barely noticed a certain someone eyeing you from the other side of the couch.

Ellie had been there the entire time, too high and too drunk (like your brother said she’d be) to even notice you had taken a spot at the end of the couch. It also didn’t help that she had her current summer fling splayed across her lap, her lips pressed to the girls mouth as they practically swallowed each other’s faces whole.

And she wouldn’t have noticed you either, had it not been for the familiar sound of your giggle ringing through her ear, barely audible over the sound of the loud music booming through the house.

At first she thought she was hearing things, ignoring the noise and carrying on with working her tongue against the girl’s against her. However the second time she heard it, it was paired with a low groan that she could only recognize as Jesse’s, and once she heard that? She had no choice but to break her lips away from the girls, instead allowing her to work her lips against her neck.

The image of your head resting against the back of the couch, looking up at Jesse as his face seemingly lays inches away from yours, your eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room, the edge of your solo cup resting against your pouty bottom lip as you listen intently at whatever Jesse is saying…

Makes Ellie want to punch a fucking hole in the wall.

Because what the fuck is Jesse doing talking to Derek’s little sister? Why the fuck does he think it’s okay to make you laugh that way when everyone knows you’re off limits? The unspoken rule being something everyone had to follow…

No matter how pretty you got as you grew up.

Ellie suddenly can’t pay any attention to the pretty girl on her lap, her grip on the girls hips tightening with anger as she watches you smile lazily at Jesse, the drink in your cup clearly making you far too soft and pliable to be talking to someone like Jesse.

There’s suddenly a fire burning in her, one that begs for you to look up and see what she’s doing, see that she has a girl on her lap that isn’t you. She wants you to see her kissing the girl, gripping her hips and positioning her however she pleases.

Ellie feels the need to make you jealous

But you never do. Ellie watches the both of you for what feels like an eternity, and you don’t once look up and lock eyes for her, not even for a second. She’s sure you’re obvious to the fact that she’s even there, far too consumed with whatever the fuck it was that Jesse was telling you, which couldn’t be anything good of course, it was Jesse of all people.

The girl on her lap is getting antsy, tugging at the bottom of Ellie’s shirt, slipping her hand underneath it to run along the skin of her hips, lips itching up her skin to get back to Ellie’s mouth, anything to have the attention that has suddenly been locked into something else.

Ellie doesn’t budge of course, her stone cold gaze stuck on you across the chair, a few feet away from her as Jesse chats you up,

She doesn’t even know why she’s staring. She can’t pin point why seeing you do something as simple as talk to someone else makes her blood boil to the point where she feels fucking light headed. All she knows is that she can’t take her eyes off of you, not when your attention is so dead set on someone else.

The girl on Ellie’s neck whines softly, her hand coming up to grip Ellie’s chin, pulling her down to finally lock lips with her. It makes Ellie groan, and to the girl it probably sounded like a groan of approval, a sign that Ellie liked that she was taking what she wanted from her. In reality, it was Ellie being fucking annoyed.

Ellie kisses her hard, trying her best to shut her up and keep her satisfied so she can break away and keep an eye on you.

You sigh softly, lifting your head a bit to turn and look down into your cup, noticing it had become empty in the span of talking to Jesse. While doing that, you realized how drunk you had gotten from the drink you made, a lazy giggle leaving your lips as you shook your head towards Jesse.

“I’m…way too drunk…I need to go to bed” you sigh out, resting your hand Jesse’s thigh as you give him a gentle pat. “Try to sober up before you go home if you do end up leaving….was nice seeing you Jesse” you smile at him, only receiving a soft groan of agony before he lazily waved you off, making you giggle softly before you got up off the couch, stumbling a bit before making your way around it to go upstairs.

As you round the corner, oblivious to Ellie’s presence, you don’t at all notice the way her eyes trail your path even as her lips work angrily against the girl in her lap.

Or the way she breaks the kiss once you’re out of view, pushing the girl off her lap as her legs begin carrying her up to follow you. “I’ll be right back…” she mumbles out to the girl, completely ignoring the way she scoffs once she realizes Ellie was following another girl.

She slips past the crowd of people as she trails close behind you, watching as you fail to even realize the way certain eyes follow your path, eyes that don’t belong to her, eyes that have filthy thoughts behind them, only fueling her anger further.

It’s like a shark stalking their prey. You’re a dumb, innocent little fish with not a care in the world, happily swimming around other little seat creatures as an apex predator slowly sticks onto your tail, following you to your demise. You’re bouncing around, giggling softly as you stumble over your own feet, so stupid from the liquor you had, you’d barely even noticed Ellie was following you.

Soon, you’re up the stairs and in front of your bedroom door. You reached up, standing on your toes to get to the little key you left on the top of your door after you locked it before going downstairs, ensuring no one would so much as think to use your bed as a hook up station.

You opened it up, sighing softly as you closed it behind you, moving over to your drawer to grab the pajamas you had folded earlier, wanting nothing more to change into them and get some much needed sleep now that the alcohol had settled in and warmed up your entire system.

Ellie hears you humming softly to yourself as she opens up your door. She isn’t even entirely sure what her motive is with this, why she felt the need to follow you all the way up to your room, and to on top of that walk in. It wasn’t like you were in any sort of danger, you weren’t out on the street late at night all alone, or even at a party at a strangers house. You were a smart girl, even going as far as to lock your door before and after leaving to go downstairs.

Not smart enough to lock it before Ellie could come in though.

You frown softly when you hear your door open, fully prepared to start screaming for your brother the second some creep tried to come in to your room.

You don’t have to though, because the second you realize that it’s Ellie standing at your door and not some fucking weirdo, you let out a small sigh of relief.

Which quickly turns into panic once you realize that it’s Ellie standing in your doorway.

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” You question the girl, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you let out a soft sigh.

You can hear it already, the way Ellie is gearing up to degrade and berate you for even thinking it was okay to come out of your room and down to the party. You mentally prepare yourself for the nasty things she’ll say, for the way she’ll go above and beyond to ensure you never even think to come down and attend another one of hers and your brothers parties ever again.

But she doesn’t speak, not immediately at least.

You watch as she crosses her arms over her chest, tattooed forearms making her look all the more intimidating. Her eyes roam your bedroom as she slowly steps in to take in more of the space after she closes your door behind her.

“It’s nice in here…you should’ve stayed put…would have worked out better for you” she hums out, her tone a bit too casual for the bite that her words manage to get out of you.

It makes you sigh softly, bringing your hand up to rub against your forehead before you speak up. “It was Derek’s idea, okay? And I was barely even down there. I didn’t even talk to anyone” you explain to the girl.

She raises her eyebrows, green eyes settling on you as she watches you in surprise.

“Didn’t talk to anyone hm? Then what the fuck were you doing with Jesse? Huh?” She barks out, the level of her voice making you flinch.

If you were confused before, this has you in shambles. Your frown deepens as your eyebrows furrow, watching the girl before you quickly speak up to defend yourself.

“With Jesse? Ellie I…we talked for maybe thirty minutes? And all he was telling me was how much he was greening out I…are you serious right now??” You shriek out, watching as the girl slowly made her way towards you.

She ignores your explanation. “Do you know how fucking desperate you look? Clinging on to mine and Derek’s friends?” She spits out, her tone growing angrier and more vile with each word she utters.

And she’s getting closer to you the more she speaks too.

“It’s fuckin’ pathetic. You’re fucking pathetic. Don’t you get tired of this? Isn’t this boring to you?” She questions, tone dripping with annoyance and anger as she keeps going, keeps pushing you.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her like this. She’s fuming with something you don’t recognize and it makes your eyes widen, lips parting slightly as you try to find the words to say before they quickly close once she continues on with her nasty words.

That’s wide eyed look on your face lights a fire under Ellie that tells her to keep going.

She’s right in front of you now, her nose inches away from yours as she lets out an unamused chuckle, a soft smirk on her face.

“You’re such a fucking slut…you know that? Begging for attention from your brother’s friends….” She hums out softly, her pink tongue slipping out of her mouth to wet her lips slowly. You can barely stop yourself from your eyes shifting down to watch the way she does it, only earning a soft chuckle from the girl.

“Did you go to him because you saw I was busy baby? Is that it?” Her tone is still taunting you, but it’s softer, her voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly you feel her strong hands snake their way around your waist, pulling you slowly but harshly against her body, making you gasp softly at the sudden and foreign feeling of her body pressed against yours, all of it consuming you too much to even register what it was she was accusing you of.

Her eyes are taking in your features. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, as if she were silently begging you for something you couldn’t completely give her, something more.

“If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask” she sighs out softly.

And it’s like you aren’t even there anymore, because once she says that, her lips are pressed against yours in a hot, needy kiss.

Your eyes widened at the feeling of her lips on yours. For a minute you even questioned if you were dreaming, because surly there was no world where this would be happening, one in which Ellie would be kissing you.

You gasped out softly, trying to break away from the girl to ask what exactly it was that she was doing, but she only takes this as an advantage to slip her tongue into your mouth.

The feeling of her wet tongue against yours has you melting, your eyes fluttering shut as suddenly any and all questions and concerns you previously had disappear from your head, the only thought present being how good it felt to have Ellie kissing you.

You finally get a moment to speak when you feel Ellie break the kiss so that her lips could trail down your throat, licking and sucking your skin as her hands grip your hips tightly, fingers rubbing against the exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans.

“Ellie…what are you…” you manage to get out between moans, enjoying the feeling of the means girls lips against your throat far too much.

“Shut up…just shut the fuck up…” her words are muffled against your skin.

You can feel her walking you back towards your bed, allowing her to push you back onto it and crawl over your body once you’re both there. That’s when her lips attach themselves back onto yours, her hand coming down to skillfully unbutton your jeans, which gives her a chance to cup your pussy, feeling your arousal soaked panties.

She smirks against your lips, the pads of her fingers pressing against your clothed clit as she gives you a hum of approval.

“Wet already? Over one little kiss? God that’s pathetic…” she chuckles out softly as she degrades you for it, which somehow only sends more warmth shooting down your core.

“It’s alright baby…I’ll take care of you..” she hums softly against your lips before she starts kissing down your body.

Her lips swirl your nipples over the fabric of your tank top, the material growing wet with her saliva. It’s strange because the feeling is almost more erotic than if she were to do it with your top off. Maybe it’s how eager she is for it? For whatever it was she was planning on doing to you?

You had no idea. But you knew it felt good.

She does this until she’s settled between your legs, your denim jeans already long gone, her eyes zeroed in on the growing damp spot on your panties. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching closely as the girl who you were convinced hated you, stares down at your pussy like it’s her last fucking meal.

“You’re soaked baby…fuck…” she sighs out, her tattooed hand coming up to slowly run her index and middle fingers along your slit, the feeling alone making you gasp out before moaning for her.

That makes Ellie smirk, her stormy green eyes flickering up to catch your expressions as her fingers circle your clit slowly. “Yeah? You like that don’t you pretty girl…you want more?” She questions, her voice so soft and sweet, yet dripping with the urge to tease and humiliate you.

It was so confusing, because you didn’t know what it was that you wanted. You’d grown to view Ellie as someone who disliked you, deeply in fact. You always saw her as a figure of hate and annoyance towards you rather than someone who could ever in their wildest dreams be in this current situation with you.

But it felt so good, it felt so fucking right to have her settled between your legs, her fingers circling your clit slowly, making your head spin, making you feel so dizzy you felt like you’d cry if your aching pussy didn’t have some form of attention from her.

“Answer me…” she practically growls out when you take too long to respond, her dark eyes growing even darker as she awaits your confirmation.

Her tone along breaks you out of your thoughts, and before you can even think all of this through, consider the consequences that will follow a drunk hook up with Ellie?…

You’re nodding like a fucking bobble head.

“Want it so bad Ellie…please….please touch me” you practically beg, hips bucking for the attention you craved.

You didn’t even for a second stop to think what her motives were. Ellie was mean, and she could be really fucking mean when she wanted to. Who’s to say this wasn’t all a sick joke? One that she’d laugh at hysterically just to get you to say you wanted her, weaponizing the way you begged for her in any instance she could use to keep you in line.

“Good girl…relax baby…I’ll make you feel real good..” she hums out, her gentle words tugging you away from your intrusive thoughts.

Her fingers tug your panties to the side, an audible groan rumbling from her chest as she finally gets a glimpse as your soaked core.

“Fuckin’ look at that…pussy’s practically drooling for me baby…Jesus” she sighs out softly.

For a moment, you think she’s going to leave. Because in the dim light of your bedroom, you watch as she pushes her fingers into her mouth. You watch her with a confused frown as you hear a small click, paired with a gentle buzzing sound.

But once Ellie finally latches her mouth to your pussy, you can feel the foreign feeling of a tiny ball in the middle of her tongue vibrating against your clit.

You don’t even have time to fully register what the actual fuck is going on, a loud gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes go wide for a moment before they flutter shut.

Ellie had a vibrating fucking tongue ring

The feeling has you moaning loudly, your head falling back as your back arches, feeding more of your throbbing cunt into Ellie’s mouth, which only makes her moan loudly against your sensitive core.

“Fuck! Ellie oh my god! Feels…h-huh….feels s’good” you gasp out, words broken up with huffs and moans as you struggle to speak.

You want to kick yourself for not noticing it moment ago when she had her tongue playing against yours, the feeling of the smooth ball lapping against the inside of your mouth, only to begging vibrating once she settled her mouth on your pussy.

She’s just as fucked out as you are when you finally look down at her, her eyes fluttered shut in what could only be viewed as pure bliss as she licks and sucks your pussy like a woman starved. The image alone makes you reach out and tug a fistful of her hair into your hand, keeping her close as your hips began grinding against her face.

“Yeah..right…f-fuck…right there Ellie!” You moan out as her hands come up to hold onto your hips, guiding you, urging you to move harder and faster against her mouth.

Begging you to use her.

Your eyes flutter shut as the familiar feeling begins to settle into your lower half, your legs growing numb, hips getting sore as you chase the high that was growing deliciously close every second Ellie worked her skilled tongue on your pussy.

You aren’t sure you’ve ever felt anything like it. Between Ellie’s fantastic performance with her tongue, and the vibrating tongue ring, your head begins spinning as your orgasm grows closer in an embarrassingly quick amount of time.

“Ellie I…I can’t…you’re gonna…make me…” you warn her, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare down at the girl, only to see her giving you an encouraging nod as she suckles your pussy, making sure the little ball on her tongue is working your clit in the most perfect way so that the vibrations can drive you where you need to go.

That alone has you crying out, back arching almost painfully as you cum hard on the girls tongue.

Sensitivity chases soon after, a soft whine leaving your lips as the girl laps up your arousal, tongue ring still buzzing against your tired cunt, making you shy away from the warmth of her mouth.

She chuckles at that, giving your clit one final kiss before she pulls away and reaches into her mouth to click the tiny machine off.

“Did so good for me baby…took everything that I gave you” she praises you as she crawls up your body, humming softly as her hand comes up to gently hold your face before she kisses you, letting you taste your arousal that lingers on her tongue.

You moan softly into your mouth, head still swirling with a million questions you had for her, all of which she silences with the slow and sensual lapping of her tongue against yours.

She does this as she pushes you back onto your bed, letting you rest against your pillows before she tugs your blanket over both your bodies, her tongue lazily playing with yours as she practically lulls you to sleep with her kisses.

Or so you thought.

Because soon enough, she’s breaking the kiss, crawling off of your body as she tugs the blankets off of hers. You frown as you sit up a bit, watching as she adjusts her hair and her clothes in your mirror, crouching down a bit before she turns to leave your room without another word.

“I…you’re leaving?” You question softly, confusion and exhaustion laced within your words.

Ellie snorts once she turns around, the back of her hand coming up to wipe away anymore of your juices that might have still lingered on her lips.

“You thought I was gonna stay with you? Seriously?” She chuckles out softly before she slowly makes her way back to you, leaning down as she gives you a teasing pout.

“Maybe next time princess…I have someone waiting for me downstairs” she winks at you before she swiftly leaves your bedroom, leaving you there with a shocked look settled on your face.

[beomiracles]

hiii I’ve never requested before but your writing is tew good ! I was wondering if u could do idol beomgyu x friend Idol reader where basically because of hectic schedules their friendship relies a lot on calling, like any other time reader is practicing intense choreography while gyu is yapping through her AirPods. Reader takes a small break to catch her breath when she realises beomgyu has fallen silent and she can hear him touching himself 😵‍💫

⌞𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔? 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄?⌝

DREAM RECALL When you catch an almost whine-like sound slipping past his lips your mind finally pieces together what was happening. — Your best friend was touching himself to your voice.

wc -> 2k

pairings idol!beomgyu x idol!afab!reader warnings masturbation, perv!beomgyu, tiny bit of nipple play, body descriptions (like I said beomgyu is a perv in this)

#serene adds ✎ this effectively brought me out of my writing slump, ily <3 and wdym you've never requested before??? your ideas are genius !

“And then I told him: no, sorry I’m not interested.” The sound of your sneakers gliding against the wooden floor echoes out, making a squeaking noise. You huff out a short breath before continuing, “right, so I clearly stated no, but for some reason he kept returning to our table. And every single time he asked the same question, can you believe it?” You exclaim, swinging your leg around your body in one swift motion as you spun around on the spot. 

Beomgyu’s chuckle fills the small pods in your ears and you can hear him shift somewhere in the background. “Can you blame the poor guy?” He wonders and you catch him unplug his phone from its charger, moving around as he settles back onto his bed. “I mean, he must think you were real’ pretty to come up like that, most guys would be too shy to even approach.” 

Your lips twitch into a faint grin, “really?” — “Would you approach me? I mean if you didn’t know me already?” Beomgyu remains silent for a moment, you can’t hear anything besides his quiet breaths and you frown. “Yeah, probably.” He finally states and for some reason you felt your stomach flutter. “Wait, really?” You wonder, and Beomgyu sighs on the other line, “yeah sure, you’re a pretty girl.” 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you suppress the smile threatening to bloom on your face as you distract yourself by repeating the choreography once more. “I’ll keep that in mind”, you drawl, hearing your friend groan in your airpods, “hey, that’s not fair!” — “Never said I was”, you giggle as you run a hand through your disheveled hair. “Alright, enough about me, let’s hear your weekend!” 

Beomgyu wastes no time in going on a small ramble, the distinctive sound of his chirping voice filling your ears. One thing about Beomgyu was that he could make a small story into a long one, so you expected him to be occupied for at least another twenty minutes as you focused on your dancing. And he was, he almost was. 

You nod along to his words, humming and “yeah”-ing when necessary as well as throwing in other sound effects to ensure that you were listening. Occasionally you would giggle as he made a terrible joke or just said something so outright stupid that all you could do was laugh. — You didn’t realize just how easy you had gone on yourself when you were previously talking, because not even ten minutes in you were already panting. 

He mumbles something, the sound coming out incoherent through your pods and you frown. “W-Wait say that again”, you huff, clearing your already dry throat as you spun around one more time. It takes a minute for him to repeat himself and you wondered if something had happened. But then his familiar voice rings out again, though his words sound almost slurred. You guessed he might be tired. 

The next part of the choreography shifted all your attention from your friend on the phone to the full body mirror in front of you. This time you were determined to get it right, and you did. Heaving a sigh, your shoulders slump as you rub the back of your neck in an exhausted manner. Dragging your legs over to the small bench by the wall, you flop down as you reach for your water bottle. 

It isn’t until you’ve chugged half it, wiping your lips with the back of your hand that you notice Beomgyu’s unusual silence. In fact he had completely stopped talking and for a brief moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. But just as you were about to call out for him, you hear him groan. — Your initial thought was that he must be in pain, a flash of worry shooting through you as you sat up straight, gripping the bottle tightly in your hands. 

But the sound is quickly followed by his familiar breathing pattern, the one you had grown so accustomed to as you spent your nights on the phone. Except, he sounded different, almost strained. He took deep and ragged breaths and you heard him shifting on his bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. When you catch an almost whine-like sound slipping past his lips your mind finally pieces together what was happening. 

Your best friend was touching himself to your voice. 

⋮

It wasn’t Beomgyu’s fault, or maybe it was a little. But he really couldn’t help himself. He hasn’t seen you for weeks, in fact he hasn’t seen anyone besides his band members for a good while. So to say that he was extremely lonely would be an understatement. It was never meant to go this far, really it wasn’t. But as soon as he got into bed, swiping to accept your call, he knew he was doomed. 

Beomgyu liked your voice, he thinks he might even love it. The way words so seamlessly rolled off your tongue, not to mention your subtle accent peeking through as you spoke. He could listen to you talk forever. — He knew that there was no sexual intent behind you groaning and panting, more than familiar with the excruciating physical labor of dancing, Beomgyu knew exactly how you felt. 

Yet he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched in his briefs as he listened to you pant, rambling on about your weekend as you did, your sentences coming out near breathless. He barely noticed the words “pretty girl” slipping past his lips, too caught up in not trying to grope himself as he tried to maintain whatever conversation was left. Neither does he notice your brief silence at his words, the small clearing of your throat before you hurriedly continue. — He bit his lip, his free hand curling into a fist as he willed it not to move down his stomach. It proved to be almost impossible with every passing second. — Then you disrupt his inner battle. 

“Alright, enough about me, let’s hear your weekend!” 

Well fuck. He needs to act fast, so he immediately goes on about his weekend, making up half of the events as he goes, anything to get you off his mind. It seems to work, you’re busying yourself with dancing, he can tell by the way your shoes echo off the floors. He thinks he might be able to actually talk his hard on down, gesturing wildly, even though you can’t see it, as he explains his Saturday evening. 

But no matter how hard he tries, the second he stops talking to draw in a sharp breath, all he hears is you. Your heavy breath or the small groans you emit as you grow frustrated with yourself. — It doesn’t help that he can perfectly envision you. The tight tank top you always wore, drenched in sweat as it sticks to your shiny skin. Your shorts, stopping halfway down your thighs, hugging your ass in a way that was almost criminal. 

Beomgyu knows that you take training seriously, he knows that you’re too caught up in whatever move you’re trying to perfect to even register half the things he’s saying. He thinks that he might be able to get away with it. — Placing his phone on his chest, Beomgyu lets his hands roam down his torso, hesitating if only for a moment as he reaches the hem of his sweats. But in the end he slips a hand past the fabric, easily wrapping his fingers around his hard cock, shuddering at his own touch. 

He tries to keep talking, to keep you distracted, but his words come out jagged and every move of his tongue feels forced. He moves faster, his grip tightening whilst his other hand tugs his pants down enough to where he can pull himself free from their confinement. He imagines your chest, coated in a sheer layer of glistening sweat, perked nipples peeking through the fabric of your top. He knows he should feel ashamed, he really does, yet he continues. 

“W-Wait say that again.” 

Your voice snaps him from his daze. Fuck, what did he say? He could barely remember, he bites his tongue, trying to steady his sporadic breathing. “I uh, went out for err d-drinks with Taehyun..” He hopes, prays, that you can’t tell how hoarse his voice has become. But you only hum, your attention seemingly elsewhere and he breathes out a sigh of relief. 

He flicks his thumb over his tip, biting back a harsh groan as he squirms on his bed, eyes screwing shut as his jaw slacks. Breathing through his nose, he attentively listens to the way you pant, your body moving along to a beat he couldn’t hear. — His free hand moves up his chest, twisting and pinching his nipples through his shirt, the double stimulation making him go cross eyed. 

Too caught up in the way you made him feel, he fails to notice that you’ve stopped dancing, your heavy breathing slowly simmering down as you slump against the small bench. He also fails to remember that he was supposed to be talking. Unable to hinder the quiet groan slipping from his lip as he nears his orgasm, he freezes for a second, but he tells himself you won’t be able to pick up on it. 

“Beomgyu?” 

His name on your lips almost has him spilling in his hand before realization kicks in. He freezes, head jerking up from his pillow as he immediately lets go of his throbbing cock. He swallows, “y-yeah?” — You’re quiet for a minute, and he thinks you might just have caught him red handed, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“I thought you had fallen asleep!” You retort, shuffling on the bench as you take another gulp of your water. The sound sent shockwaves through his body. “H-ah, no m’wide awake..” He cringes at how strained his voice sounds, uncomfortably shifting on the mattress as his cock slaps against his stomach. You hum against your phone, leaning back to rest against the cool wall behind you. 

When you let out a tired sigh, he can’t help but reach down to slowly fist himself once more. He’ll be quiet, he’ll hang up quickly and finish off without you ever having to find out. Beomgyu doesn’t know if it has to do with his sex clouded brain or his pending orgasm, but he could’ve sworn that every small sigh and groan you made sounded excessively sexual. 

“I should invest in a new top, this one’s far too small, sticks to me like glue”, you drawl and Beomgyu feels his breath hitch. “Huh, uh-huh”, he breathes, trying his hardest not to imagine the very same shirt you spoke of, wrapping around your tits so nicely. He shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut as he strokes himself harder. 

“Ugh, and my leg hurts”, you whine, moaning out in pain as you lean down to massage your calf. The sound makes his eyes snap open as he fumbles to press the ‘mute’ button on his phone. A string of curses ripping from his throat as he finishes all over himself, thighs trembling as he lets his head fall back against the soft pillow. The image of you still crystal clear in his mind. — Breathing out a small sigh of relief, he lets his eyes flutter closed, swallowing yet another groan as he reaches for his phone once more, only to have his heart practically stop in his chest. 

“Finally finished?” You drawl, a smug smirk pulling at your lips as you listen to his heavy panting, the sound filling your airpods. It was almost endearing how easy he had been to fool as you played along, and the way his breath hitched only made your unwavering confidence grow as you listened to the way realization hit him like a truck. 

Gulping, Beomgyu’s gaze flit down to his phone screen, eyes widening as they land on the still clear mute button. He knew then that he would never hear the end of this.

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[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know their way around a toolbox always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was that kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a goddamn slap to the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But it’s not like you’ve got a buffet of options, so you throw up your hand, waving the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dust, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. He sports a faded plaid shirt and jeans, a pair of well-worn boots kicking up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is the star of the show, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he expects to find out here. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?””

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop in the next town, but it gon’ be a ride.”

You blink up at him, surprised at his offer. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“As safe as it’s gonna get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Ain’t no mechanic shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has touched you and that rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be aware of the sleazy old trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, ain’t that a shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body. He doesn’t miss it, his smirk growing a little wider.

“That line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. But you look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure about that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you like this. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Texas,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “You think I’m layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working, though.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.

[marvelmusing]

Personal Shopper

from The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader

Summary: In preparation for your honeymoon, you and Aleksander go shopping. Per usual, he has high standards.

Warnings: brief mentions of sex and nudity

My Masterlist

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Disgust curls at the corner of Aleksander’s lips, his nostrils flaring as he surveys the luminous rainbow of swim shorts hanging in front of you. For someone whose wardrobe consists of black and white, the options on display feel like an insulting form of colour exposure therapy.

“You could have told me there were no viable options for me here,” he says.

“If you just ignore the brightly coloured ones-”

“A blind person would struggle to ignore those.”

“There’s a navy blue?”

“When have you ever seen me wear navy blue?”

“Almost every man likes navy blue.”

“No, almost every man wears navy blue because he doesn’t understand the concept of dressing himself and thinks he can’t go wrong with blue.”

The manager of the store hovers at a respectable distance - ready to assist but not too overbearing. A group of younger employees have gathered discretely in a corner, talking quietly amongst themselves while shooting furtive glances in your direction.

“What about dark grey?” you suggest, selecting a pair from the rack and offering them for him to examine.

Aleksander takes a long look at them, and sighs.

“Go on,” you say expectantly.

He raises a brow at you, his expression innocent.

“What?”

“From the look on your face, there’s clearly something wrong with them.”

He pauses, regarding you somewhat sheepishly. Glancing down, he looks at his shoes, then back up at the shorts.

“The drawstrings are white.”

“Aleksander-”

“It looks inexpensive!” he defends. You laugh, shaking your head at him.

He watches you glance down at the shorts, eyes fixating on the drawstrings before you sigh and discard them back on the rack.

“Now you’ve said that, I won’t be able to unsee it.”

Aleksander breathes out a soft laugh, curling his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest as you browse the other items of clothing nearby. He lowers his head down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs,

“I’m sorry for being so particular.”

A smile spreads over your lips, as you place your hands on his forearms, keeping him close while you lean back into his body.

“No, you’re not.”

He smiles.

“No, I’m not.”

“The worst part is, you always look good, meaning your fussiness is well-founded.”

He tilts his head at you, lips parted in faux shock.

“Fussiness?”

“Don’t sound so astounded. If I tried to tell anyone at work that you aren’t fussy, I’d be laughed out of the building.”

His eyes wander over the items of clothing in the store, a certain area in particular catching his attention.

“I can think of one instance where I’m not fussy,” he remarks. He feels your head turn, looking in the direction of his gaze.

“If you’re talking about my lingerie, I’d have to disagree.”

He stills, looking down at you in concern.

“Have I ever made you feel uncomf-”

“No, Sasha. Never. It’s just that I can usually tell from your reaction what pieces you like more than others. I could probably guess what your favourite set of mine is.” He nods slightly, encouraging you to state your guess. “The black silk set - the one lined with white lace.”

He tilts his head, humming quietly in contemplation.

“I would consider that one of my favourites. But it isn’t my favourite.”

“What is your favourite then?”

His cheeks flush.

“It isn’t even a matching set,” he admits. “The cream cotton bra, with little purple and blue flowers. And the blue cotton panties with white polka dots.”

A small sound of surprise catches in the back of your throat.

At the beginning of your relationship, you had been shy about showing him the less than perfect parts of you. When you’re at work, everything is perfect - just how Aleksander likes it.

He had caught you by surprise, the first time he saw his favourite ensemble, kissing you in the makeshift office created for him during a photoshoot. As always, you had melted in his arms, kissing him back eagerly. Until he reached for the button at the waistband of your trousers. He stopped the moment he felt you stiffen.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?”

He sees the hesitation on your face and removes his hands from you.

“I didn’t think you’d want this today,” you admit, fidgeting nervously with your hands. “I thought you’d be too busy with the shoot.”

His expression softens, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. He lets his knuckles linger there.

“What do you mean?”

He feels your cheeks heat beneath his hand, then you say in a near whisper,

“I’m not wearing my nice underwear. They’re just plain cotton, nothing special.”

To this day, Aleksander disagrees wholeheartedly.

“Really?” you state, turning your head to look at him. “That’s your favourite?”

He nods, shrugging slightly.

“I don’t know what it is, it just feels so domestic, seeing you in them.”

He feels your body grow warm in his arms.

After years of seeing you with only perfect makeup and meticulously picked outfits, the sight of you barefaced, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a zip hoodie is one of his favourite daydreams.

Aleksander kisses your cheek.

“You look beautiful in anything - and nothing.”

“Sasha!” you scold him quietly, glancing around to check that no one is close enough to hear him.

He presses his face into the side of yours, lips brushing delicately against your cheekbone as his nose digs into your temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

He can feel the blood rushing to your face as you smile.

“I love you too.”

Aleksander smiles softly.

“Which ones do you like best?”

“You want me to pick?”

He breathes out a soft laugh at your widened eyes.

“Marriage is about compromise. They are for our honeymoon after all.”

With mischief curling at your lips, your fingers dance over the bright yellow swim shorts.

“Milaya,” he says warningly. “Don’t be cruel.”

You laugh quietly.

“What about these?”

A subtle summery shade of sky blue, embossed with a small grey logo near the hem of the right leg. Aleksander will admit, they are a nice colour, despite being different from his preferred palette. Not to mention that they will pair well with a few of the shirts already in his wardrobe - though he doubts he will be wearing a shirt at all given the expected heat.

Nevertheless, he feigns a sigh as he takes the swim shorts from you.

“Anything for you, milaya.”

He can’t help but smile when he sees you roll your eyes.

When the two of you finally climb into the back of Aleksander’s car, you’re kissing him senseless. From the moment he mentioned your underwear, you’ve been flustered, taking every opportunity to have your hands on him. Now that you’re alone, you cannot suppress your need.

He can feel your lip gloss smearing over his mouth, sticky and sweet. Aleksander cups your jaw, holding you in place as he works on devouring you.

He feels you frown when your phone buzzes, interrupting your moment. When you make no movement to reach for the device, Aleksander tears his lips from yours momentarily as he peers at the screen.

“What is it?” you ask breathlessly.

Being Aleksander’s assistant means you like to stay well informed on what the press is saying about him. The notification is from your news app.

News Alert: Aleksander Morozov sighted with fiancée.

He smiles.

“Nothing.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird @kksbookstuff

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Sonny Carisi: Part 2 

This wasn’t requested but I had to write another part to this. Part 1 Claddagh Ring. 

Sonny's world had been a haze of pain and anger since the passing of his father. His brain had been in a fog. He hadn’t been able to stop it from swallowing him and forcing its way out. Its target had been you. He knew it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t fair. But he couldn’t completely wrap his brain around the severity of what he was doing. He didn’t see what he was doing that night- picking a fight and yelling about he couldn’t even remember what. He was stuck in his own bubble of misery.  

But when he watched you flip that ring...  

“Don’t flip unless you're sure. It means something-something you can’t take back.” You told him when he had gone to turn it when he made his intentions for you clear.    

It echoed in his ears now. The bubble popped. The world shifted beneath his feet. He could barely feel the counter holding him up. The anger and frustration that had blurred his days disappeared in a flash. It was replaced with a suffocating shock followed by an anguishing pain. A pain radiated from the center of his chest up to his fingertips and down to his toes. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. 

He doesn’t realize he isn’t just thinking it but saying it out loud until he hears his voice fill with more and more desperation, his voice cracking. You don’t look at him, instead looking up at the ceiling, trying to blink back tears. To dissociate with what your life has become. Sonny walks the few steps over to you on numb legs. You shake your head still refusing to make eye contact with him. Even as his hands reach out to cup your cheeks you turn your face away from him holding your hands up to stop him from touching you.  

Sonny’s heart shatters to pieces and falls to the floor like he does. He sinks to his knees, unable to keep himself upright. “Please, don’t do this. I can fix it. I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.” His arms wrap around your waist as he buries his face into your stomach. He keeps repeating those words over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” His accent is thick, and sobs start wrecking through his body. You can feel them vibrate through your body, the pain behind them cutting deep into your heart. 

You never saw Sonny cry when his father passed. Everyone else in his family- his mother, his sisters, his grandmother- all were in a semi-permanent state of tears. But not Dominick Carisi Jr. He seemed to be making up for that now. He was holding you so tightly it was almost painful. You hesitated but couldn’t ignore the compelling need to comfort the man that you loved. One of your hands slowly found its way to his head stroking his hair and the other to his shoulder. For the first time in so long, he leaned into your touch. Taking comfort in your support instead of spurring it.  

Sonny was a stream of thought. Telling you how much he loved you, begging you not to leave him, and repeatedly telling you how sorry he was. He holds you so long that you eventually you sit down with him. He panics misperceiving your movements trying to stop you from leaving. He is distraught. You soothe him as you kneel in front of him. Soon the two of you are both on the floor with silent tears. Sonny is leaning against you completely exhausted from his onslaught of emotions and crying. His eyes are red and swollen and his breathing is shaky.  

You are emotionally wrecked from the night, but your mind is spinning at all that has happened in just a few hours. It’s late, almost two in the morning, and both of you are supposed to work in just a few short hours. You stroke his back, “Hey, let's get you in bed, okay?”  

His bloodshot eyes go to yours and his accent is thicker than ever with exhaustion, “You coming too?” You press your lips together in a firm line. You consider him for a second, then nod. You help him to his feet and into the bedroom. He barely takes his pants and button-up off before he collapses in bed numbly. You walk into the closet to change into sweatpants and hesitate in your reach for Sonny’s Fordham sweatshirt that you had taken over. You eventually reach for one of your own instead.  

When you walk out Sonny's eyes are a dead stare at the closet. You slowly walk around to climb into your side of the bed. There had been distinct sides in the last few months. Sonny breaks that now. His arm wrapped around you spooning you. You wish the touch didn’t feel so damn good because despite it all you are still hurt. Unsure he could repair the wounds that he had inflicted.  “I’m gonna fix this, I swear.” He whispers against your hair. “I love you.” 

You can’t find it in yourself to say it back. Not now. 

Taglist @polkadotpenguin16  @pulparindos 

[beauty-and-passion]

Eurovision 2024: broken promises and one last hope

Hello.

I know this post took a bit longer than usual, but I needed some time to collect my thoughts about this year’s Eurovision.

Yes, I watched it. Why? Because it wouldn’t have been fair to the artists, who took part in this year’s competition. It’s not because of them that the show was so polarized, so they didn’t deserve to be punished for that.

Also, I needed to see how far the EBU would go. I needed to see and I needed to remember. And everyone needs to remember too. Remember this year and remember what happened, when the EBU followed its policy so strictly, it ended up making the most tense show I’ve ever watched.

I will share my thoughts and I will try my best to do it effectively. It won’t be a short post and I apologize, but I tried my best.

_________________________________

Sweden: was it worth it?

We all had big expectations for this year’s show. There was Petra Mede, everyone’s favorite host. And Sweden is well known for doing great shows. This year should've been great.

 The first semifinal starts and we're bombarded by greatest hits of the past. Cool for five minutes, boring after one hour.

I’m disappointed: I expected something better from Sweden, not them recycling something already done in the past. But that’s what they did by sending Loreen back to win again, so I suppose it’s fitting.

Okay, so we have Johnny Logan, Ireland’s three-time winner. Is he singing one of his songs? No, he’s singing Tattoo.

Weird choice. Why call Ireland’s three-time winner to perform a Swedish song? Why call a representative of the nation who won as many times as you and make him sing one of your songs and not one of his?

If I were to think badly, I would think this was Sweden's subtle way to impose its supremacy on Ireland. A sort of: "You're not the best anymore, I reached you and I will surpass you. You will succumb to me". But Sweden would never do something like that, wouldn’t it?

Then we have the second semifinal. And we have a song, which can be resumed as follows: “We know we stole Finland’s victory last year, but instead of admitting there is a problem with the voting system (and the entire system for that matter), we’d much rather prefer to whine, because people have been sooooo mean with us. And yes, we will keep sending the same stuff every time, because it makes us win. At the end of the day, all we want is to keep winning, so shut up and love us.”

I don’t know you, but the line between being self-aware of your flaws and openly admitting all you want is to win (all while insulting the country that almost won last year, by saying that their show would’ve been so stupid ah ah, while ours is so cool, see how cool we are?) is very thin. And even the greatest hosting country of all time can succumb to its own hubris once in a while.

Then we reach the final. Okay, the semifinals' shows were meh and left me with a bitter aftertaste, but hey, that’s the final! It must be awesome!

After two hours, I was looking at the clock, waiting for the entire thing to be over.

Did we really need a thirst song about Martin Österdahl, the most hated EBU Executive Supervisor? Was it really necessary to sexualize this man? Is it because he’s Swedish? Is it because Sweden needs to kiss the ESC’s ass even more? Or is it because the ESC really really wants to make this guy more popular, considering people hate him?

After hinting at them in every possible way for the entire week, in the end we got AI-generated ABBA. Well, shoutout to the real ABBA for not participating in this: last year they said they would’ve not taken part and they didn't. Respect.

Alcazar were the biggest surprise of the entire week, because they are a piece of my childhood and Crying at the Discoteque is still a huge bop. But heaven forbid we having fun for more than five minutes, so they were sent away immediately.

At the end of the day, my question is: was it worth it, Sweden? Was it worth winning seven times, only to celebrate with the most boring show ever?

I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I missed Portugal’s show. Yes, the show I called “torture”, because they kept spamming the entire country for days.

You know what? I’d rather watch a country constantly spam its beauties and its culture, than another greatest hit compilation. By god, you’re hosting Eurovision. That's your chance to display your country on the greatest window Europe has to offer. And you use that chance, to repeat over and over “Eurovision good” and talk about it only.

I know Eurovision is good and cool and I love the reminder... but please, give us something more, Sweden. Something you. Listening to a country say: “We don’t have anything else to offer besides Eurovision” does not make me laugh. It makes me sad. It's not that you don't have anything else to offer, Sweden: it's that you don't want to show what else you have to offer.

You have gorgeous natural places (Höga Kusten and Gotland just to name two). You have the second-longest bridge in Europe and it's fucking impressive. Your capital is full of wonderful islands - and I found out there are tours with buses that go both on the ground and in the water. How fucking cool is that?!

Do we want to talk about culture? Your coffee breaks are literally part of your lifestyle and even have a specific name. You have that great concept of lagom which a lot of people should learn too. You are full of beautiful art and funny foods - heck, there is even a Disgusting Food Museum in Malmö! And I didn't find out thanks to Eurovision, but thanks to fucking Tripadvisor.

It's just sad, you know? Don't underestimate yourself so much, Sweden. You have a ton to offer besides this show.

_________________________________

 The Netherlands: victim of paradoxes

Europapa was one of fan’s favorite songs and of course it was: a catchy tune, funny singer, fun and happiness for a song that was both a celebration of Europe and a touching love letter from Joost to his parents.

Of course it got people’s hearts. We all love the story of a character who comes up with a dream and wants to fulfill it. And if we can, we want to make that dream come true.

So just imagine how devastating it was, to find out Joost has been disqualified. I was minding my own business when I found out and I was shocked, so I can’t even imagine how bad his hardcore fans felt.

The first question was, of course, why. What happened? What could’ve done a man who has always wanted to attend Eurovision, to get disqualified? Not warned, not penalized. Disqualified. What did he ever do, to put in jeopardy his lifelong dream like that?

I don't know if we’ll ever find out the whole truth. All we know is that Joost asked a woman to stop filming him, she refused and kept following him, so he made a “threatening gesture” towards the camera, while not touching her.

Which gesture? No idea. Maybe he showed his middle finger, maybe he tried to lower the camera, maybe he said “fuck you and stop filming me”, maybe he tried to hit the camera. I don’t know. But in this case, I would really like to know - and not just what he did, but how the whole thing went.

If this year taught us something, is the importance of context. If Joost Klein tried to punch the camera is one thing and he should be condemned for that. But if Joost Klein tried to punch the camera after being filmed without his permission, because a woman was harassing him and following him, thus breaking the agreement that wanted him to not be filmed after stage… well, that's another thing.

Sure, he shouldn’t have reacted this way. But you can understand by yourself that snapping at someone out of the blue is one thing and snapping because you’re fed up with harassment is another thing.

Did Joost deserve some punishment? Sure. But did the person filming him without consent deserve punishment too? Of course. If you have to apply punishments, you have to do it equally, not with a double standard. So if he was disqualified, that woman should've been removed from her position too. But as far as I know, she wasn't.

Also, why didn't the EBU tell exactly what happened right from the start? Why refer to it as “an incident” and give only vague explanations? Why not mention Joost's disqualification during the Grand Final? Why did people have to find out through social media and the Grand Final happened as if nothing?

That's weird, that's not the behavior of someone who has nothing to hide. What’s the matter, EBU? Why this weird lack of communication? And why not show the footage of the incident and make everything clear? Now you’re respecting Joost’s right to not be filmed? A bit too late for that, isn’t it?

So yes, in a paradoxical turn of events, Joost Klein got his dream denied by the same show he wanted to be part of. The guy with the most European song ever, the one who stuck to the ESC motto “united by music”, the one who celebrated Europe, the one whose childhood dream was to be part of this European show, got disqualified by the same European show.

What can I say? I just hope karma will do its job for him. If he's innocent, he will get good things. If he's in the wrong, he will get his punishment.

In the meantime, you can still support him, stream his songs and check his albums. Here on YouTube you will find basically all of them, since it doesn’t seem he has a YouTube channel (yet).

And if his fans still find everything absurd and unjustifiable, don't worry: if Eurovision 2023 (and all previous ones) taught us something, is that you don’t have to be the winner, to steal people’s hearts. Sometimes, you just need one performance.

And this one stole everyone's heart.

Also, since apparently paradoxes were not enough, it seems like European flags were banned for being political? European flags during a European show in a European country in the European continent.

Uh?!

EBU, one question: on which continent do you think you’re in? Spoiler: it’s not America.

_________________________________

EBU’s biggest mistake

Let's talk a bit about the current global situation, shall we? No, you can't escape from it.

So, unless you lived under a rock until now, you know that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been going on for a long time and that recently it intensified again because of the new Gaza conflict. Israel pretends to not have committed war crimes, the rest of the world tells them to stop committing them, there are protests everywhere and people are ready to jump at each other’s throats to defend one country or the other.

Now, you’re the EBU. You say your show isn’t political. And that’s true: Eurovision isn’t political. Eurovision is a musical competition. It has nothing to do with politics.

But Eurovision takes place on planet Earth. And, as said, the situation on planet Earth is a bit tense right now. So you already know that, if you stick one single finger in this situation, you will get BIG reactions from the public.

So, what do you do, when Israel asks you to participate?

a) You tell Israel, very politely and very professionally, that you appreciate their application, but cannot accept them this year, because the situation is what it is and letting them in would bring chaos and potential dangers into a contest whose main foundation is being safe and non-political.

b) You let Israel in and let Palestine participate too, at least in spirit through people’s voices and decisions to mention it. This way, no one can say you’re taking sides, since you’re letting both sides participate.

c) You let Israel in and censor everything and everyone else, so not only you bring chaos inside your non-political contest, but make it even more political than ever and end up taking sides too.

Guess what EBU chose.

In order to stick to their non-political policy, EBU put blinders on and ignored the rest of the world. In order to let one country in because "Eurovision is non-political, so everyone is allowed to participate", they brought politics into their non-political show.

And no, it's not unexpected: it was obvious that, by letting Israel in, politics would've entered the competition too. This country and politics are bound tightly now, because of the current situation: of course if you let one in, the other will enter too.

And with politics, all the chaos of the current situation found its way in too. And that means EBU literally put in danger:

25 artists and their teams coming from all over Europe

the same Israeli gal and her team

all the tourists coming from all over the world to attend Eurovision

Swedish people who were living their normal lives and were suddenly surrounded by protests and chaos

the protesters who could've been involved in potential clashes

members of the police who also could've been involved in potential clashes

“But hey”, you might say, “nothing bad happened, in the end! You’re being too negative!”

Sure, thankfully nothing bad happened. But the risk was there, it was huge and it's not that "it would've been here anyway": the risk could've been completely avoided, by applying just a bit more human reasoning.

But even after politics found its way into the show, even after that, EBU could've saved the whole thing. If only one human being with a functioning brain said something like: "Okay, politics is in, even if we didn't want to. Now all we can do is let the other side of the conflict speak too, while we stay neutral".

But no, oh no. Mentioning Palestine and ceasefire means politics and our show isn't political. So let's ignore the fact that our decision to follow the policy verbatim led to politics being inside the show and let's keep applying the rules as if nothing: no one should mention politics, so Eric Saade cannot perform with the kefiah, Bambie Thug should remove their messages about ceasefire, Iolanda cannot keep her nails with Palestine's colors (seriously?!) and people's booing should be drowned with anti-booing technology.

You know, it's incredibly fascinating how EBU's stubborn decision to strictly follow the rules not only allowed politics inside the show, but led to the EBU itself taking a political stand, all while censoring every other opposition. EBU's rigid, mechanical application of the policy led to the EBU contradicting the same policy it was oh-so-religiously following. By making sure the show wasn't political, EBU applied censorship and not only made it even more political, but politically oriented towards one side of the conflict.

I don't know who the EBU members are and if they're human beings with functioning brains or just AI-generated bots, but please: stop following the rules like mindless robots and start using human reasoning in your decision-making process. And use common sense too, because if an idiot like me could foresee the consequences, you should've been able to foresee them too.

_________________________________

Israel: bullying cannot buy you victory

Now, we have Israel in. And the Israeli gal and her team perfectly know that their sole presence will lead to controversy and political stands.

So, if you were in their place, what would have you done?

kept a low profile during the entire competition;

showed at least an ounce of regret for unintentionally putting everyone in danger;

bullied everyone and tried to find any possible chance to beef with the other artists;

Guess what the Israeli team chose.

During the entire competition, these people kept harassing other artists, filming them without consent, calling them names, misgendering them. They kept this arrogant behavior, as if they owned the place and all other countries were just invited to their show.

And if there’s something I hate more than arrogance, is arrogance with a side dish of bullying.

So, to all the people whining because “Martina Satti yawned while Eden was speaking and Joost hid his face”: if that’s bullying, for you, you have a great life and I envy you. I wish I was bullied like that in school. But my bullying was more like… well, calling me names, harassing me and listening/spying what I was doing without my consent.

But apparently harassing the competitors wasn’t enough, so Israel decided to harass the viewers too, by begging for votes. Yes, they begged for votes. Yes, they spammed ads all over YouTube. Yes, I got one too and it was on a Eurovision-unrelated video and it made my blood boil. Yes, they were this desperate. And yes, that’s pathetic.

Also: is this legal? Is this allowed? EBU, are we sure this is part of the rules you follow so strictly? And please, tell me: is harassment also part of those same rules?

But do not worry: in the end, karma found its way. And despite the arrogance, the harassment, the tons of money spent to beg people, none of these means was enough to grant Israel the victory they oh-so-desperately wanted.

On the contrary: in a wonderfully ironic twist, the winner was one of the artists they kept misgendering and harassing. Mmmh, delicious irony, my favorite.

So thank you Israel for wasting money all over YouTube, I hope they were a lot. Thank you to all the people who made a political vote, you really got the spirit of the show, I hope you will never watch it again. Thank you Israeli team for harassing everyone and making an already tense competition even more tense. And, most importantly, thank you EBU for bringing politics in a non-political show: great fucking job, I hope someone will get fired.

And now, let's finally talk about music. Israel's song was nothing special, just the umpteenth bland song I've listened to 200 times already. And we all know it didn't get 300+ votes because everyone was in love with it. People's taste is not so bland and boring. And the final points proved it.

(On a side note, if I were Eden, I would be offended by these votes. At least the people who voted for Loreen last year didn't do it because of Sweden, but because of her talent. This year, I doubt that the people who voted for Eden gave a shit about her talent at all)

_________________________________

France: I need to make some apologies

Listen, you have to understand: we Italians know that French singers are good. We laugh, we say they’re “so French” and they keep Frenching and everything, but we know they rarely disappoint.

The problem is that France is good at the same things we’re good too. We’re both good at soccer, we’re good with food, wine, fashion. And we’re both good at singing.

So, France, remember: we might make fun of you but my god, your artists are amazing. When Slimane sang that part acapella two meters away from his microphone, I literally got shivers. He is a fucking great singer, his voice is incredible and he deserved more than 7 points.

I know French Frenching, but we should give credit when necessary:

_________________________________

Estonia, Spain and basically everyone else: two words and more apologies

Estonia 20th and Spain 22nd? Super robbed. The ignominy. The audacity. They served us beautiful Estonian language and a Spanish gal with a soft voice and that's how they got rewarded? They deserve more and better and people are stupid.

Also, I don’t know what kind of beef Greeks have with Marina, but she was good and doesn’t deserve all of this hate. Also because most of the complaints I've heard about make no sense, so… uh?!

Germany: fucking finally, people gave you votes. Thank you for persevering, your song was truly nice and I liked it too.

Armenia: yes, top 10! For great, lively, wonderful Balkan rhythm! You deserve it and your country deserves love and appreciation.

Italy: I’m okay with this result. Angelina’s performance was better, compared to the one in the semi-finals (also, better costume too, the other was too revealing and too much in general). 7th place is fine.

Ireland: I know that’s not a song for everyone and okay, fine, maybe it’s nothing special either… but my god, have you seen the performance they put on? A-ma-zing. It was interesting, captivating and full of details. And the narrative is perfect too: you can see how Bambie slowly befriends the demon and ends up killing it. It was truly enjoyable to watch. So I’m glad it got 6th place, they deserve an even higher position.

Ukraine: please keep slaying, your artists are always so great and they keep proving it every goddamn time. Also, that moment when Ukraine surpassed Israel was delicious: money truly cannot buy you love and support.

The UK: seriously, why are you whining about people not giving you points? The song was okay, but nothing truly special. Still, you got 18th place! What should Norway say, instead? Poor Norway, it has all my sympathy, the song wasn't this bad.

And now, to you all: you know what to do. Follow your favorites, stream their songs, shower them with love. Eurovision is over, but these artists are not disappearing. They are still out there, making beautiful music. Go check on them.

_________________________________

Croatia: “the audience will come to my concert, not the jury”

Baby Lasagna was a blessing and as Italian, I want to properly apologize for giving it 16 points total only. You deserved 24, shame on us for being stupid morons.

Croatia gave us a beautiful song, from a beautiful artist with a great message and upbeat sounds. And I’m not the only one who thinks this, because the rest of the public agrees with me. Marko gave us pure joy and entertainment in an evening that was mostly sadness, tension and boredom.

And yes, it’s sad he didn’t win… but he knew it, before Switzerland’s points have been announced. Look at his face, during the final voting: as soon as Petra said Switzerland only needed 182 points, he realized he was going to lose. You can see him understanding and accepting it. He knew Switzerland would get these points. I knew. Everybody knew.

So no, this wasn’t like last year: last year, it was a one-on-one game between Finland and Sweden and a tug-of-war between public and jury. This year, we had a lot of favorites. Marko was the favorite, but if Joost wasn’t disqualified, maybe the points would’ve been even more distributed.

But you know what? Marko actually got the best possible result you can get in Eurovision. People adore you, you become a legend and your country doesn’t have to deal with EBU’s bullshit. You get the best of both worlds and it doesn’t cost you a cent.

Also, consider that Marko accepted his 2nd place graciously and maturely, went back home and was welcomed by basically the whole Zagreb (Let3 were there too! Kings supporting a king, very fitting). And in an interview, he said something like “I don’t care about the jury points, because the jury doesn’t come to my concerts”. Which proves he is:

a mood

a king

the truth oracle

everyone’s spirit animal

the winner of the people

the coolest guy ever

So, Croatia: I understand your disappointment, the jury system REALLY needs to change. And no, you won't host Eurovision next year. But consider that you're everyone's favorite country now. And you won't have to deal with whatever shit will happen in 2025! So sit back, relax, may your tourism thrive and your quality of life be high.

And if all of you people really enjoyed Baby Lasagna, please consider he has a YouTube channel and there are two other songs, besides Rim Tim Tagi Dim. One criticizes social media and the influencer system, while the other is a piece of great life advice from the title: “Don't hate yourself, but don't love yourself too much”. Thank you, king, for being so real.

And in case you’re wondering, yes, they’re both huge bops.

Do your magic, people: subscribe to his channel, stream his songs, watch his videos, shower him with love and, most importantly, meow back.

_________________________________

Switzerland: a contest that can live up to its promise

In the end Switzerland won. And it’s a good victory, you know? You might not like the song, but consider that Nemo sang pop, rap and opera, all while jumping on that rotating platform-thingy and running all over the stage. And they even bent back, while keeping a high note and rotating. I can’t even keep a high note by standing still, let alone by doing all the stuff they did.

Also, this is the first victory for a non-binary person, so great for them. And basically no one knew Nemo before Eurovision, so the show came back to its roots, by giving fame to an unknown artist.

Last but not least, in an ironic turn of events, this victory is the least political thing that happened on that stage. In the most polarized, political show ever, the winner is the quintessential neutral country. Almost poetic, in a way.

And this victory is also a huge slap in the face for the EBU: in the end, it wasn't its rigid adherence to the policy that made the show non-political, it was the jury’s vote. How the tables have turned.

But there is another reason why this victory is good after all and it’s because it’s a hopeful one. The winner isn’t famous, they didn’t harass anyone, they didn’t use money to win, they brought nothing besides their identity, a kind heart and a flag they had to sneak in because of the weird “flag rule” EBU pulled out.

And I would like to remind you that, during their victory speech, Nemo said this:

"I hope this contest can live up to its promise and continue to stand for peace and dignity for every person in this world".

I think it’s a speech that tells everything about this year’s show. This year, the contest didn’t live up to its promise: it put people in unnecessary danger, it brought tension, it made it political. EBU’s strictness led to a lot of consequences, the exact ones it tried so desperately to avoid.

As a result, no one enjoyed their time. I didn't enjoy my time. When Sunday came, I was relieved that the week was finally over and I was able to leave Eurovision behind. I didn't feel an ounce of the usual post-Eurovision nostalgia. I was just glad it was over.

And it's sad and unfair, because Eurovision isn't this. Eurovision is a perfect little window of peace and unity, away from the chaos of the world. For a few hours, three evenings a year, we can leave the real problems behind and focus on silly ones, like which country should win, which should be forever ashamed and which artist will become a legend.

This year, it wasn't like that. This year politics found its way in and wrecked everything. What was supposed to be a silly, funny, lighthearted show became so heavily politically charged, it broke under the weight.

And now that I think about it, Nemo breaking the trophy is the perfect metaphorical representation of this year's competition.

Just like that trophy, Eurovision is something frail and beautiful and mishandling can break it. And oh boy, the EBU truly mishandled it. Even if it was an accident, even if it wasn't done on purpose, the trophy is still broken. The show is broken.

But when asked about their broken trophy, Nemo didn't mourn it: Nemo gave words of hope. Maybe the broken trophy can be repaired. And maybe Eurovision can be repaired too.

How? Well, maybe by starting to learn when and how to apply rules. By using common sense and sensibility. And by checking the world outside too. If we want Eurovision to keep being that small window separated from real world problems, we can't just ignore them: we need to check them and react accordingly.

And if we have to break a rule to guarantee peace and safety, then so be it. One broken rule is not as important as safety and unity.

After all, what makes Eurovision isn't a set of rules: it's the artists, with their talents, their messages, their hopes, their voices, their dreams. They are Eurovision. They are the pull that draws everyone in. They are the reason why people are "united by music". Not because a rule orders them to, not because of the EBU: because of these artists.

Maybe the EBU can start from that. Maybe it can start by looking at the human aspect. Maybe it can start by going out and looking around. And maybe it can learn to take more care of the artists who are the foundation of the show.

And maybe, maybe, they will be able to repair Eurovision too.

See you, hopefully, next year.

[uhhlifeig]

Divination - October 11 - word count: 752 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius slumped in his chair, blowing a stray piece of hair from his face, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Across from him, Remus sat with his arms crossed, trying not to let his frustration show. He hated Divination. 

Despised it, really. The whole subject felt like a joke, full of vague predictions and "gut feelings" that meant nothing. But somehow, despite his disdain for it, he was good at it.

"Alright, class," Professor Denebola called from the front, her voice airy and distant as though she herself were half out of this world. "Today, we are focusing on palmistry, a sacred art that reveals the truths of one's life, love, and, yes, even death."

James let out a groan beside Sirius, resting his head on the table dramatically. "This is going to be a load of rubbish, isn't it?"

"Probably," the gray-eyed boy muttered, his eyes flicking over to Remus.

"Pair up!" Denebola instructed, floating around the room. "And carefully study your partner’s palm. Look for the life line, the heart line, the head line… Feel the vibrations!"

Remus rolled his eyes but glanced over at Sirius. "I’ll read yours first."

The dog animagus raised an eyebrow, grinning. "I didn’t think you’d actually do anything, Moony. Thought you hated this stuff."

"I do," Remus admitted. "But whatever."

Sirius laughed but extended his hand anyway, letting Remus take it. The werewolf ran his fingers along the lines of his palm, the touch gentle and featherlight. 

As much as he despised the subject, there was something calming about reading the lines, about seeing the patterns in people’s lives laid out like a map. 

His fingers traced Sirius’s life line- strong at the beginning, but then it became thin and faint, almost hard to find near the end.

"Your life line’s not very strong there," Remus murmured, pointing at the weaker part and frowning slightly.

The noiret snorted. "That’s because I’m reckless."

Remus ignored the joke and continued to study Sirius’s palm, his fingers brushing over the other lines. "Your heart line’s a mess too. Typical."

Sirius grinned. "Well, that’s because I’m a disaster in love, obviously."

Remus shot him an amused look. "So modest."

Meanwhile, James held out his hand to Lily. "Alright, Evans, what’s my future? Am I destined for eternal glory or what?"

Lily took his hand, but instead of looking at his palm, she leaned in with a smirk. "Oh, eternal glory, Potter. As long as ‘eternal glory’ involves annoying me until the end of time."

James chuckled, but then frowned as he glanced at his own palm. "Hey, my life line’s really short… What’s that mean?"

"Means you’re doomed," Sirius said with a dramatic sigh.

Lily examined James’s palm, her eyebrows raised slightly at how short the line really was. 

"Maybe it means you’re reckless too," she said, brushing it off. "Besides, Divination’s a load of tosh."

"True," James agreed, shaking his head. "No way I’m letting some silly lines on my hand decide how long I live."

Sirius, however, was still staring at his hand as Remus let it go, the frown between his brows deepening.

"Stop looking so serious," Remus said quietly. "You know none of this is real, right?"

"I’m always Sirius," Sirius replied, smiling halfheartedly. "But- thin life line, messy heart line... What’s next, I’m going to live a cursed life?"

Remus sighed. "You’re not cursed, Pads. Palm lines don’t define you. You define you."

Sirius looked at him, his eyes softening as he absorbed Remus’s words. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Remus said firmly. "Besides, you’ve got me. I’ll make sure you live a long, annoying life."

Sirius smiled, his usual cockiness returning. "Oh, thank Merlin. I was starting to think I’d have to haunt you or something."

James nudged Lily, motioning toward Sirius and Remus with a knowing look. "See, Evans, maybe we should be like them. Destiny and all that."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Destiny? Potter, I thought we agreed this was all tosh."

"Only the bad bits," James said with a wink. "The good stuff? I’m totally buying into it."

Lily laughed, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."

Remus caught their conversation and turned his attention back to Sirius, his voice dropping. "Besides, I’ve seen enough of the future to know one thing for sure."

"What’s that?" Sirius asked, his tone playful again but with an edge of curiosity.

Remus smiled softly. "You’re not going anywhere, Pads. Not for a long time."

Sirius squeezed his hand. "Good. ‘Cause I’m sticking around whether the lines like it or not."

[sirhamburrger]

𝐢: 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚 (𝐧.)

𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚 (𝐧.): 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐚𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚 (𝐧.) [𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

word count: 1206 || next

keiji akaashi wants out, right now.

it’s not because he’s worried about having to talk to you without your liaison and mutual friend, hitoka yachi. in fact, you look equally as nervous, if not more, than he feels.

it’s not because your apartment is tidy. it’s not nearly as neat as his own, he thinks to himself, but well-organised and clean. photos of you with family and friends line the walls. you’ve also hung up many beautiful pieces of art; they’re gifts from college art major friends, you tell him. 

it’s because you’re pretty, almost unnervingly so. he wasn’t even expecting that this anonymous author would be female - you’d been going by a pen name online, so no one knew anything about you except your last name, l/n.

it's a nice last name, keiji decides.

your frame is swallowed up in the oversized hoodie you wear, and your grey sweatpants almost brush the floor with how long they are. you’re almost catlike in your gestures, padding across your own hardwood floors in fuzzy blue cloud slippers. keiji unwittingly finds himself drawn to your every movement, and the way the soft lighting of your dining area paints you in warm golden light.

“please, akaashi-san, take a seat.” you smile brightly at him, despite looking slightly wan and bleary-eyed. he does so, settling into your rather comfortable armchair with a small nod of gratitude. “can i fix you anything? coffee? tea?”

“water would be lovely, thank you,” keiji says, not wanting to impose. he watches on awkwardly as you move about the kitchenette gracefully, finally coming back to the sitting room with a glass in hand. your fingers brush against his as he receives it, and he tries valiantly - fights, even - to maintain his poker face.

“i don’t believe i’ve properly introduced myself,” he says in what he hopes is a pleasant tone. “i’m keiji akaashi from tekipaki publishing, and i used to work for udai tenma-sensei in the manga department. you know meteo attack? that barē manga?” you nod, and he continues on. “udai-sensei recently finished serialization, and the firm put me on this project with you. i’ve heard many good things about your writing, and i’m honored to be working with you.” he ends off with a deep bow, his head almost touching the coffee table.

then he hears you chuckle softly, and he thinks he might just die.

it’s a cute sound, just as cute as your other little mannerisms, but it also means he’s probably just done something stupid. he looks up, flushed with embarrassment.

“there’s no need to be so formal, akaashi-san,” you giggle. your hands are cupped around a mug of black coffee, and you’re positively radiant. “i'm l/n, y/n l/n, and i’ve heard many good things about you as well.”

“oh? like what?”

“you went to princeton to study lit, didn’t you? you must be a real genius, then.”

“one would argue that studying philosophy at stanford takes significantly more brainpower,” he replies.

you lean back in your seat. “only you would, akaashi-san. you’re waaaaaay too humble. then again, aren’t we all raised to be like that?”

“i suppose so,” he says uncertainly.

you make small talk for a little while longer, and he finds you remind him so much of udai-sensei with your quick, witty remarks and insightful thoughts. you tell him how you only met yachi when you came back to japan after college. you went to itachiyama institute, same as msby's kiyoomi sakusa, on an academic scholarship. you were in the classical guitar orchestra for the whole of high school, so keiji and you were basically fated to never run in the same circles.

after a short while, your conversation has come to a lull. keiji glances at the clock, then looks back to see you sipping your lukewarm coffee. “well,” he says casually, “shall we look at the manuscript now?”

you nod eagerly. “of course, let me pull it up for you right now.” you flip your laptop open, and as you wait for it to start up, you pat the seat beside you. keiji doesn't register your gesture at first, at first, and jolts when you call out his name. 

he stares at you, wide-eyed. 

“come on, i don't bite,” you remark dryly.

keiji abandons his water glass on his side of the table and walks around to the couch, completely flushed. the couch cushion dips down as he sits down beside you, his leg brushing against yours. you turn the screen towards him. “why don’t you have a read of the first few pages?”

he gladly accepts your invitation, pulling the laptop closer to him. you sit back as he scans over the first page, scrolling to the next one shortly after - he’s a relatively fast reader. page two. three. four. five. you watch quietly from the side, observing every microexpression that flashes across his face.

it’s good, keiji thinks. very, very good.

you’re good with your words, and he’s instantly hooked. he doesn’t stop reading until the words fall away midway on the page, and the bold words “chapter ii” stare at him from the top of the subsequent page. he’s surprised, since he doesn’t typically do well with fiction, but you’ve managed to immerse him completely in the world you’ve built. 

he looks back up to see you watching him intently, your expression nervous and excited. your lips are parted slightly, and the soft sheen of them makes him dizzy.

“so. do you like it?”

“it’s, well…” keiji is at a loss for words, though he understands so well the way your writing’s left him speechless. i hear she’s good, udai-sensei had said to keiji a few days back, when he’d just gotten the job. like, really good. they’re the kind of author a princeton grad like you should be editing for, intellectual but ultra-creative. at first keiji was skeptical of this mysterious online-published writer, but now he sees how true this statement is. 

he almost doesn’t catch you mouthing something in english under your breath. 

“lethologica,” you repeat louder upon seeing his confused expression. “derived from the greek morphemes ‘lēthē’ and ‘logos’.”

keiji racks his brain for their meaning.

“the inability to remember a particular word or name”, he says, going with his instinct.

“happens to the best of us.” you shrug your shoulders, relaxing slightly. “i’m gonna assume that means you like it,” you say hopefully.

“i see the references to some european languages; they’re very nice,” he remarks, not knowing what else to say. 

you visibly light up, happy that he’s managed to appreciate the linguistic features of the setting’s language. “it’s a modified creole of dutch, luxembourgish, and northern german dialects,” you say happily. “they may not be romance languages, but they sure are romantic in their own right.”

he reads the first page again. it’s well-structured and subtly ushers the readers into the small town setting. if the rest of your book is just as good as the first chapter, he absolutely can’t wait to sink his teeth into this project.

and you, y/n l/n, being the woman that you are, know just how to tongue-tie him in more ways than one.

[m.list]

author's notes:

i think keiji would just be completely enamored with y/n from the start (sorry if this is a little ooc) because my man is just so happy to have a fellow intellectual to banter with ykyk

meteo attack is the name of the manga tenma udai (the og little giant) is serializing in 2018 in hq canon. this fic is set about two years later than that, when udai's already finished the manga and keiji's ready to take on other editing projects

so he's about 25 in this fic, and reader is yachi's age (24)

likes, comments, follows and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) don't hesitate to correct any factual discrepancies or ask questions about this fic!

© sirhamburrger 2024

[kurishiri]

14 . . . main story

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: obsessive, stalkerish, kind of controlling behavior.

The art dealer from the ‘Bernard Company’ arrived at Lord Elbert’s manor the next day.

Of course, the people here did not hold a shred of doubt that the person they welcomed in the manor was simply ‘Lord Elbert’s work partner.’

(To be honest, facing him directly now that I understood that he was a member of the ‘Bernard Company’...)

(...is really painful.)

Acting as Lord Elbert’s assistant, I was to accompany him in this deal.

When I thought of how he was a member of the organization that had tried to kill Daisy, my chest became more heavy every time I gave a superficial smile.

Lord Elbert was indifferently talking with the art dealer...

(But Lord Elbert is probably also hurting as we speak.)

The memories we had shared together the day Daisy had passed only more strongly confirmed this.

(He looks as he does any other day, but... perhaps, the reason why is because he had become too accustomed to the pain.)

Art dealer: All of the pieces before you are rare goods of top-class quality. You probably won’t be able to get them anywhere but here.

The art pieces and jewelry the dealer brought with him were lined up in a row, and clearly in high spirits, he questioned Lord Elbert.

Art dealer: Well, might there be pieces befitting that of a count?

Elbert: ......All of them.

Art dealer: Excuse me?

Elbert: Leave them all here, please.

With just a short glance at the pieces lined up before us, Lord Elbert had made his decision.

Art dealer: ...I see. I did have an inkling you’d say so based on the party and also some rumors I’d heard in passing, but goodness gracious.

The art dealer seemed to be scheming something, and his eyes narrowed like a razor beneath his silk hat.

Art dealer: It appears you are quite obsessed with beauty too, no?

Elbert: ...‘Too’?

Art dealer: Well, seeing that I do consider you a true collector, I would like to make a proposition.

The art dealer adjusted his seating and lowered his voice, almost as though he were divulging a secret.

Art dealer: Next time, the top of the Company, Gabriel Bernard,

Art dealer: will invite honored guests from outside the country to hold an auction.

(...!)

(When he says ‘top’——he must mean the head of this criminal organization.)

Art dealer: The special showcase is a rare blue diamond of over 60 carats, regarded as the most beautiful in this world and beyond.

Art dealer: And I would like to extend an invitation to you to attend that auction. How about it? Is it to your fancy?

(...Which means, he’s been accepted as someone ‘invited to their domain.’)

Accepting the invitation would unmistakably be a crucial development to the mission given by Her Majesty.)

Elbert: ......Alright, I accept.

Art dealer: Ahh, I’m glad! I will send the invitation to you at a later date.

Art dealer: Well then, please sign here for the payment.

When the negotiations were finished, Jeffrey, who had been waiting next to us, approached and led the art dealer out of the lobby.

The moment he was out of the room, suddenly, I casually looked toward him.

Jeffrey: ...

Our eyes met for a mere moment, I felt something lingering.

(He probably doesn’t take to me well. In fact, it’s natural for him to think that way...)

This morning, I visited Lord Elbert early.

I didn’t want him to go through what he did yesterday while changing clothes.

(At the very least, while I’m here, I don’t want Lord Elbert to go through things that caused him pain.)

If it was for that, I didn’t mind being the object of someone’s hate.

Elbert: The world’s most beautiful jewel, he said...

E: ...What is that, I wonder.

Those few words seemed to spill out in a murmur, drawing my attention back to Lord Elbert.

Kate: I... can’t help but be curious about it, too. But it’s surely something very pretty, I would think.

Elbert: ...If you say so, then it might be the case.

His golden locks of hair covered the edge of his eyes, which themselves seemed like jewels, as he looked up, as if imagining what such a gem could look like.

(Something like a 60-carat diamond... is beyond my imagination.)

It could be something so beautiful that it would make everything I ever laid my eyes upon so far seem like a blurry haze.

(If Lord Elbert saw something like that... he might end up not wanting me anymore.)

He might think that his thoughts of me being beautiful, of wanting me, might have been a misunderstanding.

(But, if it would help relieve Lord Elbert’s pain, then maybe that would be for the best...)

(...but, still, I would be lonely, if it really turned out that way.)

I shook my head at the words whispering from the back of my mind.

(What am I thinking?)

(I want Lord Elbert to feel that ‘it’s okay to not have to collect beautiful things anymore.’)

Elbert: ...Kate.

Kate: ! Yes!?

Elbert: ... [surprised]

My voice had come out more loud than I intended, and Lord Elbert widened his eyes in surprise.

Elbert: You had gone quiet, shaking your head, and I thought you might feel unwell...

E: ...Is something the matter?

Even after he had said that he ‘wanted to have me,’ as if I were some object in his eyes,

he had extended that consideration I always knew he had within him to me, as if it were the most normal thing to do... and it hurt my heart.

Kate: Thank you for your concern. I was just thinking about some things.

Elbert: Is that so... then that’s good.

E: ...

E: ...Were you thinking of something, other than me?

Kate: Eh!? Umm... it... does have something with you, too, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ......I see.

Lord Elbert seemed to accept my answer as it was, and his expression softened a little.

Elbert: We have no more business here in the manor... so let’s return to the castle today.

(I see... it must be because he had grasped the chance to infiltrate into the Bernard Company.)

(So, there is no reason to be here in the manor.)

Kate: Okay, I’ll start preparing then!

If it meant we could get out of here sooner, I had no complaints.

(If it’s Crown Castle, then Lord Elbert will be safe there, and... we probably won’t be together, just the two of us, as often.)

(If so, then I’ll have more time to think a little more calmly about a way to end this cycle of atonement.)

Kate: Well then, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll meet you in a bit.

Elbert: Alright.

Alfons: ......

—— Neutral POV ——

When the door closed behind Kate’s retreating figure, and the sound of her footsteps grew more distant,

Alfons, who had posed as a spectator during the negotiation, opened his mouth to speak.

Alfons: ...What a sore miscalculation on my part.

Elbert: ...What do you mean?

Alfons: I’ve told you time and time again that Kate is not beautiful.

A: So, why did you say something like you wanted to have her again?

Alfons asked out of simple curiosity, and in response, Elbert turned toward the door from which Kate had left.

Elbert: ...I don’t know.

E: Just that... I thought she was, beautiful—

E: —so, I must have her.

Those eyes become clouded over by a dark, heavy obsession.

Alfons: ...Is that so.

Alfons, as if having given up on something, let out a resigned sigh.

Alfons: Well then, shall I prepare something like a glass casket for you?

As if he were looking on at a play while knowing its ending, his chin rested on his hand, his elbow on the armrest of his chair.

—— Kate’s POV ——

We departed from the manor before twilight, and we returned to Crown Castle the next morning.

Victor: My dear Elbert, Alfons, and Kate! How are you enjoying your first breakfast at the castle in a loooong time?

V: Hm... oh? What’s this I see now?

(Ahh... I feel like I know where this is going...)

V: If my eyes do not deceive me, it seems Elbert has become completely smitten with Kate.

Harrison: I’m not sure I’d call that ‘smitten’... It’s more like...

Alfons: Why, of course, Lord Elbie is trying to win her heart over.

(Um, I mean you’re not wrong, but you’re not right either...!)

While retorting in my mind, I glanced beside me.

(This morning, when I finished my routine and left my room, Lord Elbert was there waiting for me,)

(and he invited me to breakfast, together with him...)

And so now, I was sitting next to him, with his eyes on me, as I ate breakfast.

Elbert: ......

(It’s not like this is the first time I’ve felt Lord Elbert’s eyes on me...)

(but it’s the first time he’s looked at me for such a long time... maybe...)

Kate: Um... do I... have a bed head or something...?

Elbert: No... you don’t. You look very pretty.

Kate: T-thank you. Then, can I ask why you are, um...

‘looking right at me,’ is what I wanted to ask, but my words got stuck.

Elbert: ...Because, I want you to think about me as much as possible.

E: ...So that you can’t think about anyone else.

Kate: Ah, uh... I, see...

Elbert: Mn...

All of a sudden, the flavor of the food seemed to dull.

(I know that everything he does is to ‘have me’. I know that...)

(...but, if someone I liked told me this...)

(I would be so happy... I wouldn’t need to hear any reason...)

Trying to hide my reddening cheeks, I cast my eyes down, pretending to be absorbed in cutting the asparagus, but...

Alfons: That’s the spirit, Lord Elbert. The countdown before Kate breaks down is starting.

Kate: !? Alfons...?

He seemed to be egging on Lord Elbert with those words, and I couldn’t help but look up at him.

Where in the world did the Alfons who warned me to stay away from Lord Elbert go?

He was sitting across from Lord Elbert, and he smiled at me as if seeing through me feeling shaken.

Alfons: Unfortunately, it appears you are already beyond the point of no return...

A: So I thought, why not have you entertain me, then, as a spectator, now that it’s come to this?

(...I see, so it’s like that.)

(He means that he won’t warn me, nor will he try to stop Lord Elbert anymore...)

(I ended up ignoring his warnings, even after three times, so I can’t blame him for turning the other way, but this was such a sudden change of attitude that I couldn’t help but feel baffled.)

Elbert: ...Kate. Look here.

Kate: Uh...?

I could hardly say anything before Lord Elbert cupped my cheeks with both his hands, turning my face toward him.

Elbert: ...You, looked at Al longer than you have at me.

Kate: ...That’s not it...

Elbert: It is...

(Um...)

I couldn’t take the power his peerless beauty had on me in close proximity, and so I closed my eyes shut.

Elbert: Why are you closing your eyes... open them, please.

Kate: I-if you step away from me, I will...

Elbert: ...You won’t look at Al?

Kate: I won’t, I won’t anymore, so...

I felt his hands withdraw from my cheek, and I opened my eyes again.

I tried to calm my very quick heartbeat, and when I looked back at those blue eyes,

Elbert: ......

A satisfied smile played on Lord Elbert’s lips, and I thought my breath was going to stop.

(To think I could have time to calmly think if we weren’t together... how naïve that was of me.)

Being sought after like this by Lord Elbert... there was no way I could be calm.

Victor: I have to say, I’m kiiinda getting a little jealous of them. Don’t you agree, Harrison!

Harrison: Hey, don’t grab onto my shoulders. I’m trying to eat here.

The playful exchange from beside me brought me back to my senses.

(The subject... let’s change the subject...!)

Kate: C-come to think of it, are you not going to eat, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...? Eat what?

Alfons: That is a bit of a tasteless answer, Elbie. Of course, whatever else could she be referring to but herself?

Kate: No, I meant breakfast.

Elbert: ...Now that you mention it... I had forgotten.

After looking at the breakfast before him for a while,

he pierced an apple slice with his fork, and brought it up to his lips in a graceful motion.

(An apple...)

Kate: Lord Elbert, do the apples today taste good too?

I remembered the day we went out to eat lunch together, and I asked him before I could think.

Elbert: ...Yes. ...It’s delicious.

(‘Delicious’...)

With just that word alone, all of my nervousness and unease disappeared like the waves pulling back to the waters,

leaving my heart filled only with a warm happiness.

(It’s not as though I understand what’s in his heart from those words alone...)

Like that day, he had said the apple was delicious, and I was so happy that a broad smile formed on my lips.

Kate: ...I’m glad.

Elbert: ...

(I got so distracted by him seeking me out, that I almost lost sight of what was important.)

(I... wanted Lord Elbert to smile.)

I reminded myself to not get distracted, and continued eating. When I did, Lord Elbert started to eat as well, little by little, next to me.

Kate: This asparagus is really good. It’s really sweet.

Elbert: ...Mn.

And then, around the time breakfast was going to end peacefully, Victor spoke to me.

Victor: Oh, yes, Kate. Once you’re done eating, could I borrow a bit of your time?

Kate: ...? Yes, sure.

Elbert: ......

—— Time skip ——

Kate: A ‘midterm report’...?

Victor: Yes, that’s right. It seems you’ve been writing a lot of memos as the Fairytale Keeper, so I thought it was about time, you see.

Kate: Alright then. I’ll turn in a formal report.

(...Hm? Wait a minute. The things I can report on...)

After I said yes, I realized that the only topic I could really report on was Lord Elbert.

Kate: Um... actually, I’m sorry, but I don’t really know anyone else aside from Lord Elbert that well...

K: I barely know Alfons as things stand now...

Victor: Yes, that’s fine. You can just write about Lord Elbert then.

V: Also, there is no need to rush, so take things at your own pace. Anyway, that’s all I had to say. Sorry for calling you in so suddenly.

(As Fairytale Keeper, my job to record the ‘sins of the Cursed as was determined by their fates’...)

(...That was the condition for me to return to my normal life.)

‘The Cursed are fated to meet a tragic end’——

I remember hearing that before.

(And, if I remember right, Alfons had said Lord Elbert’s Curse was...)

(‘The Greedy Queen.’)

With a bow, I was about to leave the room, but then I turned back toward Victor.

Victor: What is it?

Kate: ...I’m, a little curious.

Kate: About what Lord Elbert’s tragic fate is, based on the Curse of the Greedy Queen.

Jet black eyes had me apprehended.

For a moment, as if being covered by a veil of night, the room grew silent.

Victor: ‘Never feeling satisfied or fulfilled, he will end up with nothing.’ That is his Cursed fate.

(Never feeling satisfied or fulfilled... he will, end up with nothing...)

Kate: Thank you... for that.

As if swallowing a stone down, my heart grew heavier.

His Cursed fate was like a verdict, that I could do nothing to bring Lord Elbert out of his deep, dark sadness.

Elbert: ...Kate.

When I left the lounge, Lord Elbert was waiting for me, leaning against the windowsill.

Kate: Lord Elbert...! What’s wrong?

Elbert: I was waiting for you. ...Because, I want to spend as much time with you, as possible.

It was as though that was the most natural response in the world, and I felt my heart throb sweetly again.

(This is, to steal my heart... in order to have me.)

(That’s... how it should be... and yet...)

The love I had tried to keep a secret in my heart whispered in my ear, and I couldn’t help but to feel there was more meaning to his words than that.

Elbert: What were you talking about? With Victor.

Kate: About my job as Fairytale Keeper. He wants me to turn in a midterm report.

Elbert: I see......

Kate: What about you, Lord Elbert? What are your plans for today?

Elbert: Nothing, in particular. ...Until the auction, like you, I have a little bit of paperwork to do.

(If I said ‘then let us do our jobs,’ then I would be able to get some time to think alone.)

(We had just returned from the mansion, so I... don’t want to leave Lord Elbert on his own.)

Kate: Then, let’s relax together today. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?

Elbert: ...If I can be with you, then I’d be happy going anywhere.

E: But, it would be nice if we could go... to a place where no other person can come between us.

Lord Elbert stared intently at the lounge door.

(...Is he, seriously worried about me being called by Victor...?)

I could feel something similar to envy in his gaze, and I felt a little excited.

(How nice it would be, if this was a simple jealousy though...)

I put a lid over such thoughts, and instead I thought about what I was going to do from here.

Kate: So, maybe we shouldn’t go out in the city.

K: If possible, I’d like you to be able to have fun, but...

K: ...what do you enjoy doing, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...Enjoy...?

He made a face as though he had never even thought about it, and seeing that hurt my heart.

His own happiness, and his own enjoyment——just how much had this person before me deprived himself of those things?

(I would like to spend time somewhere warm, and bright...)

(...to the point there was no room for sadness to slip through the cracks.)

Kate: ...How about, a picnic? I know of a wonderful flower field with very few people.

Elbert: ...A flower field... with very few people...

E: I feel that would make me... want to carry you away, and have you to myself...

E: But, if that’s alright with you, then——let’s go.

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[uchihaharlot]

Hi, I hope you're doing well, I don't know if requests are open, but if they are. Can you write an angst about a reader who is pregnant with Shisui during the same period of his death?🥺

Nonny!!! ❤️ my heart is so so so broken for him and you. Also I’m sorry this took forever 😅 work is a drag; and I rarely have enough energy to do anything afterwards.

My grandmothers most famous line, and I’m not bullshitting you; was: to get over one man, you should get under another.

N/SFW; angsty—overtly depressing?; not proof read; and now I’m sad 😔 DESCRIPTIONS OF VERY VERY SAD SHIT; nonny, Shisui is crying in purgatory because of you—he wants to hold his baby!! And sorrynotsorry but I’m definitely blurring the timeline of the show for dramatics, sue me.

But that’s not the case for you, is it? Especially not when the only thing tethering Shisui to your plane of existence grows within the soft swell of your stomach. Too small to show, and to much to bear.

That night will for be engraved in your mind. The way your knees buckled; almost falling face down into the dirt had it not been for Itachi-san. Him too, crouched with you as you both ugly cry. It was hard for him to be that torn, let alone see you shredded. Barring teeth with snot; the most gutteral outcry of pain.

Of course it’s not easy for you, this whole thing will never be easy. You can’t sleep, can’t eat. Hell, half the time it feels like you’re just going through the motions. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh, the wound not even cauterized. It just seeps and oozes into the deepest crevices of your soul, a permanent branding. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh. The cascading tidal wave of emotions is exhausting, and it’s mostly due to your hormones. Grief, anger. Desperation, longing and joy.

Was it really this fair to feel a little bit happy when Shisui is somewhere, nowhere to be found? His corpse endlessly floating— no. Full stop. You don’t even want to go there, how many times have you pictured it? How morbid of you, you think; to wish to see him. Even in that state. That if it were the only way to see him again, you would.

And you get angry, on very bad days, shut the world out. How can live when it’s the end of the world? How can people, Uchiha or not, be so nonchalant. In fact, the only person who really shares your grief is Itachi. And he’s pitted as Shisui’s aggressor, his means to an end. But that’s not the case.

Slowly, you come around. Itachi is there, and both your griefs are endless. Sometimes you feel that his is more vast; and it probably is. Definitely is. So you tell him your secret, hoping it would bring joy. Though it nearly broke him all over again. There, in the midst of chaos and confusion and mayhem. Is still a little piece of Shisui.

But, this is the most inopportune time for happiness. You see, dear old Itachi-san has a secret; one he cannot tell you. The government coercion behind the curtain, his upcoming mission. The happiness he shares with you in this brief moment of reprieve from your darkest days is short lived. The feeling of his presence changes, making you uncomfortable with sharing this news.

Itachi’s final words to you are devoid of emotion and severely cold, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell anyone else.’ It’s a threat and a silent plea all at once. You soon find out later about that, and it’ll all make sense.

Pregnancy feels so uneventful to you. After the massacre, you’re one less person to share your grief and it only grows more once the details are revealed. Your life; your baby. Your Shisui. It feels like everything around you won’t ever stand on solid ground. As a good mother you buck up and slowly integrate back into a mundane routine.

First milestones are less than exciting, but still hold weight. Those tiny black images, hung on your fridge. They bring momentary happiness each time you pass them. The first time it’s little heartbeat echoes off the walls in the medical room make your heart feel less empty, but you still cry over the sink eating your lunch like a rat.

Eating is more of a challenge, but eventually the cravings will make sustaining your growing body easier. The vitamins help too, but it’s still difficult to find your stomach from time to time.

I think the only day you aren’t a complete mess is when your water breaks while you’re waiting for a decaf tea. Two weeks early, figures. Nothing goes according to plan, you’ve become accustomed to expecting the unexpected. And this day, this is when the weight of Shisui’s loss is wayfared into the world, and placed in your arms.

Smol, tiny. Itty bitty little hands. Big and soft dark eyes, just as his were. In fact, as time passes by. There’s not a day you don’t think your baby is more Shisui than you. He’s all you’ll ever see in them, and some days you’ll feel a twinge of sadness. But mostly it’s pure unadulterated love.

[humbledragon669]

S1E3 – Hard Times Write Up P2 – The Globe Theatre London (1601) and the Burbage Meta

This part of the write up for episode 3 is going to take on a slightly different format, in that it will only be covering a very short (approx. 4 minutes) section of the episode. It will also contain the details of a meta-theory I have based on the short conversation that takes place in this scene, and I’ll be analysing the comings and goings of the scene in greater detail to try and demonstrate how the theory came to fruition. I’m not going to lie – this theory is likely to be HUGELY unpopular. I am not a fan of it myself but it’s where my head canon is at, and if it were true might explain one other unknown piece of canon. So, with all that said, let’s get started.

Before we get into the weeds, I’d just like to take a moment to appreciate the soundtrack for this scene. I’ve spoken before about David Arnold’s ability to compose incidental music of all manner of styles to assist with scene setting and the piece playing in the background here is no exception. The use of period instruments, simple orchestration and playful melody do an excellent job in establishing our place in the timeline. Chapeau, sir.

Alright, let’s get the ball rolling with some familiar ground, specifically the obvious joy on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley arrives.

Look at that happy little face! It looks like pure reflex too, he just can’t help himself. Did you appreciate that little suggestion that this is a happy couple on a pre-arranged date? Well hold on to it, because things are about to get rocky.

I’m going to skip ahead a little bit, but I will be coming back to look at some of the other interactions that take place here later on. I’ll mention (briefly) that this scene is the first we learn of the “Arrangement” actually being in place and that they have invoked it “dozens of times” (the book confirms it was originally enacted in 1020). It took me a little while to twig, but the fact that they do work on behalf of the other doesn’t just mean that Crowley is capable of blessing things and using his miracles for good (the latter isn’t so dubious – they both seem to use their miracles more like magic tricks anyway), but that Aziraphale is capable of tempting people into (bad) things. Food for thought.

When I first started looking at this episode with a mind to doing a write up for it, there was one of Aziraphale’s lines that stood out to me:

The reason it stood it is because it feels almost… lustful. And it shouldn’t because he’s not talking about Crowley here, but the actor on the stage – Richard Burbage. I dismissed it because I did not care for what that might mean for our precious darlings. That’s ridiculous, right? Aziraphale desiring someone other than the tall dark prince. Absolutely.

Time for a tangent.

After I finished writing Dangerous Liaisons (a 5+1 fix-it fic I wrote based on the theory that the entire Final 15 is all just an act), I found myself wanting to fill in some of the gaps that I had touched upon in the fic. There is mention of certain events, and of declarations of love on both sides, at particular points in their history, and my brain was already whirring about if I was to write them (spoiler alert: I am 100% going to write them), what the details were. One of those events takes place in 1941, which got me thinking about Aziraphale spitting out that he did the “I Was Wrong” dance that year. Which in turn got me wondering about what that dance would have been for. Which in turn got me thinking about what the other instances of the “I Was Wrong” dance in 1650 and 1793 could have been for, and eventually I was at the point where I wasn’t just planning to write more fics about the events mentioned in Dangerous Liaisons, but my versions of how those apology dances came about as well.

At the time, I had a notion that perhaps the 1941 dance had been done as an apology for Aziraphale’s outburst in 1862 about the holy water. Similarly, I had an idea that the 1793 dance could potentially have been about the fact that Aziraphale had (very stupidly) gone to France during a war against aristocracy, dressed in finery, for nothing more than crèpes. But the 1650 dance? I had no clue.

Until I went back to this scene.

What if. What if that lustful undertone I thought I had detected when Aziraphale speaks about Richard Burbage wasn’t nothing at all? Honestly, when my brain offered me that idea, it felt like fireworks had gone off in my head. Did I like it? FUCK NO. Did it make a weird sort of sense? Urgh, so help me, it kind of did. So hold on people, I’m going to say it quickly, because I am not enjoying writing it about as much as you aren’t going to enjoy reading it.

I think Aziraphale had an emotional affair with Richard Burbage.

I think not only did Crowley know about it, but that initially he gave it his blessing. I think Crowley changed his mind when he realised how much he was hurting as a result of it. I think Crowley tried to talk Aziraphale out of it under the pretence of not wanting him to feel the pain of heartbreak when Burbage inevitably died. I think they had a huge row about it. And I think the 1650 “I Was Wrong” dance was Aziraphale apologising for it all.

Hate me now? It’s OK if you do, I kinda hate myself for thinking it in the first place to be honest.

I know you’re probably thinking “well, what on earth were the 1793 and 1941 apology dances for then? If the original dance was for something as awful as an “affair”, what could he possibly have done in later years that would have been bad enough that the dance needed to be repeated?”. I know you’re thinking it because it’s exactly what I thought when my brain force fed me this theory in the first place. So here’s the thing.

I don’t think the dances in 1793 and 1941 were for anything different.

I think all three of the instances of the apology dances were for the same thing – Aziraphale’s emotional affair with Richard Burbage. Because it’s the one thing Crowley can secretly never forgive him for, even though he gave him permission to do it in the first place.

I suppose I had better start talking to explain myself here, shouldn’t I? Well, alright then, I will, but only about my reasoning for the theory – the playing out of the dances I will be writing about in my fics.

Let’s start with the little glance at Burbage we see from Aziraphale when Crowley says he hates the ”gloomy” Shakespeare plays:

I’ve slowed it down so that you can see it, but Aziraphale’s primary concern about Crowley’s criticism is whether or not Burbage has heard it – that’s where his gaze initially goes to before being distracted by an approaching Shakespeare.

OK, OK, a single glance and a single line of script. That’s hardly a confession, is it? Well, I’m not done yet. Let’s have a look at Aziraphale falling over himself to reassure Burbage of his talents.

This sort of gushing simper is something you might usually see from a teenage girl trying to bolster the older boy she has a desperate (and inappropriate) crush on, often when responding to an attempt by him to fish for compliments or show the younger girl up. It makes me a little sick at just how desperately Aziraphale offers his support here to be honest. My feelings aside, his babbling flattery wins him Burbage’s attention, which clearly delights the angel.

I’m sure most people would be happy to believe that the reason Aziraphale denies his friendship with Crowley is because that is the standard for them both, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m of the mind that Burbage and Aziraphale already know each other at this point, and that they’ve already begun to develop feelings for one another. Burbage asking Aziraphale about his “friend” isn’t just a general question - it’s tinged with jealousy. He wants to know who this man is, not in an attempt to garner more compliments, but because he’s feeling threatened by his presence. As well he should. Let’s also take a look at Aziraphale’s face after Crowley’s presence has been pointed out:

Does it look familiar to you? It does to me. It’s the face he pulls when he’s in trouble for doing something he knows he should be in trouble for. Just like when Nina drops him in the shit with Crowley for having a naked man in his shop:

We can also see Crowley starting to cotton on to things in this little exchange. He sees Aziraphale’s desperation and flustering, sees the human’s jealousy and possessiveness. So what does he do? He does what any self-respecting mischief-loving demon would do. He decides to join the pissing contest. You can see his decision in his expression here:

If that expression wasn’t enough to let you know that he’s entering the ring at this point, his dismissive response to Burbage’s challenge should be enough to tell you he now considers this man fair game.

I think you should get on with the play.

Ouch. Saucer of milk, Crowley? Or maybe just turn your disdain to the person you’re actually upset with? Ah, he’s got that covered, showering Aziraphale with sass when he heckles Burbage. You can see a little train of emotions going through his expression here – amusement morphs into shock and disbelief, finally indicating his incredulity with a head shake so subtle you can only just catch it in the movement of his hair.

Quick side note: in the script, Burbage gives Aziraphale a “grateful thumbs up” at the heckle. Very friendly, don’t you think?

And so we come to the hateful fateful line that got us into this mess in the first place.

He’s very good, isn’t he?

And now it takes on a whole different level of meaning, doesn’t it? This is him asserting his pride at Burbage’s talents, justifying his feelings in a thinly veiled confession, and subtextually seeking approval from the one person in the world that he would ever want it from.

Let me be clear: I do not believe that Aziraphale is sexually attracted to Burbage, or that he’s in love with him. I think he feels a deep emotional attraction to him and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Burbage’s talent is what’s really driving it. It’s worth remembering that Richard Burbage was a real historical person, who was the resident actor at the Globe Theatre. He played virtually every major role in the company, and it is generally thought that the role of Hamlet was written for and based on him. He was possibly considered the greatest actor of his time.

Crowley’s response, which comes after a tiny pause, seems oddly out of character.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.

For those who don’t know, this line is an almost direct quote from Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” (written after 1601, hence why Shakespeare makes a note of it when Crowley speaks). It’s spoken by Enobarbus, Antony’s best friend, who acts as a reasoned counsellor to Antony, offering advice unbiased by an all-consuming infatuation with Cleopatra. The pronouns have been changed in Crowley’s rendition (the resulting line in the play is about Cleopatra, so “his” becomes “her”). I have no doubt that Crowley’s subtext is pretty thickly layered here, so I’m going to try and break it down a bit:

We have a reference to age not having an effect on appearance. This is pretty obviously a characteristic of both himself and Aziraphale, immortal beings as they are.

The second half of the line he delivers is a reference to the subject having a range of moods that are unpredictable in their application.

The line as a whole takes these two ideas and wraps them in the suggestion that the subject is overwhelmingly attractive to many.

So taking all of that into consideration, I believe that the subject of Crowley’s line here is Aziraphale. He’s the one who doesn’t age, who is unpredictable and has fickle moods. It’s a reminder to himself of the things he finds attractive in Aziraphale and why others might also be drawn to him. It’s his admission that in this situation, he must be Enobarbus, the advisor, but that one day he can resume his role as Antony to Aziraphale’s Cleopatra. I mean, where else do we think he gets his 20th century first name from anyway?

That was a lot of analysis for a tiny handful of words. Aziraphale is less impressed with them, presumably because his little crush’s talent has not been recognised and he didn’t get the approval he was looking for.

The conversation that follows lets us know that Crowley has called this meeting. What’s interesting though is that according to Crowley’s opening line of the scene, it would appear that the location choice was Aziraphale’s.

I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here.

This would suggest that Aziraphale knew that Burbage was going to be displaying his talents and that it would give him ample opportunity to show him off. Poor Crowley has been completely ambushed.

The majority of the conversation after this point is largely business-related, but it doesn’t stop Aziraphale from returning his eyes to Burbage at every opportunity, who is relentlessly charging through his lines in the background. Interestingly, the only line we focus on him for is this “the pangs of despised love”, which refers to the heartache caused by love that ends badly. And what other way is there for the affair between him and Aziraphale to end but badly? He’s human. He’s going to die. Leaving Aziraphale heartbroken. The frame just before these words are delivered would suggest that Aziraphale isn’t actually paying attention to him when he says them (shocking), so he’s probably missed that particular point entirely.

It's touching to see that Aziraphale does still care for Crowley, despite whatever else might be going on in his brain – his main concern, at least on the surface, is that it could put Crowley in danger if they invoke the Arrangement. In truth, I think he’s also considering the possibility that he might get to stay in London to spend more time with Burbage if he doesn’t have to go to Edinburgh; it’s written all over the lingering gaze he shoots the actor’s way when he’s offered the change to “toss for Edinburgh” (*smirk*)

And just look how disappointed he is when he loses:

And as if Aziraphale had not asked enough of his demon already, he overhears a conversation between Shakespeare and the oyster vendor (named Juliet, wonder if old Bill stole her name for anything he’d written previously…), prompting him to ask Crowley for a favour. I don’t think this could be interpreted as anything other than a secret gift from Aziraphale to Burbage. He obviously thinks it’s a marvellous idea and has set his heart on having it – just look at his silent ask of Crowley:

If that little eyebrow raise looks familiar, it’s because exactly the same micro-expression we see when he silently asks Crowley to clean his jacket in episode 2:

Let’s just for a moment say that my theory about all of this is complete guff. Why would Aziraphale be so desperate for Hamlet to succeed? Why this particular play? I’m prepared to settle and say the reason he doesn’t do the miracle himself is because he’s just lost the toss and is about to go and do Crowley’s job for him, but I can’t work out why he would be so keen for this play to succeed if there wasn’t some sort of emotional attachment involved with its lead actor and inspiration. So, I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Note: I’m not going into any metafiction stuff about both David and Michael having played Hamlet to high acclaim – everything here stays strictly within the GO universe.

And, like the lovesick little puppy that Crowley is, he gives his heart’s desire what it desires, even though it isn’t him. He even calls it a “treat”, and it earns him a pretty sweet smile of gratitude.

I don’t believe that Crowley’s gesture here is without subtext. I think this is him giving Aziraphale the approval he was fishing for earlier. And Aziraphale knows it – his secondary response (after that big soppy grim) is one of delighted relief. I have no doubt that Crowley is smarting a little by this point, and that’s borne out by the fact that he now leaves the theatre alone. If we look at the ends of each of the historical scenes, there are three where one of our hero couple leaves without the other (I’m not counting the departure in 537 AD where they both leave simultaneously). One is in 1862 (where Aziraphale refuses to supply Crowley with holy water) and another in 1967 (which I obviously haven’t covered yet) where Aziraphale leaves after delivering his soul-destroying “you go too fast” revelation. The other is this one. It’s seems very fitting that the only scenes where we see one of them leaving without the other are scenes where there is emotional tension between them. More importantly for this scene though is not so much that Crowley leaves, but that Aziraphale stays, his gaze instantly returning to Burbage on the stage. Not only is his face still fixed with a soppy smile, but he resumes eating – something we will see him using as a flirting device with Crowley in future years.

There’s one last thing I want to talk about from the beginning of this scene that I think bears mentioning:

Setting aside the fact that he miracles a coin out of thin air right in front of a human’s face here, there’s something else that draws my attention. The vendor in this micro-scene gives a customer two choices: oysters or oranges. Aziraphale chooses a third option, that we as the audience are not aware is available: grapes. Is it too extreme to consider this to be foreshadowing the choice that Aziraphale will make in this scene? As an entity, we have seen him try to choose between Heaven and Crowley for centuries, but here he will instead choose a third, previously unknown, option – Richard Burbage.

So there we have it. If you’ve stuck with me this far, I really do congratulate you. And I’m sorry. I’m not exaggerating when I say that writing this all down was actually really hard to do. I don’t want any of what I’ve theorised here to be true as much as most of the GO fandom, but once the idea planted its seed I could see how much sense it made.

If you’re still reading, and don’t hate me too much, I’ve written the prologue and first chapter of the fic that goes with this meta (you can find it here). I’ll be writing the second and third chapters covering the other “I Was Wrong” dances once I’ve completed the analysis for their relevant scenes, though that does mean the 1941 chapter will be a little while in the making.

Not sure I really want to include my usual sign off here, but… questions, comments, discussion always welcome. (Please don’t throw too much abuse at me!)

[daintylovers]

heyyyyy lovely lovely tumblr user dainty, it’s me again with a stiles req because I just can’t seem to be normal. it would be sooo awesome if you graced us with some jealous stiles… I was listening to woman by harry styles and I was like … hmm I want a man to want me to look at him so bad he would kill another man over it.

OH AND I WANTED TO SAY your writing is the absolute perfect balance of powerful horny and pathetic horny and okay I’m done elaborating ilysm

powerful horny and pathetic horny are literally those two wolves in that picture that's like, inside you there are two wolves- and it's true, those are the two wolves inside of me (i wish stiles was inside of-)

i'm envisioning this as a best friends or at least close friends type of scenario. specifically because of the opening lines of the song, "Should we just search up romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?"

stiles, assisted by scott of course, has managed to crush every guy's hopes and dreams of being with you, throughout the years. and of course, it kind of crushes you're confidence a bit because you know you're pretty, but why won't anyone ask you out?

of course, stiles is always there to comfort you, tell you that they just don't deserve you. and you think it's bullshit, just a cliche cause he doesn't know what else to say. but in his eyes, it's nothing short of the truth. those guys truly don't deserve you, which is why they'll never have a shot. why he has guaranteed that they will never have a shot.

but once the werewolf stuff starts happening, things change within the social hierarchy of the school. and someone slips through stiles' brick wall he has so carefully constructed.

now, to appease my heart, this person happens to be the infamous issac lahey. yes, that's right, the former loser turned werewolf model who is holding nothing back anymore. issac's had a crush on you for years, and being a part of the lacrosse team means that he's heard a thing or two from the other guys about how stiles says that you just aren't interested in guys your age, or whatever excuse of the month the spaz has decided upon.

so, when stiles isn't practically glued to your side for the one class of the day the two of you don't share, issac starts enacting his plot to make you his. it's a tad bit cheesy, and throws you off at first, but how could you say no to such a pretty face? you guys slowly start hanging out, and of course, he's a nice guy.

but when scott catches of whiff of issac's scent lingering in your room one night, stiles is the first to hear about it. and god he is FUMING! how could you? how could he not have realized? why didn't you tell him? you tell him everything- why not this thing? did you know?

he's all too paranoid, but the anger and jealousy are winning. stiles isn't the type for outright confrontation, so you won't notice he's ignoring you for a few days. mainly because you're too tied up with issac, which only makes his blood boil hotter. but when you do realize, you feel almost guilty? and by the way, stiles won't even look at you, makes you feel like you are guilty. but guilty of what?

stiles knows that he's guilty. that what he's about to ask of you is unfair on every level, but so what? he can't stand to see you with another guy. of course he could ask you out himself, but he's just a silly little guy idk man.

if you want me to talk to you, you have to get rid of him.

a mix of confusion and fury graces your face. what? the? fuck? it's hot the way he says it, so possessive. so unlike him. but who was he to say some shit like that. still gawking at him, he continues, he is going to hurt you. and I'm warning you now, when he does i won't be there to pick up the pieces. it's me or him. I'm just doing this for your good. plus you're a smart girl, right? make the right choice here.

you tell him to fuck off, storming away with tears brimming your waterline. why couldn't he just be happy for you? later that night, you cry to scott about it all. he tries consoling you but ultimately sides with his best friend. which makes you feel even worse, cause you know who you'll pick. but how are you going to let issac down?

well, luckily scott had that problem handled a few hours later when he literally fights issac to defend your honor over some bullshit that the male had spoken. scott's right at your window after the fight, showing you the damage issac did and what he said about you. it's almost unbelievable, but scott's the most trustworthy person you know- so of course he wouldn't lie. right?

scott is on the phone with stiles after leaving your house, talking about how the plan worked and how he should expect you at his house any minute now. sure enough, the phone call ends with a doorbell ringing.

you're there, as promised, at stiles' doorstep practically falling into his open arms. he brings you inside, closing the door with his foot, and sitting you both down on the couch. with how close you are holding him, you're in his lap. and he can feel tears slowly soaking through his shirt. what's happened?

you're a blubbering mess, i'm sorry for making ignoring you. i should have never talked to him in the first place.

if you hadn't just cried before you said that, you wouldn't have missed the way stiles lips curled up for just a split second. he catches himself, opting to bring his hands to cup your face, bringing you to eye level, what happened?

this time the question is asked more firmly, and the grip he has on you brings you back down to reality. you tell him what scott told you, still crying a bit. who knew the new werewolf would be so cruel?

stiles knew. stiles always knew. and he makes sure you'll never forget it. i told you, but i know you never listen.

you're saying sorry like it's a prayer, and stiles takes it like he's god.

****

A/N: was this ooc? yes. but was it really? no. there's like a multiverse of stiles' in my head and slightly sadistic stiles decided he had to make his debut on this one. i didn't proofread this so if it sucks, I'm sorry <3

[firstkanaphans]

I know this is a lot to ask for but could you imagine writing a little follow up to the Gaipa Alan Joking at wedding kiss?

Maybe they see each other again and are both insecure how the other meant the kiss and if it was only in a haha look we make out at their wedding way or if actual feelings were involved (and Alan realising that Gaipa is the hottest man he has ever seen)

Certainly! You can read Part 1 here.

Alan had known that watching Wen marry someone else would very likely rip open the stitches in his still-mending heart. He had expected it. What he hadn’t expected was for it to piece itself back together so quickly. He had Gaipa to thank for that. A starlit sky. A drunken kiss. A single perfect moment that he would never forget. 

Now, two weeks later, the press of Gaipa’s lips against his haunted him still. Those few minutes spent in each other’s presence had been the happiest Alan had felt in years—even as his whole world crumbled down around him. So he went looking for a ghost. 

The market was bustling and although Alan wasn’t quite sure where to go, it took him less than a minute to find Gaipa. It was as if there was an invisible string tying their hearts together; he walked straight to him.

“I’ll be with you in just a—” Gaipa started, but then he looked up and his eyes widened comically. “Khun Alan. Hi.”

It was the first time Alan had seen him since the night of the wedding and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been worried that the attraction he had felt then had only been manufactured by a combination of the circumstances and copious amounts of alcohol. But standing in front of Gaipa now, he knew that wasn’t true because although Gaipa was only wearing a T-shirt and shorts, although he had rubber boots pulled up to his knees, although his face and his hair were sticky with sweat, he was still beautiful.

It was an understated beauty—soft and innocent. He was smooth lines while Wen was jagged edges. He wasn’t anywhere close to Alan’s type. And yet, he was perfect.

“You’re here for chicken?” Gaipa asked.

Alan shook his head to clear it and then looked down at the cuts of meat on display in front of him. He had no need for chicken and he didn’t want to make Gaipa work unnecessarily, so instead he took a deep breath, looked Gaipa right in the eyes, and said, “Actually, I’m here to ask you to dinner.”

Gaipa blinked twice as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Dinner? You mean like a date?”

“Yes,” Alan agreed. “Like a date.”

Gaipa raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, wow. I’ve never been asked on a date before.” 

The words probably should have scared Alan off. Gaipa was young—perhaps too young, too inexperienced—but instead of cowering, he found the revelation evocative. It triggered a protective instinct inside of him that had long been dormant because Wen had never wanted nor needed it. It felt good to rouse it again.

“Is that a yes?” Alan asked.

Gaipa smiled, soft and shy. “Yes. I would love that. Thank you.”

Alan had originally planned to schedule a time for the upcoming weekend, but he found that he was too excited to wait. His heart was pounding in his chest and the thought of leaving with no promise to see Gaipa again made him uneasy. “What about tonight?” he asked. “I can pick you up.” He knew he sounded overeager, but he didn’t care. He was. And he was tired of hiding his true self behind a socially acceptable facade. This was who he was. This was the him he wanted Gaipa to know. Gaipa’s smile never wavered.

“I…yes. Yeah. Sure. Tonight.”

“Okay then,” Alan said, suddenly giddy. They probably looked like idiots standing there flirting over raw chicken, but Alan didn’t care. His stomach was full of butterflies. “I’ll give you my phone number just in case—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have it.” Gaipa seemed to realize his mistake a second too late because as Alan watched, his cheeks lit aflame, burning the same color they had on the night of the wedding. It was almost like Alan was back in that garden again, the moon and stars shining high above him, the taste of Gaipa on his tongue. “I, um, got it from Wen. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to text you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Alan asked. He wanted to step closer and close the distance between them, but the stall was in the way so instead he reached out and placed his hand on top of Gaipa’s. Gaipa stared down at where their skin touched and his blush darkened.

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing up demurely to meet Alan’s gaze. “I guess I just figured that if Wen was your type, I wouldn’t be.” 

“I dated Wen for five years and yet I never felt even a fraction for him what I felt on the night you kissed me. It feels a bit like destiny, doesn’t it? That I had to date him to meet you. Maybe we deserve a happy ending, too.”

Gaipa smiled, his eyes shining with promise, and for the first time in years, Alan's heart felt whole again.

[mj-102009]

Queen of Chaos (Gojo x oc Part Two)

Masterlist for previous parts

She was short.

That was Gojo’s first note.

Beside him Geto followed the girl with his eyes. “She’s-”

“A curse user,” Shoko said, repulse flicking around her words.

Gojo watched her with six eyes, the sheer amount of cursed energy had him rethink not bringing his new blindfold to school. “She’s tiny.”

“That’s what you’re focused on?” Shoko asked, flicking the back of his head. “Why is she here?”

“I dunno but I’m gonna find out,” He grumbled.

“She’s a student,” Yaga repeated.

“She’s a monster,” Gojo said with narrowed eyes.

The older man rubbed his head. “She’s a sorcerer just like you three, so she will learn with you three.”

The class burst into complaints. Before Geto had enough of this and stormed out. Gojo stayed until he was sure they were both far down the hall. “What grade is she?” The firm expression on his face was out of character.

“Special,” Yaga told him, leaning back into his seat with an exhausted sigh.

Gojo gaped. “You’re kidding me.”

He shook his head. “A very strong one at that.”

“I don’t get it, cursed users are-”

“She’s a vessel,” He corrected.

Gojo rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “She’s a stain.”

“She was born with it, Gojo,” Yaga told him. “She can’t help it.”

“She’s a Ren!” He exclaimed. “That family has the world’s fortune up its ass, make them send her to a private school or something.”

Finally having enough, Yaga scowled. “Give her a chance, Gojo,” he stood up and shooed the boy out of the room. “Or I’ll tell that girl to put you in your place.”

Now glaring at the door, Gojo huffed and turned to the nearest exit.

Only to pause and stare wide eyed at a small girl with the same expression. He watched as her energy rippled around her, almost like a shield.

‘Oh brother,’ He thought to himself.

“Sorry,” She squeaked, spinning on her heel and shuffling back out.

‘Some special grade she is,’ he thought amused. ‘She’s blind.’

The day after, Yaga explained that she was there to memorize the space and would be joining them the following week.

And the day of: they avoided her like the plague.

She attended the classes with the rest of the second years but sat to the side during any form of training.

Gojo took it personally. “She’s too scared of us,” He mused, picking at a piece of grass from his spot in the field.

Geto thought she was scared of herself. “The curse must be difficult to control, she could just be benched.”

Shoko was focused on her eyes, she was standing while spinning a wooden pole . “No stupid, she’s blind– how the hell is she supposed to do anything?”

“Well she’s a special grade so…” Gojo trailed off.

“Special grade doesn’t necessarily mean she knows how to use her curse,” Geto pointed out.

Just after then Yaga came out with the girl, this time she had on training clothes. “Get up Gojo.”

He huffed and lumbered to his feet. “What is she doing here?”

The girl winced and dropped her head down; her thick waves of coffee falling around her miserable expression. Yaga shot him a glare. “She’s going to be training with you three.”

Geto exchanged looks with Gojo, Shoko scowled. Even the girl flinched under the scrutinizing eyes.

“Are you su-”

“That could go-”

“Fuck n-”

“Two versus one,” Yaga announced. “I don’t want Shoko in on this.”

While she looked overwhelmed, the girl didn’t flinch.

Again the two boys made eye contact.

“Ms. Ren?” He said, looking at the girl.

She looked up and pulled her hair back into a tie. “Okay.”

Gojo hated how innocent she sounded.

“Yaga,” Geto said slowly. “I don’t want to-”

Gojo hated the way her eyes flicked aimlessly around the space. 

The teacher stopped Geto. “Geto, if you want the fight to be fair go to the line,” he scowled and walked beside Gojo. “And no cursed techniques.”

Gojo hated the way she apologized softly when bumping into Geto on her way to the other side of the sand field. 

“Whenever you’re ready Ren,” Yaga called.

Gojo hated everything about her because from the moment she stepped outside she had every expectation of winning.

Ren nodded and Geto wasted no time in dashing at speeds only capable for a talented sorcerer. Gojo ran as well but there was no cursed energy behind it.

“Let me borrow his vision,” She whispered.

Then her eyes turned hazel.

Geto watched in slow motion as she was suddenly behind him and with a hand pushing him on the ground. He sneered and spun– but it was done.

Her eyes turned black as pitch.

She heard Gojo’s now urgent footsteps and dropped low as he shot his hand out for her neck. “His arms,” She murmured.

Geto yelled out again as he whirled against his own will. “Satoru move!”

His arms swung at Gojo, he darted back as Ren brushed off her shoulder and stood. “WHAT IS GOING ON!”

She grinned and raised her head with a tilt. “Grab him.”

Geto tried to disobey but then he was rushing and his best friend. “MOVE!”

Gojo was backed into the boundary line, on instinct he summoned energy and pushed him a good fifteen feet away. “How is she doing this?” He yelped.

Suddenly she was behind him, infinity was down. A hand rested on his back. “Down.”

And he was flat on his back staring at a brilliant blue eyed girl. Victory plain in her gaze with a smirk playing on her lips.

Yaga’s voice came from behind them. “Let him go, Ren.”

“Thank you for his body,” She whispered, and both boys were free from the gripping hold. 

“Excellent job,” Yaga told her.

Her eyes had the pale blue film again, a neutral expression returned to her features. “Mhm.”

Gojo jumped up furiously. “He said no cursed techniques! You little-”

Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched, Gojo felt a spike in her energy. “I didn’t.”

Geto wasn’t as mad, more so curious; slowly turning his arms to study the phantom grip. “Then what was it?”

She glanced where she heard his voice. “My innate technique.”

“Bullshit!” Gojo yelled again, he stalked toward her, a finger already shoved in her face. “It's that-that thing you carry!”

“What thing?” She growled. “Say it.”

He leaned down and got in her face. “I won’t say anything to a curse; let alone a curse that can’t se-”

“His eyes,” She growled, her eyes turned the same shade of blue as hers.

Infinity flew up around his body, she grinned and forced it down. “Stop that,” He told her.

“I see you,” She hissed. “Say it to my face.”

Geto stepped to intervene but Yaga moved his arm in front of him. “Let her.”

Gojo’s cheeks turned red. “A curse.”

Her lips curled into a grin. “Was that so hard?”

He flung a hand out to strike her.

Her hand curled around his wrist and glared at him. “My name is Megara Ren, remember it asshat.”

Ya'll tell me if this is going well. I got bullied into this by my friends.

Taglist:

@aish777

[shoshiwrites]

Orange sunsets for Jo & Egan? 💚

Friend, this prompt would not exist without you and your Gale senses, @mercurygray's military vehicle expertise, and @junojelli, because I have never driven stick in my entire life, much less a 1940s jeep. Prompt list here.

Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

Somewhere between writing up her latest story and the blue censor’s slashes that render it half as long, she runs out of typewriter ribbon.

She thought she’d been careful — both in the writing and in the paying close attention to her supplies. Jo — reporter Jo, Your Trusty Correspondent Jo, she figures out her own shit. Doesn’t ask for even so much as a pencil. 

She’d thought it was a good piece, too. 

The things she does have to ask about — meals, jeep rides up to Norwich to report on the bombing runs there, woven through with conversations with the civil defense men, almost all of them veterans of the last war — those are careful things, done in uniform and with something in her voice that approximates flattery. Apologies without apologizing. It’s a relief when a Red Cross girl or two offers to go with her, the way they can talk without minding themselves.

Longhand’ll be fine, for a bit.

It’s warm enough to sit outside, in the grass, in the shadow of a Nissen hut. Overcast, as usual, an early summer day. The air smells like pollen, half like the promise of rain. 

“Hey, I know we’re short a few things up here but I think a chair might not be too big an ask.”

She squints up at him in the brightness from behind the clouds. “Major.”

“Seriously, you need a chair?”

“I’m alright, thank you.” It’s not the mud of spring anymore, at least. “Ground’s nice, on a day like this.”

The look that crosses his face seems to be considering a joke. “Where’s the machine?” He means her typewriter, the Underwood portable. Sitting inside.

She makes a noncommittal wave. 

“I’m sure we could figure you one of those too,” he says, even though they both know full well that hot commodities like typewriters aren’t just growing out in the grass. “Sticky keys? Bad spring? Screw loose? Space bar not doing its job? I mean, I’d still read it, but-”

“Nah, just the ribbon.”

“You need a ribbon?”

God, he’s worse than the boys at the office. She laughs, just a little. “Has anyone ever told you you’d make a great copyboy?”

If he were chewing gum right now, it’d be a lazy clack on his back teeth. “Well, not too different than what they’ve got me doing now, if I’m honest.”

“If you’re honest.”

“Jeep’s right there,” he says, even though it’s not. “I mean-”

She weighs her options. Jeep ride. Typewriter ribbon. Maybe even one for Kay or to squirrel away for later. She wonders about ration books and cigarettes, not that she bothers much with anything besides Luckies these days. Small bars of wartime soap, small, pretty tins of hard candy, boiled sweets, they call them here.

On the other hand. No ride. No ribbon. No sweets. The air’s gotten thicker as she’s been sitting here. It sounds nice — careening through the greenery with the wind on her arms. 

And he’d talk the whole time, she knows he will. 

“What’s your afternoon look like?”

“Wide open.”

She highly suspects it’s not. 

“Just the ribbon,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’s glad she’s wearing trousers in the passenger seat, the open vehicle, the way she has to hold on to stay in. He’s used to the thing by now, he says, the way it handles, the good noises, the bad ones, the bite of the clutch. The road to Norwich is a straight line, and long, and he shouts over the wind, “oldest Roman road around! ‘S what I heard, at least.”

“And here we are, driving on it!” 

“Yeah!”

The fields run by, the rows of trees, wagons, the Queen Anne’s lace, cow parsley, clusters of daisies. 

“So, what’re you working on?”

She tells him, out here where it feels like they’re the only ones around, in the middle of the afternoon, even if they’re not. And he knows, of course, exactly what she’s talking about, the major who drinks among locals, the ones who tell stories and the ones who don’t. 

He waits outside while she makes her purchase, and then ducks into another store to buy that tin of candy, slipped into her pocket. A magazine too, a small, short thing printed on rough paper. She ought to get him something, for the favor. A beer or a meal would be the real thing, if this wasn’t just an errand. 

They walk back around the corner to where the jeep is parked, and he makes to toss her the keys. “Spin for the lady?”

She looks at him, unable to hide the confusion on her face. 

Even if they let her have a jeep, she couldn’t drive it.

“Would if I could,” she says. “Though I hate to make you take the wheel all the way back, too.”

“Hey, it’s fine, I like this thing. But seriously, you never-?”

She looks at him, maybe a little too long, trying to figure out who he thinks she is. “City girls don’t get a lot of lessons in motoring.” Like it’s 1922 and she’s got a parasol and a skirt that doesn’t let her move. Steelworkers who drink away good wages don’t usually go for nice cars, either. William’s family had cars, plural. The two of them went for drives sometimes, out to the quieter, greener spots around the city. She always felt like she was going to do something wrong, smudge something that had just been polished or cleaned.

“Why don’t you hop in, I’ll show you.”

She looks at him again. “I’m sure the last thing anyone needs is an accident that puts a major out of commission.” And she’s pretty sure her on a ship home would be a welcome relief for at least as many people as she can count on her hands.

He makes a noise of dismissal, good-humored. Kind of a snort. “You’ll be fine.”

“You can tell that to the MPs.”

“Hey, would I tell you that if I didn’t think it was true?”

No, you wouldn’t.

“If I can park a plane, you can drive a jeep.”

She gets in the driver’s seat.

“So right here’s the steering wheel-”

She’s quick enough to bite it back. You know I got to England all by myself, right?

He sees the look on her face, puts his hand up. “Just covering all the bases, Brandt.”

“Steering wheel, roger.”

“Steering wheel-” he points, “shifter. This thing-” he points to the long handle protruding from the dashboard, “parking brake. Don’t worry about that one yet.”

He reaches an arm over, down to the well where her legs are. “Left is the clutch. That’s important. Right foot’s the brake. Also important. Long pedal’s the gas, you guessed it, important, if you wanna get back to base before chow or there’s someone chasin’ you.”

“Who’s chasing me?”

“I don’t know, somebody.” 

“I’ll think something up.”

“You’re the writer, right? Now, you’re gonna start this baby up.” He hands her the keys, fingertips brushing her palm. "First turn that ignition, press the starter-” she does as she’s told, “and give it a little gas.”

It starts, mercifully, with a noise that he doesn’t wince at. “Now, if you wanna go faster than a farm wagon you’re gonna need to switch to second. But, can’t do that without gettin’ to first first.”

She’s fairly certain every window along the lane has someone looking at them, but she can’t worry about that right now. 

“So, shifter’s in neutral, keep your foot on that brake- and the clutch, yep- just like dancin’-” he sees her face, “ok, maybe harder than dancin’, unless it’s a fast song playin’-” The clasp of her watch digs into her wrist against the wheel. “Doin’ great- now, I shoulda had you look at these before we started so I’ll just tell you- you’re gonna push down good on that clutch pedal, take the shifter, like this-” 

She does, rewarded by an ungodly metallic noise and a corresponding smell. Her stomach wobbles. Nothing about his manner changes, except a handwave to get the smell away from his nose. This must be what’s he’s like up there. She’s surprised there hasn’t been a baseball metaphor yet. “You’re fine, just didn’t press hard enough is all. Need to get you some good boots like mine-”

She tries again, and the whole vehicle seems to take a cue from her stomach. “I hope you didn’t have anywhere you needed to be this afternoon.”

“Nope.” It’s clear she doesn’t quite believe that. A beat passes. “...you let me worry about that. Now-”

She reaches for the shifter again, just as he does the same, the tiniest spark of static. How, in this weather? If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she heard something in his throat. “So I’ll handle this part now, you just focus on the clutch.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll tell you when.”

She nods, tries to look decisive about it.

“Alright- right- now-”

It bites, just like he said it would. 

“BEAUTIFUL!”

It’s almost a laugh, the breath that escape her.

“Now, we’ll try second.”

She doesn’t get too excited, because it stalls out again. But she gets it going out of neutral, to first. He looks proud.

And second gear- the second time- it works.

“Hey, see, you’ve got this!”

“I think steering might also come in handy.”

“You may be right.”

She’s not very graceful about it, but she doesn’t land them in a ditch as she slowly maneuvers onto the main road. “I think you ought to take us back if you want to get there before dark.”

He looks like he’s thinking about it. “Ah, alright. But this ain’t over.”

“Part two?”

“Third gear. On the strip. When we get back.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Kind of a requirement.”

She gets it back down from second, stops it, hands him the keys. She’s shivering a little, back in the passenger seat, from the nerves, energy. He looks over at her and smiles. “Passed part one.”

“How do I stack up?”

“Well, Buck still has me drivin’ him around so, I’d say you’re the top of the class.”

She laughs, from relief, from the fact that it’s still not raining, from the fact that she’s forgotten the typewriter ribbon in the little box in her pocket, from his smile.

“I expect you to keep this thing running while I’m up there,” he says.

She wants to laugh, but the unspoken if hangs heavy, like clouds pregnant with rain. 

“I don’t think that’s allowed,” she says. 

He glances over at her, East Anglia passing them on both sides once again. “Well, I’ll get you permission.”

It’s not even your jeep, she wants to say. It puckers on her tongue, like the cherry-flavored sweets in her other pocket. None of this belongs to us.

By the time they make it back to Thorpe Abbotts, the sky has miraculously cleared, soft and blue, the other side of the afternoon.

“Now, we can just call this practice,” he says. “For the gear shifts.”

Gamely she gets in the driver’s seat again, bolstered by his confidence.

Another stall, again, this time from first to second, but she handles it. No one’s ever accused me of having a bad memory. Quite the opposite, sometimes. 

The sensation of it runs through her arms, her legs. Something new, something she’d learned, something that might actually serve her, and not just what lipsticks to wear and how to dress for the season. Something he’d shared with her.

“I’m glad we’re not in Pittsburgh,” she says. “All the hills.”

“Hey, you’d handle them too. You’re a pro now. More practice than some of us got.” She’s a little afraid of what this looks like, although it’s not like discipline’s been the letter of the day at Thorpe Abbotts. Hardly something she’d write home about, aside from the swagger, the boldness. It meant something to her, though. Professionalism. William never thinks about any of it, she’s sure. “How about trying that third gear?”

“I hope whatever you’re missing right now isn’t too important.”

“Thought I told you to let me worry about that.”

“After dinner,” she says, unsure if she means it.

The next voice belonging to neither of them, low and a little amused, approaching. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”

“Just taking Josephine here for a little spin. Driving lesson.”

She shoots him a look. “An errand. I ran out of ribbon.”

“How was it?” Gale still looks faintly amused. “The lesson.”

“I told her if I can park a plane, she can drive a jeep.”

“Your ability to park a plane is questionable at best.” He smiles, just a little, before his expression is measured again. “John, Huglin wants to see you.” He can’t say what about in front of her, obviously. Jo hopes it isn’t about this. Something about what she knows of the colonel might tell her it’s not. Still, she feels guilty.

He leans over conspiratorially. “Jo, I won’t mind too much if you run him over.”

“Nice thing to say about your best friend,” Gale says.

“You’d be walking everywhere if it weren’t for me. Jeeps, bikes-”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’ll let you bring this back where you got it,” she says. “Better than me taking an hour to do the same.”

“After dinner, though?” Her mouth twitches a little. 

“Come on, you’ll be thankin’ me one day.”

“He likes to say that,” says Gale.

If the sky stays clear, it’ll be beautiful. Clear blue until late, and then pink, orange, lemon yellow. Red streaks like the sweets in her pocket, dusted with powdered sugar.

How many sunsets like that could you hope for?

“Alright,” she says. “Keep the keys ready.”