#unsexy saturday

[chaos0pikachu]

I want your favorite pic of two of my blorbos wei wuxian and wen kexing please

23. Favorite picture of this character?

oh fuck, uuuuh lemme see:

Wen Kexing

okay straight up and this is probably me being an ironic weeb but this silver wig look with the blue robes is EVERYTHING TO MY ASS like first of all if House of Dragon's has shown anything not all silver/white wigs are made equally (the wigs on the Black actors are TRAGIC looking like yarn from jo ann fabrics the fuck) but like this doesn't make him look washed out our dude looks ethereal he's rocking it and the smirk too??

the smirk of a man who's having good sex every night dawn to dusk, clear skin from all the ice he's eating, is getting nightly hot baths with conditioner from his man every night, combed, & collected love this look

Wei Wuxian

okay this is a bit difficult cause I'll be the first to tell y'all I don't like the untamed I am untamed negative but if I had to choose this pic of the vol 3 cover from Seven Seas b/c bro I loooooooove WWX in his demon girl era he was making ppl eat legs, and dicks (unsexy) and going full Demon Lord on everybody like get it it's an era of wwx ppl don't appreciate enough (if he wasn't unashamedly violent at one point he'd be less interesting stop shaving away his edges)

and tho I am an Untamed negative I do like the actor who plays wwx and this image is it like the tiny waist, the flowing read of his under robes, the gay ass evil flute, the high 90s ponytail, the lean back throwback, this man is playing at the demon club on saturdays, the club doesn't have a line to get in it's got a line to get in wwx

CHARACTER ASK GAME!!! 💫

[meilas]

Socks' Ultimate Phantoms list

Phantoms

Franc D'Ambrosio - Yes. Brings all the sad noises and I am here for it. Nice voice. Excellent acting and facial expressions. Very expressive eyes. Is a cinnamon roll irl. Gary Mauer - Best voice ever. 10/10 would believe this man was an angel. Greg Mills - Looks like a cinnamon roll, will kill you. I never thought tongue action could be sexy but here we are. Ted Keegan - Looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll. Surprisingly sexy. Killian Donnelly - Looks like a cinnamon roll. I can't explain why I like him, but I do. Christopher Carl - I've only heard audio of him but I like him based on how he sobbed on the golden angel. Jeremy Stolle - Nice voice. Acting is too subtle. Peter Karrie - I love how he takes certain notes up a step, just to show that he can. Slightly nasally, but tolerable. Davis Gaines - tbh all I remember really is him slowly rocking his hips while he was sprawled on the portcullis and I now judge all phantoms on a metric of how good their pants look. 9/10 his pants. Peter Joback - I absolutely hated him when he sang in English. I liked him a little better when he did the show in Swedish. James Hume - Unmemorable. Michael Nicholson - Excellent acting choices. Was thinking about him for two weeks after watching. I just really like the production in German, okay? Earl Carpenter - Better in his earlier runs. Good acting choices. Simon Pryce - Very deep voice. Stands nicely. Scott Davies - He looked like fun and I wanted to like him. Noped out of that one pretty quick. Too much vibrato. Anthony Crivello - From the Vegas boot! I actually don't remember too much about him. But I know I liked the boot! Ben Crawford - Tended to have really weird pronunciation toward the end of his run. He was decent when I saw him right after the Broadway reopening. The most remarkable thing he did was to belly slide all the way across the stage during STYDI. Other than that, I recall nothing specific. Thiago Arancam - Remarkable only in the fact that he is boring. Uwe Kroger - The boob-stroking guy. I remember nothing else. Cooper Grodin - Entertaining in the fact that his acting is so wooden. Nice voice when he's not doing blocking at the same time. Good pants. It helps that he never skips leg day. Laird Mackintosh - I think he was good? I honestly don't remember. Geronimo Rauch - I remember I liked him! Norm Lewis - Nice voice, a little boring. Sorry Norm. John Owen-Jones - Hands. Michael Crawford - Absolutely not. I do not understand what anyone sees in him. His voice sounds like it's about to snap any second, and he is very unsexy. David Shannon - Yes. Absolutely yes. Excellent acting choices and nice voice. Does sad very well. Deserved better. Saulo Vasconcelos - All I can recall is @wheel-of-fish spamming the chat with "hands" all night and that's all anyone really needs to know about his Phantom. Ethan Freeman - Looks like a goddamn stick insect during Final Lair and I am here for it. Looks like Tony Shaloub. Bronson Norris Murphy - Technically only was the Phantom in Love Never Dies. RIP. He deserved better. Anyway. His voice is a little deeper than Franc's or Gary's. I wish he had gotten a chance to play the Phantom in POTO proper. I am very curious as to how he would have played it. Looks like a cinnamon roll, is a burnt cinnamon roll. Ramin Karimloo - He was my intro to POTO on stage. I liked his performance enough that I went looking for more clips of the musical, and found the Saturday Streams. Eiji Akutagawa - Ah yes. The self-groping Phantom. That's all I can remember about him. Josh Piterman - Does sad very well. Gerard Butler - My first-first Phantom. I still like him. There's something about his voice that I do actually like, and it annoys me very much when people go "he can't sing" yes he can, everyone has the ability to sing. Just shut up and let me enjoy what I like in peace. Hugh Panaro - Great voice, excellent acting. Funny. Fun to watch. Reminds me of Franc, in that they're both innocent/childish. Hugh is more childish and angry. Looks like he could kill you, and he might, it depends on his mood.

PART TWO

[theanticool]

Jalin Turner vs. Bobby Green

Jalin Turner (14-7) is one of those guys with the unsexy record but they are actually just getting way better fight to fight. Heading into the Bobby Green fight, he had dropped a couple of fights in a row. He manages to ice Green inside of a round. Even in his two losses, Turner showed some great tenacity and a lot of growth with his game over the back half of fights. The coin flip just didn't go his way (think he prob should have got the nod over Gamrot though).

Now Turner is set to face off with Renato Moicano (18-5-1), a winnable fight for him that could really launch him back up into big fights at lightweight. The two will face off at UFC 300 this Saturday (April 13).

[dirty-bosmer]

Now that I'm almost caught up on The Illusionist, I was wondering if you'd be willing to enlighten me on your writing process. Also, if you feel comfortable sharing, was there anything unexpected or surprising that you learned about writing fic?? Super curious and super nosy :>

Thank you for the ask, Z!! I will be honest, my writing process is a MESS, especially now that I'm super busy with school. For each chapter, I usually have a scaffold to work with, and the very least some bullet points that outline each scene. It is almost unimaginable to me that in the early days of my fic, I could write a chapter every few weeks over several regular writing sessions. These days it's so chaotic. I write nothing at all for months at a time then get hit by inspiration ray and stay up from 5 AM to 3 AM writing the bulk of a chapter. It's so unsustainable lol. It usually goes like this:

Write a line.

Agonize over said line.

Write a few paragraphs. Go back to original line and rewrite it three times. End up with the same line I started with.

Forget about things for a few weeks. Write another paragraph. Rewrite said paragraph. Rewrite first line again.

Rearrange all the sentences and re-read it until I'm sick of myself.

Brood for a bit. Get distracted for a few more weeks.

Scrounge for inspiration in my dreamscape. When it hits, spend all of Saturday writing and doing nothing but writing. Don't contact anyone. Don't go outside. Don't do anything. Don't even blink.

Edit while burnt out cause I slept for 6 hours over the entire weekend and hopefully don't get sick of myself again :D

So yeah, I don't recommend that, eheh. I think it's been so difficult cause I'm at the end of a long fic and feeling the pressure, but hopefully when I get back into my Skyrim fic, I'll have planned it out a bit more and it will not be so lawless. Also I've found that chipping away little by little and having someone to do writing sprints with helps a ton with maintaining creative flow (thanks @gilgamish <3)

As for the second part of the question, I'd say what surprised me the most was 1) how much I enjoy writing and 2) how many people have enjoyed my writing. I started The Illusionist back in 2017 with no real writing experience or intention of publishing online, kind of just went *dooot dooot* on the keyboard for a few years, then realized "omg there's a story here" (is it obvious that i pantsed 😅). At some point, I realized it had become a serious hobby, and I actually wanted to improve my skill which is a blessing and a curse cause I've found a real passion for the craft but that also means I'm a lot harsher on myself now.

The second point was far more unexpected tho— I'm truly blown away by how welcoming this community has been and how supportive my friends are. Absolutely mind-boggled that anyone has taken time out their day to read my fic, let alone dropped a message to tell me they liked it 😭 I'm incredibly grateful. Oblivion is almost TWO DECADES OLD, and when I first started writing, my fic was a rare-pair that centered around the mages. THE MAGES GUILD. It was so unbelievably unsexy and understandably received very little engagement XD For years it was like that, so my expectations have always been and will remain very low. Still, I'm having such a blast and hope to be writing for a while :)

[seiwas]

SEL HELLO BABY !! i hope this week has been so amazing to you , i miss chatting with u so lemme ask you some game questions and maybe later i’ll drop by for (early) self-ship saturday in a bit <33

🤡 and 🎢 for the writing game !! <3 love you lots , i hope you’re eating yummy food and staying hydrated (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) ♡

angie baby!! my angiel!! i miss you so much 🥺 i hope this week has been looking up for you!! thank you for sending one in 🩷

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

omg i’m really not a funny/witty writer i think 😭 so not a lot of the scenes i write are actually very funny HELP but!! i think this scene from ‘take my time (i’ll spend it all on you)’ from col did make me giggle (just bc he’s so silly 😭):

and another one! this is somewhat of a hidden scene (that i may or may not include in a wip!) but it’s col gojo basically ruining sexy time by saying smth completely unsexy 🤧 & he’s genuinely confused 😭

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

honestly… angie… my wildest ride for a fic was the one i collabed on with you 😭 writing that aftercare scene was just 😳🫣 smth i’ve never done before!!! AAH it’s rlly the closest i’ve gotten to explicit i think 😭

send me an emoji and i’ll answer!

[seventhscorpio]

“Put the dot on the i” in Polish means to finish something, especially in a pointed or witty way

“To dress up like a rat for the opening of a canal” - to overdress

“Tripe with oil” - something awfully boring

“Like [throwing] peas against a wall” - something my parents would tell me as a kid a lot lmao; when you ask or advise someone and they completely disregard your words

“Old man talks to the painting, and the painting doesn’t talk back even once” - a less popular version of the above. It rhymes in Polish

“Walk on eyelashes” - equivalent of ‘bend over backwards’

“It will heal until the wedding” - that something will heal quickly

“The current won’t kick an electrician” - you can trust a professionalist, or that a professionalist won’t be harmed by their craft; it also rhymes in Polish and it’s delightful. I have a very vivid memory of my high school colleague altering the idiom into “Leprosy won’t touch a romanticist” in his essay on romantic literature, saying all romantic heroes die tragic or heroic deaths before they get the chance to be killed by something ordinary or unsexy

“The turkey thought about Sunday, and on Saturday they chopped off its head” - better to plan for the nearest future; rhymes as well

“[Someone] doesn’t let anyone blow into their groats” - pretty much means that someone takes no bullshit

“A blind hen happened upon a seed” - to achieve or get something purely by luck; esp in a derogatory manner

“Slam against the table and the scissors will sound off” - when you tackle some topic and like 50 people instantly flock to you rambling/complaining about it

“Lordly grace rides on a dappled horse” - the favour of rich people is very fickle

“[As at the] Cracow market” - to reach a compromise where both sides let go, like when you haggle for a price

Stage 1: using your native language's idioms in English out of habit/lack of knowledge

Stage 2: using English idioms as much as you can to prove that you're good at English

Stage 3: using your native language's idioms in English because they fuck actually

[rawiswhore]

Hunter Hearst Helmsley x Fem Reader- "All I Wanna Do"

In the 1980's and even the early to mid 1990's, the World Wrestling Federation (now known as the WWE) was mostly very kid friendly and like a live action Saturday morning cartoon.

However, at the beginning of 1997, the WWF released a new show known as "Shotgun Saturday Night", a wrestling show that promised to be more adult oriented and edgier.

Was it?

Somewhat.

There was a moment on "Shotgun Saturday Night" where Marlena/Terri Runnels pulled the top of her dress down and flashed who would then be known as Rikishi, and when Sunny had implied sex with someone dressed up as Elmo from "Sesame Street", and this Elmo called himself "Fondle Me Elmo".

Not to mention, "Shotgun Saturday Night" had these scantily clad female dancers who would later on be seen in D Generation X's titantron.

Despite that the World Wrestling Federation's Attitude era---a much more edgier, adult oriented and oversexualized era---was a massive success (the most successful WWF/E era ever, even) and many people started tuning in to the WWF when the company was getting edgier in the late 1990's, "Shotgun Saturday Night" was mostly a complete flop that would end up getting cancelled by 1999.  

You were signed to the World Wrestling Federation in 1996 and 1997 and was a part of their roster, and you wanted to be one of those female dancers on "Shotgun Saturday Night", but there was a problem with that that you wanted to address.

Near the beginning of 1997, you were talking backstage with Hunter Hearst Helmsley, who you currently worked as a valet for.

Hunter Hearst Helmsley played this classy, elegant, aristocratic blueblood gentleman similar to what you see in Jane Austen and Charles Dickens novels, and you were his classy valet dressed in evening gowns and occasionally tiaras, silky gloves that reached your elbows, and diamond jewelry.

Sometimes you would even show up in the WWF on television dressed like Marie Antoinette or in early 20th Century crinoline dresses, so you fit alongside his character.

Backstage, your face was turned sideways to look at Hunter's face while you talked with him.

Your chat with Hunter wasn't filmed and broadcast on television or in a pay-per-view, you weren't even rehearsing your lines, you had something you wanted to say to him.

Though, what you're about to say may as well be a WWF storyline.

You told Hunter how you'd love to be one of those female dancers on "Shotgun Saturday Night" wearing provocative clothing and doing these slutty dances, but unfortunately, you feel like you can't.

And you probably can't.

Why?

Because you play his classy, elegant valet dressed in beautiful gowns and pearls and tiaras, it would be so strange if you wore this sexy outfit and danced like a stripper like those dancers on "Shotgun Saturday Night".

Hunter agreed with you, nodding his head.

You did tell Hunter that while you wouldn't mind being one of those dancers on "Shotgun Saturday Night", another problem is most of the audience is a bunch of unsexy men, and you don't want to dance for unsexy men.

Granted, at the 1997 Slammy Awards,  you did strut around in a bikini during the bikini contest, as well as at a 1997 House Show, you did stroll in the ring wearing a thong bikini.

Not to mention, there were a few moments on "Monday Night Raw" where you and Hunter were caught in the back of a limo and you sat and straddled on his lap, where his long sleeved button down shirt was unbuttoned and his hair was dishelved and messy, not to mention he had some lipstick kisses pressed on his neck, and you and Hunter were assumed to have been having sex and heavy petting in the back of that limo.

Plus, there were a few moments on "Monday Night Raw" and in pay-per-views involving you and Hunter that had a lot of sexual innuendo, like when Hunter gave you a literal pearl necklace as a gift (but he didn't have his dick out and didn't jizz on your neck), as well as sometimes when you showed up on "Raw" dressed in skintight cocktail dresses.

You wanting to shed out of your classy, elegant image and dress and act more sluttier can easily be a moment and storyline on "Monday Night Raw", "Shotgun Saturday Night" or a pay-per-view, and you eventually pitched this idea to the WWF creative staff.

Vince Russo loved it.

Considering you played this beautiful, elegant valet dressing and acting so classily, and the WWF would eventually be about "swerve angles" during the Attitude era, like William Regal playing a stereotypically manly man doing construction work and chopping trees with axes--but he's actually gay, you being this classy, elegant valet dressed like Audrey Hepburn in "Breakfast at Tiffany's" who's secretly a sexual deviant is the stuff of Vince Russo's wet dreams.

Hell, you playing this classy Audrey Hepburn-lite who wants to branch out of that and dress and act sluttier is the stuff of Russo's wet dreams.

Sunny/Tammy Sytch was the WWF's "it girl" in 1996 and 1997--she was the most overpushed woman in the company and got the loudest pops of any woman in those years, she may have even gotten the loudest pops during those years in general.

When you watched Sunny, you wanted to be her so much.

She dressed cute, she was vivacious and flirtatious, and she was sexy.

That pink outfit she wore with that white feather boa, you wanted to wear that.

There were so many moments she did that you wish you could've done.  

You actually worked as Hunter's valet because, when you were a ringrat, he was astounded by your beauty (but so were many other pro wrestlers), so much so an idea popped into his head of having you be one of his valets.

You had to think about that, even he, Vince McMahon and the WWF creative staff had to think about that.

You actually started watching the WWF at the end of 1995 because of one Monday night, when you were flipping through the channels and came across "Monday Night Raw" showing Hunter Hearst Helmsley just on screen, and you fell in lust with him.

You started watching "Monday Night Raw" and the WWF just for Hunter, even though there were other sexy men in the WWF as well.

Hunter did start to have valets escort him to the ring by 1996.

Honestly, you would rather be a valet for Hunter Hearst Helmsley than for the Godwins (who played these redneck farmers).

By the time you joined the World Wrestling Federation, Razor Ramon left the company (which really upset you), Davey Boy Smith, Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels didn't have valets, and Marty Jannetty was paired up with Leif Cassidy to form The New Rockers.

Brian Pillman, too, didn't really have a valet escorting him when he joined the WWF.

Before you actually joined the World Wrestling Federation, you had worked as a stripper dancing in strip clubs (which included pole dancing), and you left your stripping job to join the WWF as a valet.

You actually started watching the WWF when you worked as a stripper.

Since you couldn't really be a dancer on "Shotgun Saturday Night" in early 1997, however, you did do this private dance for male wrestlers you think are hot.

You danced for these male wrestlers you think are sexy while you stood on a table in the same room "Shotgun Saturday Night" was filmed, where you did the same dances those dancers on "Shotgun Saturday Night" did while you wore a provocative outfit.

There weren't a bunch of fans filling the audience up while you did this dance for these male wrestlers.

When "Monday Night Raw" started getting edgier at the end of 1997, and you started wearing less clothes and acting more sluttier, you were a female dancer on "Shotgun Saturday Night".

Your dream came true!

Maybe you could've been a dancer on "Shotgun Saturday Night" at the beginning of 1997 if you didn't work as Hunter's valet (or anyone else's valet).

[otherworldsivelivedin]

THREE SHEETS TO THE WIND

❤️🥰 For RooBadley, @giishu and @ninemagicks 🥰❤️

Rating: T

Word count: 1,608

Summary:

Simon and Baz have had a few too many bevvies and are off their face. Trashed. Utterly wellied. And, for some reason, Baz’s eyebrow looks down right good enough to lick.

This fic is a love letter to eyebrows (Baz’s, specifically)—with as many British ways of saying “I’m drunk” as I could wrangle! (There’s 47, if we include the summary, just for the record 😂)

Getting drunk with your partner, being silly together, healthy relationships, humour, British slang, domestic banter, crack-adjacent, drunk and in love...

This fic could be seen as a sequel to I Meant It, You’ll See, given a line from that has inspired this follow-up fic (that and the wonderful Roo), but you definitely don’t need to have read that first.

Thank you as always to the best beta ever, @scone-lover ❤️

and thank you to @arca9, who welcomed me into her DMs last minute when I was losing my nerve 😅❤️

(Also, three cheers for my Shutterstock subscription—that I forgot to cancel—for this wonderful artwork by Serafima Dashkevich 😍)

[caitybug]

Unsexy Saturday

Yo bois I’m back with another shitty Saturday story. (Whether you want it or not lol).

Sexy Saturday- post something sexy or unsexy!

I’m tagging @adamarks @amywaterwings @ninemagicks @motherscarf @palimpsessed @krisrix @bazzybelle @foolofabookwyrm @arca9 @twokisses @xivz @theflyingpeach @peachpit-mo and @snowverylost @nick-eyre

Simon and I, in an attempt to socialize, are with another couple tonight.

Simon met them through work. Bill and Harry.

Harry works in IT and he and Simon have gotten on well, I suppose.

Their flat is simply decorated with photos on the wall of their wedding and a few plants purposefully placed on different tables to bring the room to life.

It’s fine.

(It’s normal.)

They’re Normal.

(In every sense of the word. Capital N or not.)

“They seem nice, right?” Simon asks as they take our plates to the kitchen.

I nod.

They do, in all intents and purposes. They’re polite, they get our humor, and Bill and I can talk literature with each other.

It just feels like there is something else going on. It’s yet to click, however.

Harry and Simon seem to be getting along well too.

“I know they dance, maybe we could all take a class together.” Simon puts a hand on my knee and gives it a squeeze.

I have been wanting to get Snow into a dance class. He needs it.

Especially if we’re going to get married someday.

(Someday soon, I hope.)

Harry walks out to the living room.

“Simon!” He exclaims, making me jump slightly. It’s been a slow and quiet evening thus far, so the sudden burst in energy takes me aback. “Do you still want to see that sword?”

Simon jumps up.

I think this is half the reason Simon wanted to come. Apparently this Harry character collects swords, and Simon’s been trying his hardest to take a look.

“Should I show him mine?” He asked on the way here.

He had his hand on his hip as if he was going to summon it at any second.

“Crowly, no,” I responded.

They leave the room and Bill comes in, laughing and taking a seat on the couch next to me.

I pray silently that Simon keeps his sword sheathed.

“So,” Bill starts, running his hand through his short brown hair. “How long have you guys done this?”

I frown, confused.

“Done what, exactly?” I ask. “Dinner? We have it each night.”

He gives a funny look.

“Swung,” he responds.

The look on my face must look crazed because his mood shifts completely.

“That is-” he coughs, face flushing red. “What we are doing here, right?”

I wonder if this is what Snow’s brain feels like every day. I feel like I’m missing something as my mind tries to catch up to what he’s saying.

Swung.

Dancers.

Have you ever-

My mind clicks into place.

“Crowley,” I mutter. “You’re-”

Bill stands up, looking as uncomfortable as I feel right now.

“I thought you knew,” he explains. “Harry said he told Simon-”

“Snow is an idiot,” I put my head in my hands. I’m going to need medicine for the migrain I’m in the process of growing.

Then I realize.

Simon is in the other room with Harry, who thinks we are here to swing.

“Simon!” I shout.

It comes out more helpless than I mean it to.

“What’s going on?” Simon asks, stepping around the corner. He’s frowning in confusion, Harry right behind him, looking at us with the same expression.

“They don’t know,” Bill says through his teeth. Harry looks at him, blinking once, twice.

“Oh fu-”

“We’re leaving, grab your things,” I interrupt, trying to get out of here as quickly as I can.

We’ve had enough embarrassment for the evening.

“What? But I-” Simon stammers.

“Now, Snow!” I repeat.

He follows, grabbing his jacket as he passes it.

Stammered apologies fly in the air, both from Simon and from Harry and Bill.

I grab Simon’s arm and pull him through the rest of the door and close it behind us.

“Baz,” he says in a harsh whisper, trying to keep up with me as I walk down the hallway. (The advantage to having longer legs- Snow is always trying to catch up to me.)

I ignore him, heading for the car to have this conversation in private.

“Baz!” He says louder this time. I stop and turn towards him.

He obviously wasn’t prepared as he crashes into me.

I catch him, helping him stand upright.

His brows are furrowed and his face is a tinge of pink.

“What happened?” He asks, looking up at me.

I thought it was anger, but now he looks concerned.

“They’re swingers, Simon.”

“Well, yeah, Baz,” he responds like it’s a known fact. That we knew all along. “I told you that. They dance.”

I groan.

I love him, I love him, I love him.

“Simon, they’re not that kind of swinger.”

I wait for him to realize, but it doesn’t seem to click.

I grab his hand and continue walking the rest of the way out of the building.

“You know,” I whisper as I open the car door, “like for sex.”

His eyes go wide.

“Wait-”

I close the door behind me.

We should have just stayed home tonight.

[nick-eyre]

Happy UnSexy Saturday

thank you for the tag @caitybuglove23​ 🥰 I’m tagging:  @slimybaz​ @cynopoe​ @theflyingpeach​ @motherscarf​ @peachpit-mo​ @simonsnowsfreckles​ Share something unsexy or sexy i guess :/ (or ignore this! all valid responses!)

I got inspired to draw a feral vamp after I saw River’s Piece last night but instead of making it look nice I was thinking about the Muppet vampire and drawing at the worst canvas size 

and a Sexy Shep wip as a treat 😉

Maybe one day I’ll finish this

[amphipodgirl]

Thank you @llamapyjamas for tagging me! CW: circumcision

This is from my COTTA fic, which is set during the Exodus from Egypt. You deal with the Bible, you’re gonna hit some stuff. I think this is pretty definitively unsexy.

Baz POV:

He clears his throat. “There's one more thing.” I can tell he doesn't want to tell me this.

“Oh?” I ask.

“Um. The sacrifice. To share in the sacrifice.”

“What about it?”

“Youhavetobecircumcised.”

It takes me a minute to parse it out.

“I have to WHAT!?” I stop and stare at him.

“You can only share in the sacrifice if you're circumcised. I know. It's awful. I had it done when I was a baby, so I didn't know anything about it. But it's the – it's the seal on the contract. It marks our deal with God. Only circumcised men can share in the sacrifice. I won't blame you if you want to go back. Only...only then you'll die. And I'll have to live without you. And I don't know if I can.

“So please?”

I tag @thehoneyedhufflepuff @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @krisrix @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire @motherscarf and anyone else with sexy or unsexy content to share.

[nowritingonthewall]

OSCAR ISAAC Saturday Night Live

[midnightdevotion]

More than Him

Part 2 to more than this!!

Warnings: fluff and the reader is starting to notice feelings!! SLOW BURN

a/n: so sorry for the wait but my dumbass has like 7 fics going so it can get hard to juggle. LOVE YOU

You were never one to just sit down and be hurt, so you decided to do whatever it is you wanted. Anything you'd ever wanted to try, You were going to do it. No more fear or holding back.

That's how you found yourself on Monday night sitting outside of a pole dancing class. You'd been crying more than you'd like to admit, and it was a hard day at work with no distractions but you made it through and here you are getting ready to pole dance.

You felt a bit crazy, but in a way you wanted to do anything and everything that would change you as a person. Change you into a person he never would be able to touch.

It made you sick to your stomach to think about how you two had been intimate while he was just lying to you, using you. Shaking it off, you head inside the studio. It's smaller than you imagine, just one studio with 8 poles.

You take a pole in the back and start stretching, trying to focus on the instructor. The first hour flies by, and you actually have fun. Focused on learning how to do things on the pole. It pinches your skin and leaves your muscles shaking.

The second hour hits a bit harder though. This half is more about turning what you've learned into a dance. A sexy dance. Any other time you would be all for it, feeling sexy and learning the choreography but after being cut open and left feeling used and unsexy its more challenging than you thought.

You feel so unsexy, like an imposter in the middle of a pole class. Like you don't belong here and you feel like crying and screaming at the same time.

By the time the class lets out you are drained, physically and emotionally. Ready to just curl up in bed and try and forget everything.

You feel so angry and so fucking sad at the same time. It's not fair really, you tried to be a good partner and you know his lack of being a decent human isn't on you, but your pisses that the pain is. He gets to be a piece of shit and you have to feel the pain.

The whole drive home you are swirling in thoughts of sad hatred. Tears falling down your cheeks, disgusted that he got to hurt you like this. When you pull back into your drive way, you don't even notice Ice's car.

You make it inside to see Tom sitting on your couch, blankets and snacks all ready to go with your favorite Chinese food - cream cheese wantons included. You send him a pathetic smile as he gets off the couch. No words needed as he wraps his arms around you. Holding you firmly against his muscled chest.

___

Thats the general outline of how your entire week goes. You buy a new bed and bed set and tear down the old one to build the new one. Slamming your finger in part of the frame at one point and bleeding.

You burn everything he left at your place, and delete every photo you two had together. You feel slightly relieved. You didn't even realize how unhappy you were until you were out of it, and now yeah your dealing with the feelings of insecurity and being used and betrayed but you feel hopeful that things will be better without him.

By the time Friday rolls around you've done everything you could think of. Axe throwing, pole classes, calling a therapist, doing a campfire to burn his shit, erasing him from your life completely. it still stings, but it stings less and that fact has you gripping onto the future like no other.

So when Tom invites you to the beach Saturday you jump at the chance. You always love seeing Tom and you did not want to be at home all day on a Saturday. The way your overthinking mind would torture you if you didn't have anything to do, you would've agreed to do anything.

Hence why you are up at 8 am on a Saturday morning. Damn those Navy boys for waking up so god damn early. You deem the early morning worth it as soon as you see Tom on the beach. He grins at you when he sees you and you don't spare a second to think about why that makes your heart jump.

He's chosen a spot right by the water and the volley ball court, and you know Tom well enough to know that he intends to play today.

"You chose a fantastic day to join us little one, we are going up against our rivals, should be a good match" Slider grins down at you. You hadn't known that when you said yes but you grin figuring it'll be a good distraction anyways.

"You're gonna win for me right guys" Tom give you a smirk at that.

"darling I will always win for you"

You give them both a wish of good luck and maybe you rest a kiss on Toms cheek but what you really don't know what to do with is the pounding in your chest when he smiles at you. Or the way your mouth goes dry when he takes off his shirt to play.

You've always known Tom was good looking, I mean c'mon you have eyes. You'd even had a little crush on him for a while, but he never made an indication he was interested and you wanted him in your life so you'd decided to box him in as a friend. It seems now though the box might be breaking open. A little pissed off at that notion, because now is so not the fucking time to complicate things with tom.

You're broken out of your confused feelings when a woman with a little toddler sits down next to you.

"Hi I'm Carole and this is Bradley" the shy little boy gives a wave and you can't help but grin. Sending him a wave back you laugh when he ducks behind his mother. You introduce yourself to the short haired blonde and entering a friendly conversation.

"so which one of these guys is yours?" she asks and you find yourself stuttering and blushing.

"o-oh I'm not- we're not... I'm just friends with Tom- I mean Iceman" and you point out the blond diving for the volleyball. Carole just giggles at your response.

"well from the way he looks at you, you might want to reconsider that friendship. That one is my husband" You almost thank god that she changed topic at the last second, pointing out the mustached man on the other team.

"you guys make a very cute family" You grin at how Bradley is now playing with toy fighter planes.

"so will you and Tom" and any hope you had of her dropping the subject had flown out the window faster than their damn jets go.

"no no really we are just friends-"

"Oh so you're saying if that man stood before you and confessed to being totally irrevocably in love with you, you'd say no?"

"well I don't- I just got out of a relationship" the words came tumbling out of your mouth at a rate so fast it was obvious you wouldn't say no. That you were just trying to stop the picture of tom looking at you with love as he confessed his love for you.

You'd always been a day dreamer, but it only seems to bite you in the ass. The way your heart sped up when Carole said that, when she hinted that he looks at you in a way that friends don't. It all had you speechless and well Hopeful. The logic part of your brain says you need to stop, you've been single a week! You need to take time, according to every website you've clicked on it takes at least four months to move on from someone.

"Huh" was Carole's response

"what does that Huh mean?" you quirk a brow at her.

"I just didn't hear a no is all" you find your cheeks flushing at that. She's right, you didn't say no. You made an excuse because you've always been a timeline kind of person. You graduated college in 4 years, make extra payments on your home loan to pay it off in 20 years instead of 30. You want to date someone for at least 2 years before getting engaged, be engaged for 2 more years and then get married. You think back to all your goals and there is always a timeline, maybe you need to stop thinking about how much time there should be before something happens and just let things happen.

You glance up to see Ice's blue eyes staring right back at you, he mouths 'you ok' and you find yourself sending him a grin and a nod. You are okay, and it's really because of him. You still need time though, not because some website, but because you are still healing. Plus you aren't even sure he does have feelings for you. You need a stable heart before you can risk rejection all over again.

The game ends and you aren't even sure if anyone was keeping score, seeing as the game went way longer than most volleyball games that consist of 25 points and 3 rounds. It isn't long before a very sweaty Tom is standing over you.

Next thing you know he's pulling you up and untying your swimsuit coverup for you. The action has butterflies exploding in your stomach and you think back to what Carole said and hope to god he can't see the blush on your cheeks. He pushes it off your shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. His eyes remain respectful and he grins.

"ready to get in the water now?" You can't help the way his grin is contagious and find yourself really smiling before nodding. If you spent a little bit more time thinking about it, you'd realize that he's the only one whose been able to genuinely make you feel complete all week.

You two spend the next few hours splashing around and swimming, at one point you even offer to watch Bradley so Carole and who you now know as Nick can get in the water. Your heart clenches watching play with Bradley beside you. Your thoughts echoing the words Carole said earlier...'so will you and Tom".

You can't help but think of little blond haired blue eyed babies that would be Tom's. You swallow hard, trying to stomp down the feeling of wishing those same kids will have your nose and laugh. A perfect mix of the two of you.

By the end of the day you are exhausted, who knew a day at the beach would have you mentally exhausted. Though while your mind was running a mile a minute you were glad it was on something other than your ex.

Instead it was on the man sitting next to you, drinking a beer and laughing at whatever dumb thing slider said. His arm keeps brushing yours and you feel crazy, are you overthinking everything or are these hints?

What you didn't know is that Tom is thinking the same things you were. He's picture kids with your hair and his eyes and the way they'd have your smile and his stubborness. The way he wants you to come to the beach with him every weekend, and how badly he wants to wrap his arm around you right now.

He has to go about this the right way though, he can't scare you off. You just got out of something and Tom knew you better than anyone else. He knew you needed time, to come to terms, to grieve, to be at peace, before you could just give things with him a go. He could be patient, he's waited for you this long whats a couple more months?

He is a man that goes for the things he wants and he isn't afraid of a little waiting if it means hitting the lottery. You are his lottery, the one he wants to wake up with every morning, and when he can't sleep he just wants to be able to pull you closer.

Carole the little wingwoman she was, reported back that he definitely had a chance and if her words were anything to go by, a big chance too. It causes him to grin a little wider the rest of the day, and maybe he sits closer to you than normal just to feel you brush against him.

So when you rest your head on his shoulder as the sunsets on the beach, he would do anything to freeze this moment. To live here where it's just you, him, and the waves. No chaos, no stress just you two at peace.

Taglist:

@alanadetigy 

@luckyladycreator2 

@multiplefandomsmess 

@tkmarvel-divergentbish

@ohh-to-be-a-frog

@roosterschanelslut

@americaarse

@malindacath

@atarmychick007 

@trikigirl271

@lustfulseonghwa

@smoothdogsgirl

@nessrin

[treason-and-plot]

After half a cup of hot and mellow coffee and several mouthfuls of cinnamon bun, Sonia’s neck has been restored to its normal colour, and her eyebrows are once again smooth and relaxed. Violet carefully sets her cup down.

“So…did Roy happen to mention where he met his new friend?” she asks. Sonia briefly closes her eyes in disdain.

“At a nightclub,” she says. “Can you believe it?”

“We should go to a nightclub one night,” Violet says. “There’s a new place that’s just opened near the docks called Rubyfruit. We should check it out.”

“That’s hardly an original name,” sniffs Sonia.

“Who cares about the name? We could go next Saturday. Get Roy to come over and help Apollo babysit.”

“No. He’d probably want to bring her along,” says Sonia. She wears her contempt like a spiky shell. “And I don’t want her in my house.”

“Why?” says Violet. “Do you think she’s going to steal the family silver or something?”

“Probably,” says Sonia.

“Come on, babe,” says Violet. “Be honest-”

“I don’t know what you mean!“ says Sonia. “I’m speaking the truth! That gold- digging little trollop has set her sights on him, it’s as clear as day. The next thing we know they’ll be getting married, and of course there’s no pre-nup because they’re soooooooo in looooooooove, and pre-nups are so unsexy and such a passion killer, right? Then boom, three months down the track she’s pregnant, except by now the marriage is floundering and next thing you know, they’re getting divorced and she’s walking away with nearly everything he owns and you and I and the kids are out on the street because he has to sell the house to pay his legal fees! Why am I the only one who can see that?”  

[missymurphy1985]

The Deal - Part 5 (Tommy Shelby X fem!reader)

Warning - pregnancy / angst

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08 @smailaway @persephonehemingway @theamuz @parker-natasha

Oswald was busying himself with a different maid or whore every night - he said he wasn't interested in you until the child was born. Then you were under strict instruction to slim back down, tone up. Be the trophy wife for his campaign posters and 'don't get pregnant again, you fat, repulsive wretch'. His words would hurt if you cared enough.

Idiot.

Stroking your belly, you smiled. This was going perfectly. Nearly eight months pregnant, you relished in the kicks, rolls and flutters inside you. The only thing keeping you going through all of this.

And your baby's father.

The way he held you after making love to you when you had the opportunity. Not that you'd had any opportunity lately, Moseley wouldn't let you leave the house so close to your due date. Even your midwife, Clara, had to come to the house, and he had suddenly begun attending these visits personally.

He was watching the midwife examine your belly, listening to the heartbeat through her stethoscope. His eyes on both of you. The midwife told you there was a likelihood of high blood pressure, and delved into her bag for some pills to help lower it.

"She won't be taking any of your chemical-ridden nonsense," Moseley snapped.

"If she doesn't take them, she risks going into labour early and neither baby or mum may survive. These are an all-natural remedy. No chemicals."

You loved the way she always put Oswald in his place - she wasn't even slightly intimidated by him. A strength you were starting to build in yourself, your baby needed you to protect it, motherly instincts kicking in very early on in your pregnancy.

You'd never wanted Tommy more in your life. Not for sex, you felt huge and very unsexy, but his arms around you at night. His voice in your ear. His body close to yours while you slept.

Picking up the phone at 2pm while Oswald was out shooting again, you dialled his office number. No answer.

Strange, he was always there at 2pm... That was your 30minute timeslot, and he always made sure it was clear in case you needed him... You called again. Still nothing.

Calling Arrow House, an older woman answered the phone.

"Mr Shelby is away on business. Who's calling please?"

You hung up. That explains his silence at least. He'd be back soon, he knew the baby was due next month, the will would be changed and the final phase of the plan could be actioned.

He wouldn't miss this, you knew he wouldn't. Patting your stomach, feeling your baby kick happily away, you still had hope. It was all you had.

************************************************************

Your labour began on a cold November Saturday, almost three weeks later. Waking up to wet bedsheets, you called for your maid to contact Clara and let her know your baby was on the way. Within an hour, she was there, easing you up in bed to examine you gently.

"Only a couple of centimetres dilated y/n, we could be here for a while I'm afraid. Any tightenings? Pain?"

"Not really, just a few cramps, bit of backache?"

"Good. Best thing you can do is rest, try to sleep. I'll be in the chair over there, I won't leave you. Okay?" She smiled, easing your worries. You could only pray at this point that Tommy was home...

A few hours later, you woke with a start. Agonising contractions gripping you, making you gasp from the pain and intensity. Clara was at your side minutes later, holding your hand.

"It hurts...." You sobbed, as the contraction eased off.

"I know.. I'm sorry y/n.. we will get through this together, okay? You're going to be fine."

"Where's my husband? Does he know?"

"He does. Said he needed to run an errand. He'll be back any time now actually."

"I don't want him in here when I give birth?!"

"I'm under orders y/n, he said he had a surprise for you..."

"What kind of surprise?"

You found out when the door suddenly slammed open. Oswald walked in, followed by two of his henchmen... dragging something behind them...

Or was that someone?

What was that?

"Ah, I see you're awake. Just in time for the grand finale."

"Oswald, what's going on?"

"You see, y/n, I don't like to be made a fool out of. You have been making a fool out of me for the last nine months, have you not? Well you're little plan comes to an end this evening."

You couldn't speak as another violent contraction flew through you, making you cry out from the pain. The thing on the floor suddenly moved, reacting to your cries, then it spoke...

"Lay a fucking hand on her Moseley and I'll have your fucking eyes..."

[gohyuck]

1/7 of my milestone drabbles!

pairing: streetracer!mark lee x reader

genre: fluff/angst/smut

word count: 2.1k

plot request: @hansolstea​ said: streetracer au + “if you think you can beat me on the tracks, then you’re on the wrong side of the wheel”

warnings: not chronological so pay attention to timestamps, ambiguous relationship between the main characters, mild car accident, explicit sex, choking, ...cumming inside, mild overstimulation, slightly shitty aftercare due to the setting

SATURDAY 1:27 A.M.

“fucking take it.” he growls in your ear from above you, burying your face further into the pillow and readjusting your position so your hips are higher in the air. you let a gasping moan out without meaning to, and mark, almost without thinking, lands a hand against your ass in response, drawing forth a keening wail. “you think you’re all that, huh? think you’re invincible? hm? answer me.” 

“n-no, fuck, mark, i-” he speeds up his hips, pistoning into you at a breakneck pace, almost smothering you into the motel bed’s surprisingly soft pillow. it’s obvious that he doesn’t care about what you say as long as it isn’t the safe word. you already know he’ll leave you bruised and battered, aching from how hard he’s fucking you, but you also know not to expect anything else. 

mark lee is not your friend. mark lee certainly isn’t your lover. mark lee is a cocky, inflammatory bastard who has never hesitated to push your buttons in public. he brings out the worst in you, and you bring out the worst in him. 

unfortunately for everyone involved, mark’s the best fuck you’ve ever had, and you know that he’s never had as good a time sticking his dick in anyone else. 

as he pulls out, causing you to whine at the loss of contact, only to flip you over and immediately plow into you again, hard arms caging you in against the bed, you can’t help but think back to the series of events that led you here. not four hours earlier, you’d been on the ‘track’, jeno’s ford mustang right beside mark’s chevy corvette c6. everything that had happened there had led to what’s happening now. 

“fucking take it,” mark growls again, almost unaware of what he himself is saying at this point. you’d laugh at him if you weren’t drunk off of him. his words bring you back to the present, your back arching until your chest meets his. “someone has to put you in your place.”

FRIDAY 9:55 P.M.

“come to get your ass beat?” 

mark whirls around to see you leaning against your brother’s bright red mustang, a smirk adorning your features. he’s always been reactionary when it comes to you, and tonight is no different: his relaxed gaze hardens immediately as it falls on you, and his otherwise gentle smile morphs into a sneer. still, he attempts to maintain his composure, never wanting the first of you two to break. 

“you’re not even driving tonight, princess. that’s big talk for someone too scared to race against me.”

“not my fault my brother wanted a piece of you first. be grateful - you couldn’t handle going against me.” you respond with ease, pushing yourself off of the car in favor of walking towards the man you can’t stand. his shoulders tense up for a moment, only to ease up again as he rolls them back, shoving both of his hands into his black bomber jacket’s pockets.  you take a split second to appraise him, though you pray he doesn’t realize that you’re checking him out: black bomber, plain white tee, a thin checkered red flannel, ripped black skinny jeans, a dark brown belt, and a black beanie. even you can’t deny how attractive he is, no matter how badly you wish you could.

your eyes have trailed to his chest, and when you snap your head up to look at him, he’s smirking. that bastard. 

“if you think you can beat me on the tracks, then you’re on the wrong side of the wheel,” he shrugs his shoulders, very obviously presenting you with a challenge. “should be inside the car, not outside it… unless you’re afraid, princess. i’d let you off the hook if you were, of course. it would be understandable: nobody wants to lose.”

“call me princess one more fucking time-” you retort, so close to him that you can smell his cologne. 

“princess.” he draws the word out, and that’s the only mark lee you’ve ever known. the pain in your ass. he’s a good friend of jeno’s - hell, your brother even looks up to the man smirking at you right now - and gets along well with everyone you know. you’re the only exception, and you don’t know how to feel about that.

anger. arousal, maybe- no, just anger. it’s just anger, you tell yourself. before you can even sort out your own thoughts, you find yourself turning, yelling out your brother’s name. 

“i’m driving tonight,” you call out, leaving no room for argument. “me versus mark.”

jeno looks at you, then at his friend, and then back at you, mouth falling open as if to argue. as his eyes meet yours, though, he knows: bickering with you is futile. your brother tosses you the keys to his precious car, and when you meet mark’s eyes again, you’re the one smirking this time. 

“good luck,” you sneer, leaning close until you’re as in his face as you possibly could be. “princess.”

FRIDAY 11:39 P.M.

you’ve never seen him look quite this downright pissed. mark is genuinely one of the more easygoing, mild-mannered men you’ve met, only even acting ‘riled up’ whenever someone - typically hyuck or yuta - makes an inflammatory or downright jokingly flirtatious comment at him. it takes a lot for him to feel rage, and even you don’t think you evoke emotions that strong from him. he’s been insanely annoyed with you, yes, but it usually isn’t anything too far past that.

now, though? now mark fuckin’ lee has a steel grip on your left wrist as he tugs you out of the car. it isn’t too bad - the bumper is crooked, now, and one of the sideview mirrors is dangling and both taken together will cost a very unsexy couple of grands to fix without accounting for the paint - but you can hear your brother’s bemoaned wails at what you’ve done to his precious car. you’re surprised at yourself, too: you’ve never crashed before. 

you’d looked over at mark for a split second too long while going just a hair too fast, and then, suddenly, the side of your - jeno’s - car was scraping some corporate compound’s metal fence. you’d panicked to a stop upon hearing the metallic crunching noises, and had only later heard mark’s c6 screeching to a halt up ahead. he’d yelled your name, you’d thought, but you were still dazed.

that, and jeno, who’d been just ahead at the finish line, had already started screaming by then. not for you. for his car. 

“what the hell were you thinking?” mark yells, pulling you just a little too hard, causing you to stumble into his chest. “why didn’t you slow the fuck down?”

“i- shit, i didn’t realize until it was too late.” you can’t even throw the same tone of voice back in his face, too preoccupied with the realization that, had your steering been just a little off, you might be mangled in the mustang right now. 

the race had gotten cut short then, with you apologizing profusely to your brother for as long as possible afterwards. mark had stepped back, watched on as the two of you assessed the damage to jeno’s car. it was only everyone else had left and jeno’d realized that he’d have to drive home with his car in the mess that it was that mark had stepped in between you and your sibling, offering to let you stay with him for the night rather than risk you and your brother killing each other over the mustang (‘nana’, so affectionately named by jeno after his best friend).

“thank fuck,” jeno’d said, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head in exasperation. 

“fuck this,” you’d muttered under your breath, though a part of you truly is thankful for the intervention and the distraction both. mark had heard you. jeno hadn’t. 

you expect to pull up to the apartment mark shares with his friends yuta and jungwoo, but, instead, he pulls into the parking lot of a motel you know well. of course you do - you’ve rendezvoused here with him on multiple accounts before. it’s only then, as mark fixes a hard, dark gaze on you, that you realize what you’re in for. his mouth meets your skin, your hands meet his hair.

“someone,“ he murmurs into the flesh that joins your jaw and neck. “needs to teach you how to slow down. that someone, though,” a fresh hickey blooms against your skin. he pushes open his car door with the hand that isn’t gripping your shirt’s hem. “sure as hell won’t be me.”

SATURDAY 1:29 A.M.

“someone has to put you in your place.”

mark reaches up your body then, curls a hand gingerly - almost too gingerly - around your throat. he presses lightly against the sides, only enough to make you feel slightly lightheaded. he’s looking down at you directly, gaze hard, daring you to look back. you’re close but it isn’t enough - you’re on an edge, but there’s nothing else behind you, no catalyst to push you into bliss. 

his hand tightens, the other comes down to your pelvis, thumb swiping experimentally against your clit. you can’t help yourself - you tighten immediately around him, back arching slightly as both of you let out choked moans simultaneously. he swipes against your clit one more time before settling his hand against your hip, starting to rub circles into your bundle of nerves if only to feel your vice grip around his cock. you practically keen, gasping at the sheer amount of sensations your body feels. 

you’re on the edge. you’re about to fall. mark’s hips stutter against your own, and he plays with your clit even more vigorously as he cums, not bothering to pull out. he never does, anyways. the hand around your neck tightens just a bit before he lets go of your airways entirely, and the sensation of finally being able to breathe properly again does you in, your chest fully arching almost against mark’s own as you reach your own orgasm. 

it feels like an eternity until the stars are all out of your eyes, but you find yourself falling back to earth as mark finally pulls out. you’re panting, catching your breath, eyes glassy as you try and fix your gaze on him. he notices this, chuckling softly. 

mark heads to the room’s bathroom, and you hear running water for a second before he emerges with wadded up toilet paper and a wet towel. you wince, knowing he’ll use the one-ply toilet paper on you first, but also knowing that neither of you are shitty enough to leave a cum-covered hotel towel behind for the staff to find. he wipes up the mixture of yours and his cum up from between your sensitive thighs, quieting shushing you and apologizing as the scratchy toilet paper meets your still-sensitive pussy. once he’s sure it’s all cleaned up, he wipes you down with the wet towel, doing his best to soothe your skin. 

once he’s discarded the toilet paper and put the towel up, mark pulls on his boxers before gently pushing you over to get into the bed beside you. everything smells like sex, but you can’t bring yourself to be as disgusted by it as you think you should be. you move onto your side, wrapping an arm around him and throwing a leg over him, ignoring the fact that he’s like a space heater and you already feel sticky as it is. he allows his arm to wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. 

“i’m serious, you know,” he mutters after a while, sighing as he speaks. “you need to learn how to slow down. that could’ve ended very, very badly tonight… and as much as we… have our ‘differences’ or whatever, i don’t know what i’d do without you. okay? so pay more attention when you’re driving. you’re too valuable.”

there’s no response. mark shifts so he can see you, and he realizes that you’re fast asleep, bare chest rising and falling in tandem with mark’s heartbeat. you haven’t heard a word of what he’s said. a small smile graces mark’s features. 

he lets his head fall back onto the too-flat motel pillow, finding that he, too, is suddenly very tired. his eyes slip shut, sleep pulling him in as the night goes on. he pulls you closer on reflex. you allow yourself to get pulled closer in the same way. in the morning, you’ll ask him what he means by ‘you’re too valuable’. you’ve got at least six hours ‘til then. you fall asleep with a smile on your face, mirroring mark’s own.