#you’re either telling her she’s wrong about her own songs or that you don’t want to know what she thinks

[midnightsslut]

also what I find to be funny about the whole ‘let people have their wedding song!!’ discourse is that these same people will get mad at you for analyzing taylor’s songs within the context of her life. if you care so much about death of the author, why are you so bothered by taylor reevaluating the story of her own life? that shouldn’t change these songs for you if you never cared about their inspiration in the first place.

[warlocksoup]

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ AKAASHI KEIJI

undone ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

CHAPTER FOUR: truths

She asked Akaashi if she could borrow his car to drive to Alisa’s. She told him it was because she didn’t want to take the train alone that late at night, but it was really because she needed an excuse not to drink. But now that she’s there, she’s drunk.

Alisa holds a glass of red wine by the stem and throws an arm over her shoulder. It’s easy to fall into Alisa. She disarms you, comes at you in a way that you don’t really expect. She smiles, and it makes you want to make her smile more.

Her friends are standing in front of the television, holding makeshift microphones in the form of hairbrushes and wooden spoons. They’re improvising their own version of karaoke, singing loudly and poorly to some version to a song she’s never heard of.

Her shoes are kicked off, and her knees are brought up to her chest. She has her own glass of wine, and her teeth are stained red. “Can I be honest with you?” she asks, glass pressed to her lips. She pours the rest of the contents down her throat.

Alisa, slightly drunk, squeezes her tight. “I would love if you were honest with me, babe,” she says, slowly blinking her eyes.

“I didn’t think you would like me,” she says. It doesn’t seem like Alisa hates anyone, but she was sure she would be the exception. Maybe it was projection. Maybe she just hoped Alisa would hate her first, so she had an excuse to. “I don’t know why.”

Alisa looks astonished, gasping, eyes wide. Alisa pushes away from her so she can properly look her in the eye, each of her hands going on either side of her shoulders. “I couldn’t ever hate you. I’ve always wanted to be your friend. You’re just so cool! I’m stoked I finally had an excuse to talk to you.”

Despite herself, she smiles. “Are you sure you’re not just drunk?”

“Yes,” Alisa insists, along with a slight shake to her shoulders. “I am drunk, but I’m also telling the truth. I’m obsessed with you.”

She thinks that maybe Alisa could be lying. This could be a façade, a trick to get close to her, just so she could get closer to Akaashi. But, at this point, she wouldn’t care. Being around her feels so nice that she wants to believe her, and everything she says.

Her eyes almost water. It’s a special kind of affection that comes from her. Suddenly, she understands Akaashi a lot more. The wine in her makes her say, “I think you might be magic.”

Alisa pulls at her shoulder and leans her forward, just so she can place a wet, drunken kiss on the center of her forehead. When Alisa pulls away, she can feel a smudge of sticky lip gloss on her skin. “Now let me tell you something,” Alisa says, and then before she can even respond, Alisa’s continuing on. “I am so, so happy that you and Akaashi are together. Like, seriously.”

She forces herself to smile. “You are?”

“Oh my god, of course I am! Okay, listen,” Alisa says, straightening out her posture; her expression gets serious, “this is going to make me sound so egotistical, and I’m sorry, but I always thought Akaashi had a crush on me. And it made me feel so weird! Like, no offense to him or you or anything, but he’s kind of like a little brother to me, y’know? But now that I know that he has you, I just feel so much more comfortable around him now. And it’s like, such a relief to know that I was wrong.”

She can feel her expression slip off of her face. She tries to pick it back up before Alisa notices, but she’s not quick enough. Alisa’s eyes widen in panic, just for a moment. “I’m sorry! I hope that wasn’t weird to say! God, I knew it would make me sound like an egomaniac.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, don’t even worry about it. I just hope he wasn’t like, making you uncomfortable or being weird around you or anything.”

“Nothing like that! It was just kind of like, vibes, y’know? Like he never said anything weird to me, but it’s just like, this feeling that he felt a way about me that I didn’t feel about him. But, like I said, just me having a big head.”

She nods and is careful not to let her smile fall again. “Yeah,” she says. “I know what you mean.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 

She stands outside on the sidewalk, properly drunk and shivering underneath her jacket. Iwaizumi approaches her and looks disappointed. He stops a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Thanks for coming,” is her reply, she tosses him Akaashi’s keys, and he catches them with ease. “Can you drive me home?”

In the car, it’s warm. She’s shed her jacket and is tilted slightly, watching Iwaizumi while he drives. Iwaizumi is all sharp edges. He looks harsh and concentrated. “Are you sure Akaashi isn’t gonna be mad that I’m driving his car?” Iwaizumi asks, not looking away from the road.

“He won’t care,” she answers. “Better you drive it than I do.”

“Why couldn’t you just call him?” Iwaizumi asks.

She flinches. “Are you mad that I called you?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “No, I’m not mad,” he answers.

The car drives over puddles of slushy, wet ice. Iwaizumi drives slowly, carefully. “I dunno,” she says. “I think I probably just called you because I knew you’d come.”

Iwaizumi looks like he’s trying to digest this. He locks up his jaw and pushes air out through his nose. He says he’s not mad, but his knuckles are tight around the steering wheel, and he won’t look at her. Not even a little. “Yeah, guess that’s fair,” he says eventually.

She reaches over, and places a hand on his thigh. She always likes Iwaizumi more when she’s drunk. “I’m sorry,” she says, not really sure exactly what it is she’s apologizing for, but she means it. She is sorry. She feels sorry for him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her. She doesn’t say anything in return.

When they arrive outside of her apartment, she invites Iwaizumi upstairs. He declines and does not provide a reason. She likes to assume it’s because she had too much to drink, and not because she was annoying him. He places Akaashi’s keys in her hands, and walks back to his own apartment, hood over his head, not once looking back at her.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 

In the morning, she’s woken up by a forceful light that pours in through her window. Akaashi ripped the blinds open. She groans, head immediately throbbing. She doesn’t open her eyes. “Fuck, Keiji.”

“Sorry,” he says, and he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. She sits up, using one hand to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “Quickest way to wake you.”

The other side of the bed dips as Akaashi sits on its edge, and her head is reeling, remembering the night before all at once. Alisa, and her palpable discomfort, her earnestness and embarrassment.

Another low groan escapes her. She’s too tired to think of her conversation with Alisa, and its implications. She forces her eyes open, and see Akaashi is sitting up on her bed, grinning down at her, excited like a kid. And this dead weight settles in her gut and she just feels so instantly sick.

He’s too excited. Too giddy. She’s never seen him like this before, and it makes the bad news on her tongue taste sour.

Akaashi doesn’t notice, or if he does he attributes it to tiredness. “I’ll make you a coffee if you tell me how it went last night.”  

Her tongue is dry. She needs water. “Last night?” she questions, like she has to recall. Like the details don’t immediately come to her. “Yeah, I talked to Alisa about you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t bury the lead. What’d she say?”

Her mouth opens, and then it closes again. She doesn’t know what to say, how to break it to him. She can imagine his face dropping with the words. How he’d try to contain his disappointment, but she’d be able to tell. She would see every sign of it, in his drawn brown and in the hard-pressed line of his mouth. She’d see it in the way he held his shoulders and how his tone would change and drop off.

She dreads it.

She dreads how it would end, too. That makes her selfish, and she doesn’t have it in her to care too much. She’s too busy preemptively mourning the loss of Akaashi holding her hand, throwing an arm over her shoulder and talking about her online like he really, truly is in love with her. She wants to keep playing pretend. She wants to still feel like he cares about her like that, even if she knows it’s all for show.

She doesn’t want it to end.

And when her mouth opens, she fully intends for the truth to come out. To tell Akaashi exactly what Alisa said, to deliver the final blow, and bring the end of it all. But instead, what comes out is, “It’s hard to get a good read on her, really. But I think there’s probably some part of her that’s jealous. At least, that’s what it seems like to me.”

Fuck, she curses in her head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She immediately wants to take it back.

But she looks up at Akaashi, just to see him grinning back at her. He’s saying something she’s not listening to. She’s just watching his mouth move, and she feels nauseated.

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[oswalish]

rahhhh random rant because i’m angry hater mood i HATE HATE HATE people who think miss goldberg did anything to marvin. saw someone go “set those sails is a villain song and people need to accept miss goldberg is a bad person” i’m screaming and crying and clawing at the walls you don’t fucking understand it you don’t understand the goddamn musical.

in trousers is at its core about misogyny, that is its core theme, which is shown by how marvin hurts the women in his life, specifically his wife, his sweetheart, and miss goldberg. it would conflict the themes and narrative if miss goldberg hurt marvin, as this would diminish what marvin does to the other women. marvin does come up with excuses for his actions/ tries to garner sympathy in the musical (im talking 1979 vers here, i’m not as well versed on the 1985) he is immediately hit with trina shutting him down with her telling us how his actions have hurt her more than they’ve hurt him.

another thing is that the women are mostly not themselves, but rather versions of themselves that exist in marvin’s head. this doesn’t apply to trina, as she is the only woman in the musical who tells her own story. for example, your lips and me and its reprise tell us very specifically events that are happening in her life and how she’s feeling, she also tells her about her past. she also addresses marvin directly in breakfast over sugar.

whereas his sweetheart and miss goldberg do not have songs like this. “my highschool sweetheart” doesn’t tell us anything about his sweetheart other than that she’s his sweetheart, she’s a person, and that she wants marvin to pay attention to her more. but there honestly isn’t much in the musical to confirm that she actually is a person at all, she insists her own existence but marvin never pays attention to her or even addresses her existence, in childhood or adulthood.

miss goldberg is interesting. she doesn’t play into marvin’s fantasy and feels like more of a real person than his sweetheart, having her own personality and opinions. she also sings i am wearing a hat where she seems to tell part of a story that could be her own, though it doesn’t really get more specific than “i’m wearing a hat, i am unloved”. she never quite seems to behave like a schoolteacher either, within the story she seems to be more of a narrator, likely due to her importance in marvin’s story. she is the biggest case of marvin insisting his heterosexually, while also forcing him to realise he is gay. she is not actually herself within the musical, the real miss goldberg is probably nothing like her. this is an internalised version of her than marvin came up with, though it’s more authentic feeling than his sweetheart since her role is to pull marvin out of his fantasies, since she’s probably the only way marvin can actually be honest with himself and recognise his actions.

many people bring up the lines “you might tell me you’re a victim, you might get what you deserve, but i won’t excuse, boy i cant excuse, a boy who’s lost his nerve” which i will admit. do not sound great, incredibly suspicious even. but taken in the context that miss goldberg is not actually saying this to marvin, and actually it’s a version of miss goldberg that marvin has made up to make himself “behave properly” it starts to make sense.

marvin victimises himself a LOT. he’s self aware enough to recognise when he does wrong but tends to refuse to believe that it’s truly his fault, and that he’s the victim somehow. this is pretty obvious in falsettos but it’s also true in in trousers. he sings a lot of songs trying to portray himself as the victim, facing a lot of opposition from the women. this is shown in How Marvin Eats His Breakfast where he is sure that he’s in the right and is the victim because he’s not getting what he wants, and the women in the song directly oppose him by describing all the insane things he’s doing and even insulting him. it’s also shown in The Nausea Before the Game, where he’s lamenting about how his life is so hard, and how trying to live up to societies expectations is nauseating (this is a very simplified analysis of the song, i do actually thing marvin’s feelings in this song are valid but that’s an entirely different conversation). the song transitions into his wife singing about how she met him, how he ghosted her for weeks but then came back. that part of the song is much more tragic than marvin’s, essentially telling the listener that while his feelings are valid, he also seriously hurt and damaged this woman, and that that cannot be forgotten. the musical never ever lets us believe that marvin is the victim, despite his insistence.

and then every pony, is what i think the first line of that quote is referring to. how marvin is convinced that he is the victim, he is telling *himself* that. and the part of himself who knows that isn’t true manifests as miss goldberg to tell him that no, no you aren’t. no matter what marvin says, he will never be the victim, he is the one hurting others.

“you might get what you deserve” is slightly more difficult. i can’t really tell if it’s positive or negative. it could either refer to how he got what he deserved by being in a loveless marriage, or how he got what he deserved by leaving his wife and kids (and bird) to leave with whizzer. personally i think it’s the second, going with how marvin is convinced that he’s the victim, he’s convinced him leaving his wife for whizzer is what he deserves after going through so much. he thinks he deserves something good for once. and like yay bro for breaking out of your forced heterosexuality but did you have to destroy your wife’s entire life in the process? when i say marvin isn’t a victim i do mean in the context of the musical, marvin is very much a victim of society and heteronormativity, but he is NOT a victim of any of the women in the musical, which he likes to pretend he is. it’s easier to blame them than himself.

“but i won’t excuse, boy i can’t excuse, a boy who’s lost his nerve.” much simpler to understand, the miss goldberg inside marvin’s head is very much the voice of outside influence, aka wider society, the one that expects him to conform. she can’t excuse him “loosing his nerve” by deciding to cheat on his wife with a man and run away with said nerve.

anyway i hope this yap session help y’all understand that marvin was never harmed by miss goldberg (nor do i think he did anything to her, other than probably be off putting and creepy like an average 14 year old is) i doubt anyone will see this but i loooooove talking about this stupid musical so ask questions please please please or else i’ll post 5 MILLION of these because i can’t stop thinking about this musical

[raspberrysmoon]

ok so. background so you Get It a little bit. eddie and sheila are dead. theyre ghosts. charles and linda are ghost hunters trying to uncover what happened to the town eddie and sheila lived in. charles and linda cant see eddie and sheila, and their voices are muffled. golden treasure + sheilinda with a lavender marriage between eddie and sheila. ok onto the fic :3 i cried editting it

(should also mention this is an au i made with my friends cherrie and moth :])

“eds, do you think we’re ever going to have the ones we want?”

“don’t be ridiculous, sheila. we ain’t in the right town for that.”

“..do you remember that conversation, eddie? the one right after this song?” both linda and charles perk up, not quite looking, but certainly listening.

“of course i do. i’m still right, aren’t i?”

sheilas brow creases. “don’t say that. we’re getting there, aren’t we? this-” she gestures wildly to their partners, now watching the shadow-casted wall intently, “is already okay in the outside world. whos to say we won’t have this someday?”

charles and linda are promptly forgotten about. “sheila, look at us. we’re ghosts. they aren’t. are we going to wait another 50 years for them to die so we can have something not meant for us?” he barely feels bad about her flinch. “we’re not meant to have this. they’re going to get sick of the hunt, and they’ll find living, breathing people who didn’t burn to death almost a hundred fuckin’ years ago.”

it’s angrier than he’d realized he felt. sheila stares at him silently for a moment, then, “eddie, you’re allowed to want this. you know that, right? we aren’t trapped in your fathers home anymore.”

“yeah, because he’s dead, sheila,-”

“no.” her voice is firm. “no, thats not what i mean, eddie. you’re– god, whats the word?” she falls silent for a moment, “oh well. you’re a nance, eddie. you can admit that now. it’s okay.”

“..this feels wrong from your mouth, sheila.”

she scoffs, running a hand down his arm, “i’m not even your wife, now. how’s it wrong?”

eddie falls silent, glancing at his own shadow. he can see the outline of sheilas curls on the cream colored wall.

..ah. charles and linda heard that, didn’t they?

“we’ll get this, someday,” sheila whispers. “i’m sure of it. when was the last time a man looked at you like charles does? or a woman, as linda does to me? they’ve never even truly seen us.”

“sure they haven’t, love, but the thrill of the chase is a powerful feeling.”

“would the thrill end in tears? would a man breakdown over the sight of you in a dream, only to be unable to sleep the next night to talk to you? was henry like that, to you? or james?”

“they don’t count. did betty ever tell you you were pretty?”

sheila rolls her eyes. “we don’t have time to speak of betty. we do, however, have time to get you out of your little blues puddle.” eddies shadow disappears from the wall. “eddie, come on. don’t be like this.”

“i can’t let him hear me say this, sheils. please.”

she looks at him, and says nothing. “i don’t think we should want this.”

sheila jumps back like he’d hit her. “what? eddie, the whole reason we lived so hard was to have this. you’re going to toss it, just because you’re.. scared?”

eddie rolls his eyes, adjusting his hat. “i’m not scared. but we weren’t allowed this for a reason. what–” he’s cut off by a hand meeting his cheek. sheila, slapping him.

“don’t fucking say that. good night, edward.”

she hadn’t called him that in.. well, decades, now, but in life.. years. years.

he can’t shake the feeling that he’s right.

charles and linda focus their gazes back onto the music in front of them, and begin the song again.

a song, about a woman long dead, played to be sang to him.

by a woman. by his wife.

charles sniffles.

maybe he doesn’t deserve this, either. maybe none of them do.

..maybe that doesn’t matter.

[shadowbriar]

James Potter - Don’t Buy Me Flowers

Pairing : (F/M) || James Potter x Reader  Word Count : 3k Warning : None I believe. Prompts : "I’d marry you right this instant.” Prompt request is still open. You can find the link to the prompt list here. Notes : Mixed this prompt request with the song Don’t Buy Me Flowers by Lolo Zouaï. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

James' eyes were glued on her. An unconscious smile decorating his face, cheeks slightly pink from admiration. She was sitting a few rows in front of him, giving him the safe distance to steal glances yet now have grown to rather resent the space between them. 

Don’t ask him what happened cause he wouldn’t be able to piece the words together. She’s always been in his classes, after all. All James knew is that he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her now. As if she’s stunned him with a love charm or had spiked his morning drink with a love potion. He wouldn’t be complaining either way if such a scenario really did occur.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall called for Merlin knows how many times. The only thing snapping him off of his daydream was a nudge from Sirius. James looked up, meeting the Head of Gryffindor’s eyes with a sheepish smile “Would you please tell the class exactly what I have explained for the last twenty minutes?”

James cleared his throat, being caught red handed now for not paying any attention, “I- Something about transfiguration?”

“Indeed.” Professor McGonagall said with a displeased tone “Perhaps if you would keep your eyes up front instead of gazing at your own peer, you could elaborate more than ‘something about transfiguration’.”

The whole class giggled, including her.

James, who was embarrassed of the stunt he pulled, now feels rather proud to have put a smile on her face. He grins as he steals a glance at her, hoping he doesn’t look as chaotic as the state of his heart at the moment. If only she knew she was the peer McGonagall was talking about.

The class continues with James who still couldn’t avert his gaze away from her. He watches her, mentally taking notes on the way she would tilt her head to the left when she’s trying to understand McGonagall’s words, or the way she taps her quill exactly three times on the inkwell before starting to write her notes, or the way she would mumble the words as she write on the parchment paper. Everything she does seems to be the most mesmerising thing James could ever witness.

Some time during the lesson, she turned to her shoulder for a brief moment. Their eyes met and she showed the slightest hint of smile before turning back to face McGonagall, afraid to put the boy in more trouble should she be caught. She didn’t know it then but those 7 seconds would serve as the blessings for his dreams to come. His heart swells, cheeks warm from the sudden rise of temperature around him.

“You might want to cover your face there, mate.” Sirius whispered “You’re looking as red as our house crest.”

“Shut up, Pads.”

—-

James huffed as he lifted the pot of Venomous Tentacula. A prank went wrong at the Greenhouses and just to his luck, or lack thereof, James was the only one caught of the four Marauders, earning him the punishment of cleaning up the mess and moving the plants from one Greenhouse to another. With every bead of sweat forming on his forehead, the vexation he has for his best friends only grows deeper. James couldn’t wait to get back to his dorm and hex each one of them.

Yet all the anger he feels evaporates to thin air as someone enters the greenhouse.

“Merlin!” She yelped, not expecting to meet someone “You scared me.”

James gulped, completely not believing his eyes. Perhaps the lack of food in his stomach has made him hallucinate. He’s been there working his arse since the sky was still bright, after all. There’s no way she would be here in the Greenhouse, especially at these late hours.

“Earth to Potter?” She says again, snapping her fingers “What are you doing here? Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, right. I’m good.” He says fast, trying to compose himself as he dusts the dirt from his hands “Detention.”

She nods, “I see.”

“What are you doing here?” He asks this time, noticing a bouquet of flowers on her hands “Couldn’t be detention, I’m sure.”

“No, not detention.” She says with a smile, walking to the back of the Greenhouse to get an empty pot and some soil “I wanted to repot these flowers. Would be a pity to let them die.”

“But aren’t they already dead?” He asks with a raised eyebrow “I mean they’re cut from the stems, it’s only a matter of time till the petals dry and fall.”

“Well that’s why we’ve got wands, isn’t it Potter?”

James feels his cheeks heat up as he sees her smile. This is the most interaction they’ve had all year and exactly what did he dream last night to have such an opportunity to come? He could hardly remember the wrath he held to his friends nor the ache in his muscles after all these hours in the Greenhouse. A minute with her would do to charm his mood back to its default sunshine mode.

“A little bit of water and let’s hope these sweetness can survive.”

“What did you do?” He asks as he watches her water the pot now “With your wand and everything.”

“Some simple spell to help it grow its roots. They don’t always work so they would need extra care for the next few days.” She explains, eyes still glued on the newly planted flowers “I truly appreciate it when people would give me flowers, but I’d be lying if it doesn’t stress the living out of me.”

“You get plenty of flowers?”

“No, not plenty.” She answers with a smile “I’m not as lucky as Evans.”

James turns red. Just perfect. The girl he’s madly in love with now just has to know about his past failed attempts for his past crush. Well of course she knew, the whole castle knew just how big of a fool he was last year to have chased for the redhead’s attention. If only he could turn back time and slap his own self to sense.

“Well, I better get going now.” She says as she walks herself outside, smiling “I’ll see you around, Potter.”

—-

James waited in the Greenhouse with a smile plastered on his face. The plan was in motion. A whole week has passed and she hasn’t realised that he was the culprit responsible for placing a bouquet on her dorm every single morning.

It all started when the urge to kill the flowers she planted that night brewed inside his heart. The said plant was thriving in its pot, colours of its petals were vibrant and the leaves were the greenest he’s ever seen in a plant. Part of him was impressed at her skills for reviving it, but a bigger part of him hoped that she wasn’t as proficient because then she had no reason to come to the Greenhouse.

And that means no 10 minute lovely chats at night.

He wanted to ruin the innocent plant, rip its leaves or simply knock it off of the table but he couldn’t bear imagining the sad and disappointed look on her face when she finds out her plant has been messed with. Would she be able to forgive him if she knew he was the one responsible for such a catastrophe? No, he couldn’t take that much of a risk, not with the limited interaction they have just yet. He wouldn’t want to gamble their delicate relationship, his heart wouldn’t be able to survive if she ended up hating him.

So he decided to take the lighter way, to give her just a light stress that would hopefully turn into a blissful exchange for the both of them. He knew that she could revive the flowers, there’s really nothing to lose to his scheme. One of these days he hoped that he could make her fall for him, make her see that he’s not that bad of a lad to date.

“Evening.” She greets, breaking his train of thought as she enters the Greenhouse “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” James answers shyly, lifting the pot of Screechsnap he was holding “Still moving these pots from one place to another.”

“I never knew the Professor was one to hold grudges.” She says as she walks to the other side of the Greenhouse “Most of the time students would only get a three day detention, a week at top. Yet you’re still here after, what, two weeks?”

James’ cheeks were warm. Truth be told his detention has ended days ago but he can’t really tell her that now, can he? Where else would they have their pleasant exchange if not here at the Greenhouse?

“Here to pot another flower?” He asks instead, trying to divert the discussion “You’ve been getting a handful of them lately.”

She looks down to the bouquet of flowers in her hands, smiling lightly, “Yeah, I wonder who they’re from. The sender never left any note so there’s no telling who my secret admirer is.”

“Is that so?” He says, faking an intrigued expression “So you have no idea who it is?”

She shrugs as she puts the flowers to the pot, starting her spell, “I have some possible names.”

“Names?” James raised his brows “How many possible lads are there?”

“What, you think you’re the only one with quite a fanclub?” She teases, smiling at him with such mischief “You’re not the only beautiful person in this castle, Potter.”

The boy went quiet. He knew that his face was red. He tried to calm himself, tone down the fast beating of his heart but what exactly can he do when she just complimented him? She did say that he’s one of the beautiful people in the castle. How does she not expect him to have his stomach flipped in giddiness?

“I have to say, though,” She continues “I wish that this person would just come forward or maybe give me a note on their flowers. Trying to revive them stresses me out. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I fail.”

“Come on, you’ve successfully revived each one of them. Surely the bliss of getting flowers overcomes the stress of reviving them.”

She shrugs, “Perhaps.”

He watches as she tends her flowers, watering each of them as she hums to some song. James could feel his heart swells tenfold, threatening to explode in bliss. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact of how blind he had been to only just noticed her. Merlin knows just how much he regrets not getting to know her sooner. Imagine the much time he could've saved had he known her since first year. They would have already been married by now.

James had never tried to impress anyone as much as he’s tried with her. He even checked out the thickest herbology book from the library, just so he could find a topic to talk with her. Though when the time comes, it only further proves his limited knowledge of such a topic as she keeps on correcting his faulty trivias. At least he made her laugh. A win is a win, he reckons.

“Did you know,” James began to speak, making her look up and face him with a smile “That Niffler’s Fancy was once used in replacement to coins due to its gleaming copper-like leaves?”

She shakes her head, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Is that information credible?” She asks with a giggle, placing the watering can down “Because last time you told me Belladonna was used by ancient wizards to help with stomach problems when in fact, the plant is poisonous for human consumption.”

James smiles sheepishly, “That one was a mere human error, this one was real. I read it earlier in one of Remus’ books and even wrote it down on my palms, see?”

She walks closer to him, taking his hand and reading the writings on his palm. James had never felt such intense sensation than when their skin met in contact. She was oblivious to the frivolity he was in, as always, which in a way is a good thing because he wouldn’t want to weird her out with his heavy feelings for her. James has always been known to be a very expressive person when it comes to his feelings and oftentimes it only causes discomfort to the other party. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, he was born to love proud and aloud, James Potter.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give this one trivia the benefit of the doubt.”

James nods, agreeing with her.

“You know, since you’re so full of herbology knowledge,” She says teasingly “Why don’t you come and help me tutor the second years this weekend? I’m sure those kids would flip to know that James Potter is not only skilled at the quidditch field but that he also has a charming wit.”

James had to bite his lip hard to suppress himself from combusting. The compliments she’s throwing at him tonight, though served in a casual and probably meant nothing for her, was making him fly through the clouds. Couldn’t she tell that he’s going mad?

“Sure, of course!” He answered cheerfully, nodding eagerly like a puppy “I’ll see you then.”

—-

Watching her with heart eyes, James wasn't sure what his hands were doing to the Mandrakes. Honestly he couldn't care less. In fact, he hoped to ruin them somehow and receive another detention. Anything just so he could spend more time with her. Well not precisely with her, seeing that their interaction is still as limited as ever, but close enough to study her. That much would suffice for his throbbing heart for the moment.

"You're going to have yourself killed if you continue picking their leaves like that." She commented with a giggle "If the Professor knew you're harming their precious plants, they'll have your head."

James grins, amused, "Will you tell them that I'm the culprit?"

"Maybe."

She walks past him with a teasing smile, a pot of Fluxweed plant on her hands. James could catch a sniff of her perfume, something he always craved to smell each morning when he woke up. His eyes were trained on her, not even trying to make it subtle as he grins even wider whenever she catches him staring. She would only shake her head, biting in the smile that’s threatening to decorate her face. James could only hope that he’s not making her uncomfortable with his apparent affection. 

He should have known that going to help her tutor the second years would only be the death of him. There would be no way out of these feelings for the years to come, he’s sure of it. Watching her patiently explain and help the kids to take care of the plants only made him fall deeper into her magnetism. He couldn’t help but to think of how wonderful of a mother she would be.

The mother of his children, he hopes.

James blushes at the thought. How could he imagine having a family with her when he hasn’t even gathered the gut to ask her out? Compared to his previous attempts with Lily, James has been much more quieted down. He figured that one of the reasons he failed on his last endeavours was because of his strong and blatant ventures. Sirius says that girls like her would prefer boys who are more discreet, who would approach in the most gentle and soft way that made her heart flutter. And who best would understand girls, and boys, if not Sirius?

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” She remarks, staring at him with an apologetic smile “I’m sorry if the tutoring bores you.”

He gazes back at her eyes, feeling drowned in the alluring force that made him blurt out his mind, "I’d marry you right this instant.”

She blinks, looking baffled at his sudden confession.

“I- I mean-”

“We are only seventeen, you silly!” She giggles, playfully pushing on his arm “Besides, we can’t get married. Even if I wanted to.”

James frowns, the slight heartbreak evident on his face, “Why not?”

“Because of my secret admirer.” She answers with a teasing smile “Unless you’re that boy that has been sneaking into my dorm each morning to give me flowers, I don’t think it would be fair for us to get married.”

His expression changed to a sheepish one, biting the grin on his face, “How long have you known?”

“Since the third flower. You think I wouldn’t notice the cut plants at the back of the Greenhouse?” She replies with a smile “Also the Professor told me your detention was over weeks ago. You really had no reason to stick around at night unless you had other intention than to move pots around.”

“I wanted to buy you flowers, truly.” He confesses, feeling embarrassed about the lack of effort “But getting to Hogsmeade daily was quite a bit of a task.”

“No, please don’t buy me flowers.” She says fast “They’ll only give me headaches.”

James nods, smiling as he walks closer to her and places his hands around her waist.

He studies her face, finally getting the opportunity to see her up close. Godric, just how beautiful can someone be? Everything about her just bewitched him completely. For once he finally could see that the heart eyes he had been throwing at her was not one sided. She too is drowned in the pool of admiration for him.

“So are you going to kiss me, or-”

James didn’t let her finish, pulling her for a sweet kiss. The moment their lips met, he could physically hear the wedding bells ring in his ears. He’s finally met her, the one he would spend the rest of his life with. And thank Merlin that they met at such a young age because this means that they could spend more time together, just the two of them.

“I hope you know how to cure headaches,” James says as they break the kiss “Because there wouldn’t be a day where I wouldn’t shower you with flowers from now on.”

[pinkhoodi]

this color, no this color !

✎ᝰ — spider crew help y/n dye their hair !

♡⃕ — 1610!miles, miguel, gwen, hobie x black!reader

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff + no warnings

♡⃕ — a/n: we are so back with atsv !

꒰ HOBIE BROWN ꒱

Ꮺ dying your hair with hobbie was a…mess. don’t get me wrong it was fun as both of you can make it but overall a mess

Ꮺ hobie introduced the idea of dying your hair to you actually. though when it came to the colors, he was indecisive just as much as you were so you two went to the beauty supply store and picked whatever color looks cool enough on you. I would say that you and hobie either picked polar opposite colors (you picked autumn colors meanwhile he went for a neon scheme) or picked something of similar color schemes, no in between

Ꮺ thankfully hobie knew how to deal with detangling and setting your hair up for the hair dye. he was very careful with the detangle cause he knows how tender-headed you can get. also before the putting the dye, he would consistently ask you if you really wanna go with this color and gave in when you threatened him

Ꮺ hobie would try to dye your hair in a more artistic way or something he knows suit your aesthetics. if you don’t have an aesthetic, he would def go off vibes and what kind of aura you carry around. but at the same time, he’ll ask you for some inspirations of how you want your hair to colored

Ꮺ during the process, he would have a reality show or his playlist playing in the background. sometimes he’ll hum a new song that’s in the works or tell you the progress his band is making

Ꮺ ngl, hobie can get a bit rude when dying your hair. only cause he wants this to come out exactly how you want it, not cause you can’t stay still….trust me !

Ꮺ in the end, hobie is complimenting tf out of your new result. he would smother you in compliments and think it’s one of the best pieces of work that he has done, no doubt

꒰ 1610!MILES MORALES ꒱

Ꮺ listen…he’s clueless just as much as you are. in his defense, it was your idea to do something spotaneus to your look and why not dye your hair? did he think you were crazy? …maybe ! but it ended being so much fun

Ꮺ miles have thought about dying his own hair before but having both parents be poc…yeah he knew better. not only that, but it’s already bad enough that he sneaks out for his spiderman duties, he do nawt need to make it worse with a new hair color

Ꮺ but for you, he is more than willing to help you dye hair. he just hopes that you have permission and you’re not sneaking out to do this. other than that, he is happily walking around the beauty supply store like a kid in a candy store while you’re looking for the hair dye. he’ll often come up to you and ask if you need this pomade or need this sort of gel

Ꮺ the night before miles did some research and called you to consult on what you need. he would screen share to show his pinterest board of color inspo (he’s lowkey a pinterest feen but that’s for another time), especially with your hair type. most of the phone call would be “okay but what about this?” “are you sure?” “so you’re telling me you’re not going with this?” miles just say you wanna dye YOUR hair like that…

Ꮺ but the experience was more than fun. you two’s favorite show was playing, he was telling you about his latest spiderman adventures, he’s rambling about any and everything he could think of. sometimes it would be silent when miles is fully focused or he’s asking questions to see if he’s doing it right

Ꮺ mile’s is your biggest cheerleader after it’s all over. after he takes a massive sigh and stretches his body, sometimes he forgets how tiring natural hair can take, even though he’s natural himself

꒰ GWEN STACY ꒱

Ꮺ just as bad as miles and maybe worse since she’s not familiar with your hair type. yes, she has dyed her hair before (more than likely multiple times) but she doesn’t wanna give you chemical damage or end up having you balding. which leads to her doing intensive research of what colors you should try, which box dye to buy, and how to apply the dye to your hair. listen, it was her and youtube for about five hours

Ꮺ she would be a tad bit hesitant when you asked her if she wanna helps you. she made sure that you asked her and not hobie who might be a better help than she could ever be. you reassure her that it won’t be as scary as she’s making it to be

Ꮺ now when it comes to buying the hair, please hold her hand while yall in the beauty supply store. it’s not that she’ll wander off but she is def intimidated being in there. she has a face of confusion on her as she browses on the products laid on the shelf. also asking questions on why you refuse to buy the lesser priced box dye. oh gwen baby…

Ꮺ gwen would offer to buy your stuff :). she learned how pricey it is to buy hair products from your many rants of having natural hair, so she’ll offer to pay half or at least a good amount

Ꮺ throughout the process, you guide gwen how to detangle and part your hair. she’s taking her precious time and going slow until she has enough confidence to speed herself up

Ꮺ all throughout, she would throw compliments and how she’s excited but very nervous on how the results will be. any result that would come, she know you’ll look good :)

꒰ MIGUEL O’HARA ꒱

Ꮺ now of all people you could ask…jk jk. when you asked, the man heavily side eye you and thought you were going through a phase. like no miguel, i just wanna change my look. he’ll ask if you’re sure that you wanna dye your hair or what’s wrong with the color you have now

Ꮺ but at the same time, he does accept the offer to help you cause who is he to deny some quality time? ngl, he lowkey became more excited to do this more than you were but he would never admit to it

Ꮺ miguel, as well, doing intensive research on what products works best for your hair type. he even offered paying for the more pricey dyes until you assured him that not all twenty-dollar box dyes works the best for natural hair. one day he’ll realize that for all hair care…one day

Ꮺ while shopping for the products, he keeps an eye on you so you don’t go over the budget that he made sure you set in place. when you show him a product that you both know you don’t know, he’ll go into lecture mode until you motion him to stop talking and put the product down. ofc miguel pays for everything and he doesn’t wanna hear a ‘I’ll pay for it’ from you so it’s best to just accept

Ꮺ I would say he doesn’t really need guidance on how to handle your hair cause he’s helped with your hair plenty of times. but from time to time, he would ask if he’s hurting you or if the hair is soft enough to work with before beginning the dyeing process

Ꮺ while dying your hair, he would allow you to ramble on while he listens. he would let you take control of the entertainment aspect of the pastime, but you settled for music. also, while you’re on your rant, he would plant small kisses along the back of your neck <3

Ꮺ in the end, after the washing and drying, you don’t allow him to see the end result until you’ve seen it and settled with it. even if you’re not satisfied with the result, he kisses your forehead and tells you that he’ll help you fix it. beforehand, he’ll often say that you look beautiful with your new color

♡⃕ mia back in her atsv era 🧏🏽‍♀️?? please i miss writing for these niggas

♡⃕ lemme know who was your fave :p

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: 1 thessalonians 5:16-18

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[wlntrsldler]

hi!! i hope you’re doing well :). can i please request either “and you're telling me you wanna kiss me but we shouldn't cause we're just friends." or “when you found me i was a train wreck” with sam obisanya? i’m not picky either way i just thought they’d both be good and couldn’t decide hehe. thanks!!

kissing in swimming pools | sam obisanya

based on the song kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone: "when you found me i was a train wreck."

description: the first "i love you" f!reader (she/her)

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect? fluff! sam in loveeee.

word count: 1356 words

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

There were only three things that Sam Obisanya was sure of. 

The first is that his father will be proud of him no matter what he ends up accomplishing in his life. He was sure that if life didn’t pan out the way that it did and he wasn’t a famous footballer, his father would still be as proud as he is of him. He was lucky in that sense– that he had a father who never once made him doubt whether he loved his son or not. Sam knew that he wouldn’t be half the man that he is if his father wasn’t his father. And in his opinion, he thinks he ended up pretty decent. 

The second thing he is sure of is that Ted Lasso was put on this earth to be AFC Richmond’s coach, even if it was just for the short time that he did. Some pretty spectacular people had coached Sam, Roy Kent being one of them, but Ted was something special. Not only did he make Sam a better player on the pitch, he also made him a better man. Whenever he does something wrong, he always repeats the words, “Be a goldfish,” in his head, over and over again. When he’s having a bad day, where everything seems to be going wrong, he closes his eyes and the word “Believe,” on that bright yellow paper is the image in his head. 

The third and final thing Sam Obisanya is sure of is that if he was asked who was the love of his life, he would say you with no hesitation. 

He watched you dance with Keeley to some random 2000s pop song on the dance floor. Beard and Jane were engaged in some weird dance routine that had people raising their eyebrows, but Sam figured they were able to act however they wanted since it was their wedding night. He couldn’t help but smile as you threw your head back in laughter as Keeley tried to do the shuffle in her heels. 

“Oi,” Jamie nudged his arm, “You reckon Y/N will still be your date at Jane and Beard’s 25th wedding anniversary?” 

“Absolutely,” Sam replied before Jamie even finished his question, “I love her. There’s no one else for me, Jamie. I don’t think anyone can ever compare.” 

Jamie let out a breath, eyes widening as he took a sip from his bottle, “Sheesh, bold claim, man.”

“Honestly, I know she’s the love of my life.” 

“This is cute and all,” Colin interrupted, leaning across the table to meddle in Sam and Jamie’s conversation, “But have you told her that?” 

Sam shook his head, a goofy smile on his face, “No, not yet. I don’t know how I should tell her or what she’d say. I don’t even know if she feels the same way about me.” 

“You won’t know ‘til you tell her,” Jamie said, “And for what it’s worth, I think it’ll be a good response.” 

Sam took a sip of his own beer and then placed the bottle on the table. He cleared his throat, dusting off his dress pants. As the song transitioned to a slow song, he walked over to where you stood with Keeley on the dance floor. He tried to ignore the sounds of cheering from the table of footballers he just left, but he couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip to control his smile. 

Keeley was facing Sam so she noticed him before you did. She shot him a wink and bid you goodbye by squeezing your arm. As Keeley walked away, you turned around to find Sam with an outstretched hand. 

“May I have this dance?” He asked though he was already pulling you into him. 

“Always,” you responded, draping your arms around his neck while his hands found their way to your hips. You swayed slowly to the sound of the music, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. You knew that there were others on the dance floor, hell, you knew that the newlyweds were right beside you, but somehow at that moment, you felt like it was just you and Sam. “Y’know, before I met you, I always thought that people were lying when they said that when they’re with their partner the whole world disappears.” 

“What do you think now?” he asked, spinning you around elegantly, “Do you feel that way with me?” 

“Mhm,” you answered. You let your right-hand cup his face. He nuzzled his cheek against your palm, a sigh of contentment leaving his lips. You rubbed his skin with the pad of your thumb, cherishing the way he melted under your touch. “When I met you, I was a train wreck. I was always working. I never took time to take care of myself and for a while, I really did forget how to take care of myself. Then you came along…” 

His smile turned shy as if he couldn’t believe that you were giving him the credit he deserved, “Then I came along…”

“Then you came along and reminded me how beautiful life could be if I just slowed down and took some time to breathe, to experience life, to smile,” you trailed off, not sure how you were going to word the next part. You took a deep breath, halting your movements before saying, “Sam, I lov-”

“No!” He exclaimed, a bit too loudly. He made a face of embarrassment, looking around the dancefloor to see couples staring at him oddly. Keeley, who was dancing with Roy, gave him a questioning look, “Apologies, everyone.” 

You chuckled quietly, moving his face to look at you again, “No?” 

“No- I mean- yes!” He babbled, “I mean, I don’t want you to say it first. I need to say it first. But I do, too. I do. I do love you.” 

You placed a soft kiss on his lips, giggling as you pulled away, “I love you, Sam Obisanya.” 

Sam chased your lips, unable to contain the smile on his face, “I like how that sounds.” 

“What?” you teased, “You like it when I say I love you?” 

“Can’t get enough of it,” he mumbled against your lips, “You’re gonna have to say it at least fifty times a day. Texts don’t count because I don’t get to hear your pretty voice say it. Phone calls are okay and voice memos are the last resort. I would prefer it if you were in front of me when you said it, though. ‘Cause then I will get to kiss you.” 

“You don’t ever need an excuse to kiss me, Sam.” 

“Thank God for that,” Sam said, spinning you one last time as the music came to a stop. 

As you fell back into his arms, he couldn’t help but imagine you at your wedding; how beautiful of a bride you’d be, how the lads would be cheering for Mr. and Mrs. Obisanya when the two of you walk into the reception, how in his vows, he’ll recount the moment he realized that he was going to marry you. 

You walked back to the table with Sam, hand in hand, with a glow that all of the boys noticed. Dani and Richard were fawning over something on Isaac’s phone, calling you and Sam over to take a look at it. When you saw the picture, tears pooled in your eyes. In the photo, you were staring up at Sam, laughing a bit as he stumbled over his words. Isaac managed to capture the exact moment Sam told you he loved you for the first time. Sam draped an arm over you, kissing the crown of your head, as he chuckled at how stupid he looked in the picture. 

Throughout your relationship, there were many “I love you’s” that followed, many photos that were taken and shared, and many other weddings you attended. But that photo, imperfect, silly, and a bit grainy, was your favorite moment– your favorite “I love you,” your favorite photo of the both of you, but it was taken at your second favorite wedding. Your favorite wedding was your own.

[rollingsins]

three's a crowd, part three

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten (epilogue)

summary: you hadn’t expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadn’t expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au. 

pairing: emma myers x reader, jenna ortega x reader

warnings: language.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: the love triangle continues to triangle. let me know your thoughts and what you want to see next!!

It’s awkward. The set is awkward. 

Everyone can sense something is going on. Emma isn’t speaking to you. Jenna’s avoiding you. They’re both avoiding each other. You’d try and fix it if you could. But you have no idea what to do, who to turn to. The closest relationships you’d made in the short time you were on set were the very two people who’d got you in this entire mess. 

Briefly, you consider calling your Mom. But you know there’s nothing she can tell you that you don’t already know. 

You can’t have both of them, she sing-songs in your head, you have to choose. 

It’s later that morning when Jenna ducks around the catering table to stop crossing paths with you, you see red. 

You wait until she’s in her chair, script in hand before marching over to her and giving her a piece of your mind. 

“Stop avoiding me.” You tell her, “It’s childish. You’re the one who told me you liked me. You don’t get to tell me that and then ignore me for days after. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Jenna blinks back at you. 

She swallows. 

“Alright.” She says, evenly, “That’s fair.” 

You sit down next to her, not really sure of what to say. She seems to be in a similar predicament. 

“Let’s not make things awkward.” She says, “Emma’s my friend, and so are you. I never should have said anything. We can just pretend like it never happened.” 

“Is that what you want?” You ask, “To pretend like it never happened?” 

“Yes.” She says, averting her gaze. 

You cross your arms. 

“Fine. It never happened.” 

“So we’re friends?” She says, looking at you carefully, “Only friends.”

“Only friends.” You say. Ignore the way your heart twists at the thought. 

And then you leave her sitting by herself to go shoot. Try to ignore her eyes on you, watching you go. 

Your scenes today are with Hunter, not Emma, thank god. If he can sense you want to crawl into a ball and let the earth swallow you whole, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he sits down in the chair next to you and offers you a Twizzler. He’s not hungover today, and seemingly very happy about it. Then he, not so subtly, tries to pry an answer out of you. 

“You and Jenna looked pretty cozy last night,” He says as he bites down into his candy, trying to sound non-committal, “Did something happen between you two?” 

Only friends plays through your mind. 

“No,” You lie.  

Hunter furrows his brow. 

“Huh,” He says, bites down on another twizzler, “Well, that’s good, because I think Emma really likes you.” 

The agony doesn’t let up for the rest of the day.

You have no idea what to do. There’s a part of you that wants to find Emma, kiss her, tell her you’ll never look twice at Jenna again. And then there’s a part of you that wants to find Jenna. Do the opposite. You feel awful. 

You don’t deserve either of them. 

When shooting wraps for the day, you have half a mind to go back to your apartment and wallow in your own self-loathing. Hunter has other ideas. 

“Let’s do dinner,” He says, arm around your shoulder, “Joy and I will cook. And no offense but you look like you could use a home-cooked meal.” 

He’s referring to the dark circles under your eyes from your sleepless night. 

“I don’t know.” You chew at your lip, uncertainly. 

“Come on,” He presses, “It’ll be fun. I promise.” 

What he didn't tell you, and you should have guessed it, is Emma is invited too. 

You’re halfway to Hunter’s door, bottle of wine in your hands when you see her.  

She sees you at the exact same moment. Freezes. Reluctance all over her face. You wonder briefly if she’ll bolt. 

“Hey,” You say, voice quiet. 

“Hey.” 

You swallow, not really sure what to say. 

“I’ll go if- if me being here makes you uncomfortable.”

She hesitates a moment. 

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want you to go.” 

So you don’t. 

Hunter plays the fool, dishes out the wine and leaves the two of you to talk while he no doubt goes to bother Joy in the kitchen. 

It’s silent for a while, the two of you just sitting there, sipping your wine, Frank Ocean blaring through the speakers.

You want to say something, anything, but every thought that pops into your mind will no doubt sink you deeper into your grave. The grave you dug for yourself. 

Finally, after a few painful minutes, Emma breaks the silence. 

“Are you going to like, date her?” She asks. She sounds weird, voice too high. Like she doesn’t really want to know the answer, “Jenna, that is.” 

You pause.

“I don’t think so.” 

The conversation you’d had earlier in the day flashes through your mind. It hurts you a little to say out loud. 

“But you like her?” She says, frowning slightly, as if she doesn’t see the issue, “And she likes you?” 

“I like you too.” You say, “That’s the problem.” 

She deflates a little, sags back into the couch. It isn’t the answer she’d wanted, you know that. She wants what you can’t give her. Certainty. 

“I didn’t expect this to be so complicated.” She admits, voice a little quiet. 

“Neither did I,” You say, “I’m sorry.”

You watch her a while, let the silence stew. She’s beautiful as ever, shoulder-length hair tied back behind her ears. Her pretty blue eyes missing some of their sparkle. 

“I really like you.” She says, after a while, fiddling with the rim of her wine glass. She doesn’t look at you as she says it. Like she's afraid of what you'll say back.

“I like you too.” 

At that she looks up. She bites her lip, scoots a little closer. 

“I like you, but I don’t want to be your second choice.” She says, now sounding a little more sure of herself. 

“You’re not-”

“Maybe we should just be friends,” She blurts out. You gaze at her, stare piercing. 

“Is that what you want?” You ask. This is a new record for you. Not one but two situationships ending in a matter of hours. You’re one more word from snatching the wine glass from her hands and downing it whole. 

“No.” She admits, voice soft. 

You bite your lip. Let the butterflies in the pit of your stomach fester. 

“Why don’t we- keep things casual.” You say, a little hesitant,  “See how we go, no commitments. It would take the pressure off, a little.” 

She shoots you a shrewd gaze, “Like friends with benefits?” 

“No,” You say hastily, “Like casual dating. We see each other and if you want you can see other people too-”

“-Meaning you can see Jenna whenever you want.” Emma interjects. 

“No. Nothing is going to happen between Jenna and I,” You say, “She made that very clear today. She- we both don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Too late.” She mumbles. 

It makes your heart hurt. It’s one thing to know it, another to hear it. 

“Emma-“ 

“It’s fine,” She says after a moment, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

You stare into your glass, not really sure what else to say. You’d take it back, if you could. You wish Jenna had never said anything. Kept it to herself. You were happy before, weren’t you? When it was just you and Emma and nothing else. 

No, you weren’t. It’s that little voice in the back of your head. You will it to shut up. 

“Let’s try it.” Emma says suddenly. Voice small, quiet, “Dating. Casual dating or whatever.” 

You look up, disbelief on your face. 

“Really?” 

She bites her lip. 

“Yeah. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Are you sure?” You stare back at her. You hadn’t expected her to say yes, the moment you’d suggested it. You weren’t even really sure what you were suggesting. What was causal dating anyway? You’d see other people. She’d see other people. The thought makes you want to sink your hand into your throat and rip your own heart out. You’re such a hypocrite.

But she’s looking back at you with shiny, determined eyes, nudges her hand ever so slightly against yours and it’s too late to back out now. 

“I’m sure.” 

-

As is now tradition, Georgie hosts the group's Friday night game session at his apartment. 

Emma’s at your side, her hands brushing yours every now and then like she wants to hold it. After the third time, you make the decision for her, link your hands together and entwine your fingers. You don’t miss the small smile that blooms on her face. 

“Are you guys a couple?” Joy asks, a few drinks in, eyes drawn to your connected hands. It’s just you, her and Emma, the others yet to arrive. Emma blushes. You purse your lips. 

“No.” You say together. Joys eyebrow quirks. 

“Oh. It’s just-“ 

“We’re seeing how things go.” Emma says, hurriedly, as if anything else will cause you to drop her hand. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand, soothingly. 

“Okay,” Joy says, as Georgie plops down into the seat next to her, “Good for you two.” 

“Good for who two?” Georgie asks, dealing out the first hand. You feel Emma shift beside you. 

“Those two. They’re seeing how things go.”  Joy says, a look on her face like she knows exactly how it’s going to go. 

Georgie looks between you, a little confused, “And what does that mean? What about Jenn-“

Joy nudges him between the ribs, hard. 

You clear your throat, “I’m going to get another drink.” You stand, drop Emma’s hand. You replace it with a soft touch to her shoulder, “Do you want another one?”  

The rest of the cast rolls in one by one. You’re fiddling with a bottle of Grey Goose when Hunter and Johnna arrive, Jenna not far behind them. 

You greet the former two with a hug, nod awkwardly at Jenna as she walks in, a little under the radar and sits next to Georgie. 

You’re friends. You agonize in the kitchen, trying to talk yourself into going back out there. You don’t want it to be so awkward. She doesn’t want it to be awkward. So stop being awkward. 

You sit down next to Emma, careful not to touch her, avoid Jenna’s eyes. Try to focus on the game. 

At first it's easy. You don't look at Jenna and she doesn't look at you. You touch Emma's hand under the table, not wanting to throw your coupling in Jenna's face. It works. It's fine.

And then Jenna has her first drink.

Whiskey and coke, a little too heavy on the whiskey.

When her glass is empty, she's gone from not looking at you at all to staring.

She watches as you draw your cards, lift your drink to your lips. She watches as you smile at Emma. She watches as Emma touches your knee. She watches like she doesn’t care if you notice. 

She watches and drinks. Drinks and watches. Three, four, five Whiskies, she's long abandoned the coke.

After a couple of hours of feeling like you’re under a microscope, it’s your turn to watch. She stands, off to pour herself another drink. You excuse yourself quietly, tell Emma you’ll be right back. 

Jenna's had so much to drink she barely notices as you sidle in next to her, so close your shoulders almost touch. 

“Stop it.” You say, under your breath. A laugh rings out from the table, the chatter loud enough you’re satisfied they can’t hear you. 

Jenna’s quiet a moment. She doesn’t look at you. 

“Stop what?” 

“Looking at me like that.” You say. You top your glass up with coke. Hesitate, then pour a little more Vodka, god knows you need it. 

“I’m not looking at you like anything.” 

“Yes you are,” You say, “We talked about this. We’re friends, remember?” 

“Friends can look at each other.” 

“Not like that.” 

“You’re still dating her then.” 

You feel like you have whiplash. Only yesterday you’d agreed to never speak about what happened at the club. She’d insisted you were friends, nothing more. 

“That’s not really any of your business.” You say. It comes out a little harsher than you intended. You pause, rephrase, “I just mean you and I agreed to only be friends.” 

“We did.” She says, voice clipped. 

“So stop looking at me like that.” 

She doesn’t, not for the rest of the night. Mournful, wide, brown eyes. Full of sorrow, longing, want. It gets worse the more she drinks. For an actor, she’s not great at hiding her emotions. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before. Since the day you met, she’s looked at you like this.

You grip Emma’s hand under the table and pray she doesn’t see it too. 

By the time the night is over, you’re exhausted. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon. Like you’re leading some double life, with a wife, two kids and an extramarital affair on the side. 

You’re thankful when people start to filter out. 

You wave goodbye to Georgie, walk Emma back to her apartment, only two doors down. You’re holding hands again, trying to brush off the night. Feeling a little like a middle-schooler by the way the touch of her hand in your own makes your heart flutter. 

“Tonight was fun.” Emma says as you stop outside her door. Illuminated under the light of the complex, her eyes sparkle a pretty blue. She’s looking at you, coy, chewing at her own lip, a little shy. 

“It was,” You say, though it’s only half-true. 

The drinking was fun. The games were fun. Holding Emma’s hand is fun. 

The tide-wave of confliction in you at Jenna’s wanton looks is not so much. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your slight reservation. She’s tilting her head up to kiss your cheek. Her lips are soft, a little unsure. She blushes as she retracts. 

“See you tomorrow?” She asks, a little hopeful. 

You smile, “See you tomorrow.” 

The smile is gone the moment she shuts the door. You slip your hands into your pockets, the quiet hum of the night reverberating in your brain. You can’t do this every Friday night. Heck, you can’t do this any night. Hold Emma’s hand, walk her home, kiss her goodnight all the while your brain is afire with thoughts of another woman. Her best friend.  

You’ll withdraw from her, you reason with a heavy heart. You’ll avoid Jenna, give you both time to get over each other. And then, when this infatuation, this crush was over, you’d be too enraptured with Emma to think twice. 

It’s a decent plan, maybe the best you’ve come up with so far. You let your brain trick itself into thinking it will ever work. 

And then, you round the corner just as Jenna steps out of Georgie’s apartment. 

Great. 

She stumbles slightly, more than a little drunk, all but slams the door in her wake. 

You freeze, hoping she won’t see you. You don’t want to be alone with her, you don’t trust yourself to be alone with her. And she’s had a lot of Whiskey. Maybe she’ll breeze right past. Maybe her mind is playing similar tricks on her. 

No such luck. She spots you almost immediately. Tugs her purse higher around her shoulder. 

“I’m not following you,” She says as if that's what you're about to accuse her of, “I’m going this way too.” 

“I didn’t think you were.” You say. You contemplate turning back around, knocking on Emma’s door and asking for a nightcap. This seems like trouble. Something in you resists. You watch as she turns to the staircase and grasps at the railing. She wobbles slightly, unsteady. 

 “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” She says. You knew she was going too hard on the whiskey. You should have stopped her. You inch forward, press your hands to her back so she doesn’t slip. She jerks you off. 

“I don’t need help.” 

It stings a little. You retract your hands, swallowing. You don’t know what you’ve done to make her so mad at you. Except… everything. 

“Clearly.” 

She barely manages the stairs alone. You follow, not too far behind, not wanting her own stubbornness to result in her falling face first and breaking her neck. 

When she’s conquered the last of the stairs, she blinks up at the sky. Hovers, head tilted, swaying slightly on the spot. You peer up too, wonder what she’s looking at. The stars are out of focus, blurry. You blink, suddenly aware you may be just as inebriated as her. 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” You ask, before you can stop yourself. 

It’s not romantic, you tell yourself. Friends walk each other home all the time. You just wanted to make sure she got home safe, is all. A staircase is one thing, but Jenna lives a few blocks down from here. Anything could happen to her in this state. 

You stand in front of her, watch as she redirects her focus from the sky. Your stomach does somersaults as her dark eyes lock onto yours. 

“Where’s Emma?” 

“I walked her home,” You say. 

“Oh.” Jenna says, frowning a little, “You didn’t want to stay the night?” 

Your cheeks flame. 

“No,” You say. You don’t elaborate, not wanting to go there. 

She tilts her head, swaying again on the spot. She inches forward, perhaps more than she means to. Your shoulders brush. 

“So you haven’t slept with her yet?” She asks, voice low. 

You’d only kissed Emma, once, but Jenna doesn’t know that. Her eyes are flitting between your own, wide, curious, the whiskey in her system drowning her filter. 

“Jesus, Jenna-“

“Sorry.” She says, though she doesn’t sound it, “Was that inappropriate?” 

“Just a little.” 

You should leave. The stars, the whiskey, the look in Jenna’s eyes. Her questions betraying her intentions. It’s too much. It’s not friendship. 

And you’d promised Emma-

“I’m glad you haven’t.” Jenna draws you back to her, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m glad you haven’t slept with her.” 

Her lips are wet. Plump, red. So kissable. You can’t help but look. She darts her tongue out, like she wants to keep your attention there. She’s so close now, you can feel the warmth from her body. You can smell the spice of her perfume. Apple, cinnamon, vanilla. You’re close enough to count the freckles dotted across her nose. 

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, her body language screams. 

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow once to get rid of it. It’s still there. This time it’s you who bites your lip. Watch as her eyes draw down to follow the movement. 

Stop it, you think, remember Emma.  

Emma and her shy smile. Emma and her pretty blue eyes. Emma and her jasmine-scented perfume, her blonde hair. 

Emma. Emma. Emma. 

You clear your throat. Try and snap yourself out of the Jenna-induced trance she’s put you in.

“Jenna. We’re friends. Friends don’t care about who’s dating who or who’s slept with who-“ 

“I don’t want to be friends.” She whispers. She’s given up all pretense of looking into your eyes. Her gaze is on your mouth, “You don’t want it either. I can see it. I can tell.” 

It’s the whiskey talking, you tell yourself. It has a grip on her. It has a grip on you, too. When the night’s over and it’s morning, she’ll go back to ignoring you and you’ll go back to wanting Emma. You try to tell her so. 

“We agreed-“ 

But she doesn't let you finish. 

One minute she’s staring at your lips, hungry look in her eyes. Like she’s starved, and the only thing that’ll satiate her is you. The next, there's a warm press against your mouth as her lips find yours.

Your eyes flutter closed. Butterflies erupt deep in your stomach, like they were caged and just set free. 

Her lips are soft, so soft, and you can feel her everywhere. The touch of her skin as her arm grazes yours. Her fingertips light as they ghost on the back of your neck. Then harder as they gripping the front of your shirt, pulling you down into her. 

Stop it, screams the voice in the back of your head, push her off, tell her to go home. 

But you can’t. 

She tastes like Jameson. Kissing her sets your entire body aflame. You feel it from your fingertips to the tips of your ears, burning hot with desire. You moan, brush your nose against hers as she deepens the kiss. Greedy, swollen lips against yours, hot tongue slipping into your mouth. 

Her kisses are nothing like Emma’s. Emma is all gentle, timid lips. The slight touch of a hand. Jenna kisses you like she’s sure. She pulls you into her, a little rough. She’s fierce, hard. She kisses you like she wants you desperately. You kiss her back like you want her just as bad. You do want her just as bad.

Emma’s face blurs to the back of your mind, Jenna's lips the only thing you're thinking of. 

You grip her hips, tug her to you. Cup her face and kiss her until your lips hurt and your brain goes foggy from the lack of oxygen.

Not moments later she’s pulling away.

You blink her back into view. Her eyes are closed, her lips red and swollen from yours. You brush her dark hair out of her face, press your noses together. Your heartbeat steadies. 

The parking lot light flickers, and you remember where you are. 

Reality comes crashing in. You swallow, retract slightly from her as you glance up to Emma’s apartment. Wonder if she can see you doing exactly what you said you wouldn’t. 

Jenna doesn’t let you go far. Her hands around your biceps, trying to keep you close. 

“Come home with me.” She murmurs. Her eyes are impossibly dark, so longing as she stares up into yours. 

You want to, so badly. But you can smell the booze on her breath. On yours too. And then you think of Emma. 

You retract slightly, voice low. 

“I can’t.” 

“Please. I want to take you home with me.” She begs. Her pupils are so wide you can’t even see the pretty brown of her chocolate-eske irises anymore. 

“I can’t. Emma.” Is all you say, pleading, like you’re begging her to understand. 

It jump-starts something in her. The humanity is back, the lust-crazed fog that had taken over lifting. Something shifts in her expression. Her pupils adjust, and she withdraws her vice-like grip on you. 

“Right.” She says, “Emma.” 

She shuffles back away from you, almost falling. You reach out for her, not wanting her to hit the pavement but she brushes you off. Not moments ago you were as close to her as you’d ever been. Now, it’s like your touch scalds her. 

“I’m sorry.” She says, and she sounds like she means it. She hangs a moment, like she wants to say something more. Her words fail her, “I’ve got to go.” 

And then she leaves you standing there in the parking lot alone, Emma on your mind and the ghost of Jenna's kiss on your lips.

Next part

[artist-issues]

Actually, no, I’m just going to talk about Sabino.

I was going to talk about the deleted song “A Wish Worth Keeping,” but suffice to say: that song would not have made the movie better because that song had the same terrible point as the movie: “The power to make your wishes come true is in you, so keep wishing.”

No. Bad. Bad point, therefore bad movie.

The deleted song wouldn’t have saved it. Stop saying “Why This Song Matters” and “The Deleted Song That Could’ve Fixed Wish.” Figure out what was wrong with the movie first. Then you can properly figure out what should and shouldn’t have been cut from the movie.

Now let’s talk about Sabino.

I already said several times that the character is terrible in the actual movie. The idea of him could’ve been good, especially when you’re trying to say something about the concept of wishing, though.

In Wish, he’s an old man who’s tangible wish-trapped-in-a-bubble has never been granted. You’re supposed to feel bad for him; his life has been so long and he’s never gotten what he really wanted. But, even if you accept what the movie is telling you (the main point I referenced up there) he doesn’t do a good job supporting it.

Sabino can’t remember his wish. (Stupid.) So you don’t feel that bad for him. He gave it up when he was eighteen. He’s lived more of his life with no wish to miss than he did with one that didn’t come true. So what if it never comes true? He’ll just keep living as a vaguely cheerful guy with people who love him. He’s never that sad. We don’t care.

Also, when the idea that his wish will never come true is presented to him, he just… accepts it. On the one hand, that’s logical because of what I just said. But on the other hand, what a wasted opportunity to say something about your lousy “keep on wishing” main theme.

He’s 100 Years Old. He could have been the character that watches and waits, no matter how much time passes, and genuinely has faith like Cinderella or Geppetto or Snow White or Ray the Firefly or Ariel, and hangs on to his wish.

But they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t have an old character who is an example to a young woman. Because they had to have Asha be the one to “teach” everyone the “you have the power, so keep on wishing” message. You have to have her be the spirited child who proves the naysayers wrong—and therefore, you have to have Sabino be the naysayer. He doesn’t get to be the wise old man who teaches her something. He has to be the guy who says “you’re young, sit down and give up.”

Of course, they can’t even really commit to that either, because they’re still halfway-trying to make Sabino sympathetic, they’re trying to convince you that Asha really loves him and everybody does because he’s a sweet old man with a dream. But they half-do everything, and the base is rotten for all of it, so we don’t care.

Here’s what they should’ve done:

If you’re sticking with that terrible main theme: Give Sabino a wish that he never gives up on. Don’t let him give it to Magnifico. Let him keep it for himself and spend a hundred years working toward it, and he comes close several times, and it keeps blowing up in his face, and everyone (including Asha) thinks he’s crazy for keeping it, but he gets up and tries again over and over. That would’ve at least been interesting and had a shot at being impactful.

Get RID of that terrible main theme. Switch it to “have faith” and then make Sabino the one with the faith. And again, his age highlights that it is hard. It takes a long time. He spends most of his life yearning and wishing, but he never gives up or stops acting on faith. He becomes a source of inspiration for the people around him—except Asha, who loves him but needs to find her own faith before she can understand him—and then eventually joins him in faith. Like Jane from Return to Neverland. (Yes I said it.)

[lostloveletters]

Little Wing (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward and John Brady have it bad for each other, except Woody's convinced he doesn't care for her and Brady's convinced he messed up his shot with her. They prove each other wrong.

Note: Woody and Brady’s first kiss fic yay🤭 Title comes from the Jimi Hendrix song (which is on Woody’s playlist).  I know I keep saying this, but I’m so overwhelmed with the response to Woody/Brady, I didn’t expect it at all, and it means so much to me🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Suggestive to a point, but not explicit. Light miscommunication plotline.

Darla had been the one who pointed it out. The Texan wasn’t one for biting her tongue, and expressed earlier that day while they were eating lunch with Meg that John Brady wasn’t making himself scarce around the hardstand, or the hangar. Wherever that downed plane of his was while they were working on it, he’d inevitably show up at some point. 

“‘S like he don’t think we can fix a damn plane,” Darla said through a mouthful of toast, stale from that morning’s breakfast. The guys in the kitchen knew the three of them weren’t ones to pass up food just because it was a few hours old.

“I got the same thing at my pop’s shop back home. These fellas would bring in their cars and tell ‘im they didn’t want me workin’ on them. Half of ‘em didn’t even know how to change a tire,” Meg agreed, her thick Boston accent making Woody have to strain to understand what she was saying sometimes.

Darla shook her head. “Some ‘a these flyboys, I swear to god they got more swagger than sense.”

Woody didn’t want to tell them that Brady’s frequenting their work area might have coincided with the one day he showed up to check on how things were going, and she apparently struck a nerve by trying to be nice—something she was rusty at despite her best efforts. So he’d hang around and watch, sometimes not saying very much at all while puffing away at his pipe. Made her feel tantalizingly scrutinized beneath his stormy gaze.

His crew were all nice enough guys. A little rowdy sometimes, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Still, their pilot’s recent behavior made it tough for her to shake the feeling that he wasn’t all that fond of her. A damn shame, because she had it bad for him. Figured it was the first time she was into a guy who was decent.

Earlier that week, Hambone waited out the English rain in the hangar with her, telling her what he and the rest of them did before the war. Mostly recent high school graduates or everyday working guys. She didn’t find it surprising that the pilot had a degree, but almost couldn’t believe her ears when Hambone told her that Brady was a musician before the war. If anyone deserved to walk around with the swagger most of the pilots did, it was Brady, in her opinion, yet to her, he seemed level-headed and reserved. 

She had left lunch with Darla and Meg that afternoon with a newfound resolve to win Brady over somehow. If not for her own sake, then to at least not make her own faux pas the other girls’ problem.

Her quip to Holly about John Brady and his cockpit was mostly for her best friend’s amusement. Anything in her past she’d remotely consider a relationship boiled down to little more than sex. Never exclusive, and never all that satisfying, either. 

Woody nearly scoffed at herself. As if he’d want anything to do with a woman like her.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” she said as he walked up.

He sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You don’t have to be so formal, Woody. It’s just us out here.”

“Bucky and Holly are listening to the Yankees at the Nationals.” She nodded in the direction of the jeep in the distance. “They made some bet on it.”

“I hardly think that counts considering how far they are.”

She hesitated. “If you say so.” Stopped herself from adding ‘sir’ at the end. 

The following ten or so minutes were all hers. Pointed out every inch of the plane that’d been worked on since he last came by. Had an answer for all of his questions or concerns. She didn’t miss a single detail, wanting him to know yes, she was serious, and yes, she could fix a damn plane. Got the same thrill she did when she’d tell people how she souped up their cars to race, watching the appreciation and at times disbelief for her work on their face.

“Still got some kinks to work out, but it should be coming along a lot quicker now,” she said.

“You did all of that since yesterday?”

“I can’t take all the credit. Darla and Meg helped out, too.”

He cracked a grin, his pipe between his teeth. “You’re pretty damn good, Woody.”

She smiled. Her heart might’ve skipped a beat or two. “Thank you.”

“You must’ve been a mechanic before this, huh?”

“Here and there,” she said. Eager to steer the conversation away from herself, she quickly added, “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“I am. I got my degree in music, too.”

“Let me guess what you play…” She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t strike me as a tuba man.”

The slightest smile worked its way onto his face. “No, I’m not.”

“Way too smart to be playing the triangle.”

“Hey, don’t count out the triangle.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” She laughed, silently proud of herself for not saying 'You're fucking with me' which otherwise would've been her reflexive response. “Alright, I’m gonna make my real guess now.” She pursed her lips as she considered her options. “Clarinet?”

He nodded. “And saxophone.”

“Both? Oh, I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said. “Either. Whichever one you like best.”

“I play with the band in the officer’s club once in a while. You should come by. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

“I’m not an officer.”

“I’ll make sure no one kicks you out.”

“Are you offering to be my personal muscle?” she half-joked. 

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think you need it, but sure.”

“Thanks, John,” she said. “Unless you prefer Jack? Or just John?”

“What do you think suits me?” he asked.

“Well, I like Johnny, if you’re really asking.” She smiled like she was letting him in on a secret, like she knew all along he’d be Johnny to her. 

It was her eyes that got him, though. The same green he saw when someone else made her laugh or how just about everyone seemed to have some anecdote about Woody—how she helped them out or told a joke that was just the thing to lift their spirits.  But for all of the stories about Woody, the undertones of admiration or outright expressions of desire within them, nobody had one like his. Kissed his cheek without hesitation. Looked at him with those forest green eyes he could lose a hundred years in. Just when he was sure he had his chance and missed it, he was Johnny, and instead of getting lost in that forest, he knew exactly where he was going, how to push his way through and find her.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, staring above them and shaking her head. 

Woody grabbed a screwdriver and kicked over a wooden milk crate that had seen better days. She tentatively placed her boot on it, pressing down a moment before stepping up.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t reach otherwise.”

“That thing’s about as flimsy as cardboard,” he said, setting his pipe aside. “You’ll break your neck.” His strong hands were on her hips before he finished speaking. Held her steady as she stood on top of the crate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. 

She worked in silence until she stood on her toes, and the crate wobbled ominously beneath her. “I can’t see. Can you get me a flashlight and—”

He squeezed her hips in frustration. “Woody, just do it tomorrow. It’s not worth getting hurt over.”

“Help me down, Johnny?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, her eyes flashed an unmistakable desire that nearly sent him to his knees.

He kept one hand on her waist, the other holding her free hand as she stepped down from the crate. A flash of red spread across her cheeks, and he was drawn in closer like a moth to flame, following her to the nearby toolbox where she put the screwdriver back in place, double-checking the contents before locking it up for the night.

“You got something…” His thumb brushed just below her lip. They stared at each other in silence, voice caught in his throat before he closed the gap between them, cradling her chin in his hand as he kissed her. 

A shock to her system, there was something uniquely vulgar in his tenderness. Past lips on her own had been rough and selfish, part of a song and dance she grew tired of by the time she was nineteen. To be kissed with such care at twenty-three made her skin burn for more. 

She grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. Threatened to lose herself in the embrace, almost unsure of where Woody ended and John began. 

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. She shuddered when he released it and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips, her want betraying her with a soft whimper. 

She felt him pulling away and thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “Johnny, don’t go. Not yet,” she whispered pleadingly, raking her fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take much else for him to give in, losing himself in that forest in her eyes. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Being good,” she answered, “and I was getting better at that until you got here not even an hour ago.”

He smiled, eyes glistening almost mischievously. “Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Am I your sweetheart?”

“If you want to be.”

She smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else’s,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Me either.”

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her. 

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child. 

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face. 

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth. 

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn. 

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned. 

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath. 

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing. 

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately. 

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat. 

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words. 

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you. 

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities. 

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely. 

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark. 

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went.  The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs. 

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great. 

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him. 

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down? 

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime. 

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying. 

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was. 

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face. 

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them. 

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in. 

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move. 

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far. 

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately. 

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar. 

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs. 

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed. 

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun. 

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father? 

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t. 

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own. 

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans. 

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand. 

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone 

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red. 

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

[flatassthrowaway]

Passionately and Deeply

~Chapter Two~

New to the series? Read the prologue!

As always, let me know what you think! Enjoy!

“Well, perhaps if you’re Irish, you may enjoy the leprecorn,” he told me about his most vexing oddity that he discovered in his younger years as we strolled through the streets of downtown Gravity Falls.

“And it plays ‘Danny Boy’ through its horn? Come on Ford! You don’t like that song?” I asked.

“The song itself is fine. The way that leprecorn plays it is maddening,” he said, making me laugh.

We’ve been hanging out like this since that fateful night when his brother was mean to me. That was almost a month ago, and it’s the first day of spring.

Since then, I found that he lives at a tourist trap called the Mystery Shack with his twin brother. He also neglected to tell me he had a twin brother. Soos (who is the one who runs the show) aka Mr. Mystery, Melody, and Abuelita also live there, and his great-niblings also come to visit during the summer.

That shack looks so small from the outside, but… it must be one of those houses that’s actually a lot bigger on the inside.

I would know, because I actually spent quite a bit of time in that house. While Ford was working on his projects, I took the time to either complete my work alongside him or raid his bookshelf. When I raided his bookshelf, I found that he had the Lord of the Rings series. That series always interested me, but I never got a chance to read them.

Ford also introduced me to a game he adored called Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons. Thankfully, he guided me along the way, but it was confusing when first starting. I did enjoy FCLORPing, which seemed similar to this, so it ended up being fun for me too once I started to catch on, and I knew what the rules were.

I also hooked up an Apple TV to their own TV (which was surprisingly compatible with the newest technology, but I’m not going to question it), and we’ve been watching documentaries on Netflix. From Blackfish, to Mission Blue, it’s held our attention pretty well.

And it’s bonded us closer. Not only us, but Soos, Melody, and even Abuelita.

Speaking of Soos and Melody, she is about to give birth any day now. She is officially on bed rest, and Abuelita and Soos pamper her.

I hope I have that when I start having children. I’ve been longing for a strong, familial unit of my own for a while now.

The only one who still isn’t my biggest fan is Stan. I thought since I showed everyone who I was that he would start to ease up on his rough attitude towards me, but… no. He still doesn’t like the fact that I’m hanging around his brother.

It’s making me question if I’m doing something wrong. It’s a little too late to say that Ford and I should stop being friends, because we would both be hurt in the long run. We work really well together, and… honestly, I can’t picture not having him in my life anymore.

“Hey,” Ford said my name. “Are you up for a little trek? I want to show you something that I’ve only shown a select few.”

“Really? What is it?” I asked.

Ford smiled. “It’s something so rare, not even my brother has seen it. Only my closest friend and my great nephew have seen this.”

“C’mon, quit holding out on me, dude! You have to show me this thing!” I nudged his shoulder.

Ford put his hands up in defense, smiling jovially. “Alright, alright,” he said, as if he wasn’t the one who tried to get me all excited to see this object of his suggestion. “If you insist.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Shut up!”

“I never said anything, dear.”

We walked along a path into the forest, where I admired all of the wildlife along the way. Deer, squirrels… gnomes… minotaurs… handsome men…

Wait, what?!

I whipped my head around as we walked to look at a random blonde haired blue eyed man in designer clothing sniffing the ground as if he were a dog, and lifted his bottom in the air as he walked on all fours.

Ford had noticed I stopped, and grabbed my shoulders to keep me moving. “Come along, dear.”

I looked over my shoulder to keep staring at that man. That was a sight I never thought I’d see. It’s almost like that man was completely feral. I looked up at Ford, and he was completely unfazed.

Well, it’s Gravity Falls. If it’s not weird, that’s what’s unusual.

We arrived at a clearing that overlooked a strange shape in the cliff facing it. It was mostly what you’d expect a grassy clearing to look like, except there was a small hill in the middle of the clearing.

“Woah… what is this place?” I asked, in awe of its beauty.

“This is the Crash Site Omega or the CSO for short,” he told me. “It’s a place that… well… only the closest people to me have seen.”

“I can see why,” I told him, turning to see the town. “The view from here is amazing! You can almost see the whole town from here.”

He smiled. “Exactly,” he said. “And… there’s also another reason why I brought you here.”

I turned to him as he walked up to where I was standing. “Yeah? What’s that?” I asked.

“Later tonight, I was planning to stargaze here. Apparently, a meteor shower is supposed to take place at eight thirty,” he told me. “I checked the calculations myself, and for once, the news is correct. And… I would like it if you joined me.”

I nodded eagerly. “Definitely! This will be my first meteor shower!” I told him.

Ford smiled. “This will be the first meteor shower that I’ve seen in over thirty years,” he told me.

“Now we have to make it extra special!” I said, before my face dropped. “What does one bring to a meteor shower to make it special?”

He chuckled. “For starters, some may bring lawn chairs or blankets, but I settle for the latter,” Ford said. “They’re much comfier to sit upon.”

“Ah, that’s it!” I exclaimed. “I’ll provide the hot chocolate! We just… have to meet in town again. I don’t know how to get back here, even if I tried.”

Ford chuckled. “Not to worry, dear,” he told me. “You can meet me by that clock with the fist indent in the pole at 7:30.”

I smiled. “Great! It’s a date. See ya later, Ford!” I told him, going on my way back to town.

Before I could even make it a yard away, Ford called my name. “The way to town is that way,” he told me, pointing in the opposite direction to where I was going.

I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. “I knew that,” I told him. “I was just testing you to make sure you knew that, too.”

Ford laughed at my bullshit excuse. “Let’s get you to town safely,” he said as he began leading the way.

“My hero!” I cheered, running to catch up with him. He cracked a smile, and looked at the trees. His ears turned a little red… unless they were already red from before. I mean, it is the first day of spring, so it is still a little cool.

Ford led me back to town, and from there I bought a whole box of hot chocolate. I returned around 7:30 to the clock with the fist indented pole with my thermos and two mugs and waited for him to arrive. Thankfully, he didn’t keep me waiting long, and had the flannel blanket underneath his arm.

“Shall we get going, my dear?” he asked.

I nodded, smiling at him. “We shall.”

We both softly laughed as we made our way back to the Crash Site Omega, or the CSO to set up camp. Ford straightened out the blanket on the grass as I poured the hot chocolate in the mugs.

Once he was finished, we both sat on the blanket and placed our mugs together with a small clink. Afterwards, we watched over the night sky with no sound but the crickets playing their lovely melody for us.

After a while, the meteor shower started. Never did I see so many natural lights in the sky at once. It was breathtaking, how the meteors danced across the sky. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the display that nature had gifted us on this sunday night.

Good thing I’m off tomorrow.

The peak activity started to die down a few hours later, and Ford decided to break the comfortable silence between us by calling my name. I looked at him.

“You know, it’s rather rare for a meteor shower to be so visible at this time,” he said with a smile on his face. “They usually appear after midnight, and this is usually due to the fact that the Earth is facing forward in its orbit, which means more space debris may be encountered.”

“Woah… that’s so riveting,” I said, looking at the night sky again.

It started to hurt to crane my neck to look up at the night sky, so I laid down on the blanket. I think Ford had the same idea, as he laid down next to me.

“Ford.”

“Yes, dear?”

“What do you think happens when we die?” I asked.

“What an abrupt question…” he said.

“I don’t know why staring at this meteor shower triggered it, but… I was just curious what you thought.”

“Well…” he started. “I believe there is some sort of afterlife.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” he said. “To be honest… I believe that when we die, we gain all the knowledge we lacked in this life, as without our physical bodies holding us back… we can achieve so much more as spiritual beings.”

“Wow… Stanford, that’s really profound…”

“Isn’t it?” he said. “That, and we get to traverse the universe without harm. We are observers, but there is the rare chance that we can meddle in the physical world, just very subtly, though.”

I sighed with a smile. Being here, with him… it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside… almost as if the voice inside of me is telling me that I was supposed to be here, at this exact time, in this exact location, with this exact person, talking about… this.

This must be what it feels like to be at peace.

“What about you, dear? What do you believe?” he asked.

“I believe the same as you, believe it or not,” I told him. “I feel a strong lull from the universe, like I am exactly where I need to be at this moment.”

I’m being really vulnerable with him right now… maybe a little too vulnerable.

He must think I’m insane for saying something like that.

“It’s extraordinary that you said that,” he said my name, looking into my eyes. “Because I feel the same way. I was supposed to be here at this exact moment… with you.”

I smiled serenely, looking into his copper brown eyes. “So you feel the same way.”

Ford nodded, looking back at the night sky. “I… was honestly afraid of how quickly our relationship formed,” he admitted. “I thought I had been finally losing my mind… but I think I finally found someone with whom I can be my complete self.”

I felt my eyelids become heavier as I turned my gaze to the meteor shower, maintaining my smile. “I completely concur…” I said, my eyelids closing.

💚

A/N: I've been thinking about uploading on Saturdays instead of Fridays for this series, but it depends on how I feel. If you've read to this point, thanks for reading!

Next part is here! Click for childfree route!

Click for other route!

[babiebom]

Stardew Bachelor/ette’s as Mean Girls (2024) characters

A/N: i recently watched the new mean girls musical movie and it wasn’t as bad as people were saying it was. Like the singing and the songs were good, the cast fit their characters(except for Aaron’s actor sorry I feel like they could’ve gotten someone hotter but I do understand where Cady was coming from like he’s cute enough that if you’re in high school and in the same class as him at least one person would have a crush on him.) so like I do with everything I consume let’s stardew-ify it!!

Tw:mentions of bullying, cursing, sex, drugs, lmk if there’s something I missed!!

Bc: at least 4 for each

Stardew Valley Masterlist

Shane

Principal Duvall

Is tired of this shit

And teenage girls lowkey frighten him

Would yell and get everyone’s attention in the hallway bc I think he has the lungs

Would leave it to Leah to take over the assembly lmao

“Tell everyone you’re not a drug pusher PLEASE”

Elliott

Damian

While Elliott and Abigail aren’t really friends

He has the flamboyancy I feel to fit this character

Also it’s canon that all characters are bi so it’s okay for him to be in this role

Would probably have all the tea and would be as dramatic as Damian

“She doesn’t even go here?????”

He just seems bestie type

Alex

Aaron Samuels(is that his last name?)

I think this is as obvious as who Regina is.

I don’t think he’s as smart as Aaron is, BUT is popular enough to make Haley want to have some claim over him.

And is cute enough that new girls will immediately have a crush on him

Would actually be crushed if he got cheated on

Harvey

Kevin

The guy on the mathlete team or whatever it was called

Mostly because he’s smart and I do think he would’ve been in some nerdy ass club as a kid

Also at high school college point I do think he would’ve gone through a slightly edgy phase of being a nerd that talks about getting bitches all the time

Would want Maru on the team

Leah

Ms.Norbury

Because I think it’s funny

Like out of all of them Leah would be the one to be called a drug pusher

Like I personally think she smokes weed or eats like weed salads or something

And personally I think she’s above all of the drama of mean girls

Would gather everyone and be like WTF is wrong with y’all we are better than this.

Emily

Karen

Now don’t get me wrong Emily isn’t as dumb as Karen at all

BUT they both have this daydream-y airheadedness about them

And I don’t mean airhead as in stupid either, just more….in outer space than other people if you know what I mean

Like always in their own head

Don’t care about what others think to an extent

If you think about it she fits kinda

Somehow finds herself in the drama even though she’s just been daydreaming this entire time

Maru

Cady Herron

Listen I don’t think Maru would have the balls to do what Cady did

But they both are insanely smart and I can see Maru falling in love with any boy in her class that gives her attention

Would tell someone they aren’t as smart as they thought they were while drunk

She is in calculust yall

Penny

Gretchen Wieners

In the movie Gretchen is very insecure and just wants to be the best friend she can be even if it’s by helping Regina bully others

And at some point turns on Regina because she’s had enough

And is quiet enough to be overlooked as the pretty friend of the popular one

Meek and accepting like Gretchen is

Literally just wants to fit in

Abigail

Janis

I went between her and Leah for this but I think Abigail fits this role more

I think it’s more about style Janis always has a punk rock look about her and Abigail is emo/goth/punk

And while she isn’t autistic I think she is more likely to be called a pyro-Les than Leah is.

Abigail is just the right amount of unhinged to be Janis

Haley

Regina George

Come on this was the most obvious thing about this list

Like actually blonde, gives off bully vibes

Would take over a school and is probably rich.

Would be an absolute bitch and be mean to people then throw a fit when it turns around on her.

Tell me who “world burn” and “introducing the plastics” fits more. I’ll wait.

Unfortunately there aren’t enough characters so Seb and Sam don’t get anyone to themselves but I think both have the energy to fit both Aaron and Damian. Like both are total cuties that anyone would have a crush on even though seb is intimidating and introverted. And both I feel like would have the sass and bestie vibes of Damian so both could be both oof

[armandisdaddy]

Siren Pt.2-Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Fem Reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen(Bass Player) x Fem Reader (Lead Singer)

Word Count: 2.3k

Content/Warning: !!🔞PLUS!!, Smut, P in V penetration, Spanking, Ass-play Virginity loss, Ass-Licking, Choking, Balcony, Grinding, Exhibitionism, Degredation and Fluff/Aftercare.

Author’s Notes: Now I know I’ve used “The Summoning” by Sleep Token for inspiration for another fan-fiction of mine (Taste of the Divine). But since I’ve heard this song and recently rewatched HOTD I cannot let go of the fact that this song fits Aemond so well. So I’m using it again for this, in my mind it definitely fits better in this scenario so I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh he has a bit of an ass fetish…

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the HOTD characters nor the song being used. They are used only for creative purposes.

After the bands opening night and the events that transpired later on Y/N was conflicted. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him or that she didn’t like him. But one thing about band romances is they hardly ever end well and nothing but drama replaces what once was love. They were now touring in Europe; London, England to be exact. Y/N and the crew were riding on their tour bus to their destination. Aegon, Tommy(electric guitar player), their back up singers and Y/N were up front either sleep, on their phones, or singing. Aemond was in his room, he had isolated himself from the group when he did what he did and hadn’t spoken to Y/N since. He was ashamed of himself, he’d never done something so irrational, but she…she did something to him and brought something almost primal out of him.

He figured she’d never want to speak to him again and awaited the worst to come when or if she decided to tell the rest of their bandmates what happened. He decided to finish a song him and the band had record without Y/N. It was actually written for her, but he’d never admit it. Without warning a knock was heard at his door. “Come in..” And in she came slowly finding a place to stand as awkward as it was. “So I wanted to talk about what happened the other night. Why have you been avoiding me? You don’t just come into my room do… those things to me and then pretend I don’t exist.” She was frustrated for several reasons one of them being that she had been try to get that high feeling again and failed miserably every time. The other because she thought he used her for his own pleasure and basically threw her away like some old toy.

She got slightly distracted hearing the song playing and it sounded really good. “Wait who is that singing?” She wondered he sounded familiar and then it finally came to her. “Aemond…that’s you..” he sighed softly closing his laptop and turning to face her completely. “Yeah…me and Aegon were just fucking around. It’s nothing serious…and to answer your question I’ve been avoiding you because I took things too far with you. I should’ve never touched you in that way and you were intoxicated it was shitty of me and I’m sorry. You didn’t speak to me after that night and I just assumed I had gotten the wrong idea.” She huffed and sat at the corner of his bed trying to find the words to say. “I…I wasn’t mad at you…I just…you..you made me feel something I’ve never experienced before and I didn’t know how to say I want more or tell you I like you back.”

“Wait you like me back? So why the fuck did you tell Aegon the kiss between us on stage meant nothing?” She rolled her eyes and sighed laying back on his bed. “Because I didn’t think you liked me and because I know how band relationships end. They are never a good idea to get into…it just makes everything else difficult.” He listened attentively placing a calloused hand on her thigh squeezing softly before he climbed on top of her to give her a kiss.

“Band or no band you’re stuck with me you know that right? And you had Instagram and Twitter going crazy with that kiss. They’ve been what’s the word stanning over us ever since.”She pulled him in making his lips crash into her, but they were quickly interrupted, when Aegon came crashing through the door, eavesdropping obviously. She ducked and rolled off the bed running back to the front of the bus with everyone else. “Hey Bro, Y/N? What the fuck were y’all doing in here?” He mocked them with kissing and moaning sounds laughing at their obvious embarrassment.

It seemed like the bus ride dragged on for hours and finally they were here at the venue and Y/N was super excited for tonight she had something very special planned for tonight’s performance. As usual the concert goers can rushing in, the place was sold out and every seat was filled. This was going to be perfect she thought. She walked out on stage as usual relishing the chants and cheers as her band played behind her. She raised her hand signaling them to stop and she looked to Aemond with a grin on her face. “So everyone I’m sure you all know Aemond. The best damn bass player in King’s Landing!!!”

They all cheered and she laughed calming them to let her speak. “Well, I’ve got a surprise for you and him too. I just learned on my way here that he is multitalented and him and the band recorded a song. And I’ve only heard a few seconds of it so this will be a first for me and you all. So..without further ado, I welcome to the stage Aemond Targaryen!!!!” The crowd went wild chanting his name and he looked to her in horror she walked to him and placed her hands in his ear whispering. “Your going to do great babe.” She kissed his cheek moving in his spot so that he may take hers.

He stood in the spotlight the light was blinding, but he put on a brave face for her and flashed a smile to the crowd. Aegon signaled the group with the clicks of his drumsticks and they began to play and a voice almost angelic left his lips. Leaving Y/N in awe.

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

A taste of the divine

You've got my body, flesh and bone, yeah

The sky above, the Earth below

Raise me up again

Take me past the edge

I want to see the other side

See the other side

The crowd loved every second and still he left Y/N speechless. She had heard him messing around before, but she never thought such a beautiful sound could come from him until now. She felt herself being taken away with the music. Is this what love felt like she thought. He looked back to her and she sang background vocal improvising and he winked at her looking back to the crowd as he continued. His mind filled with thoughts of nothing but her as he sang. Calling to her the way his heart did so silently. The songs tone switched and there was a breakdown she had not expected. He walked toward her with his mic in hand and Vhagar on the side of his waist gripping at her hips and pulling her close.

Oh, and my love

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Or are you really here to cut me off?

Or maybe just to turn me on

'Cause these days

I would be lying if I told you that

I didn't wish that I could be your man

Or maybe make a good girl bad

I've got a river running right into you

I've got a blood trail, red in the blue

Something you say or something you do

The taste of the divine

You've got my body, flesh and bone

The sky above, the Earth below

Nothing to say and nowhere to go

A taste of the divine

She shuttered feeling his fingers trailing up and down her spine. He pressed his forehead to hers, chest to chest. Her heart skipped, his lips hovering over hers. He pulled away leaving her wanting. She was unbelievably turned on and it was easy to tell. Her pale cheeks were a rich red and her legs rubbed together trying to find some form of friction. He passed the mic to her kissing her forehead before scooting her back into the limelight where she belonged.

Tonight was another successful performance their were already headlines about the two of them from TMZ to MTV. They were sleeping at a hotel tonight due to their fans stalking the tour bus. Y/N gave him her room key and she went up to take a well needed shower. He let himself in and heard the shower running. He found himself looking around the large room. Checking out the large terrace that was attached to her room. A rather tantalizing idea popped into his head. Shortly after she returned from the shower wearing a crop top and black shorts that stop right above the cuff of her cheeks.

He moved in his seat pulling at his pants trying to remain calm, but she made it oh so hard to. He stood to his feet, seeming to levitate toward her. His hands found their place into the dips of her waist. Pulling her into him. “I should have my way with you for that little stunt you pulled, my little siren.” She blushed biting into her rosy bottom lip. She needed to stop before he devoured her very being. “You tease me and your not even trying. Can you feel what you do to me?” He groaned pressing his sweat pants covered hard on against her hip.

His hands slid into the back of her shorts gripping on her round flesh growling at how well it filled his hands. “Perfect..” He spoke in a hushed tone pulling away to look into her eyes. Her eyes low and filled with lust. His lips crashed into hers and she moaned into his mouth, practically melting into his arms. He picked her up by her ass cheeks and carried her out to the terrace where a table and two chair sat. He sat down with her straddling his lap. “I want you to rub your pussy against my dick.” She looked at him with embarrassed expression. “Out here?” He hummed. “Mhmm…” He positioned her perfectly pulling the back of her shorts down to cuff under her cheek. His hungry hands kneeling them like dough. Pushing and pulling them apart the cool air hitting her skin.

Soon she began bucking her hips against him his cock rubbing against her sensitive clit. His left arm wrapping around her to pull her against him and his right laying harsh smacks against her plump ass. She whimpered and moaned, the red tint flushing to her welting skin. He moaned at the sight and bit into her neck; pumping up into her hips. He spanked her until she was sore and sat her on the table pulling her shorts off the rest of the way. The cool feel of the table caused her to shiver.

He looked to her sweetly before flipping her so she stood on all fours and he stayed in his seat. He smiled at the view spreading her cheeks apart seeing the delicate pink flesh of her pussy glistening from the light hitting her slick. He licked his lips like he was starving. But that tight hole of hers was what he really wanted. He buried his face between her ass and his tongue lapped over the tight flesh of her ass her back arched involuntarily. His eyes rolled at the taste of her. She gasped and moaned holding onto the edges of the table his tongue greedily lapping at her ass and dipping into pussy every now and then.

“Gods…you taste so good..” he cooed as she mewled from the sudden suction of her clit. He smacked her ass again letting his thumb rub against the rim around her asshole. While he looked back at the mess she was already making. “Your such a dirty little slut aren’t you? You’re making quite a mess on this table I wonder if anyone can hear you.” He smiled wickedly and turned her to face him. He stood in between her legs pulling his cock from his pants letting the thick head rub between the slit of her gorgeous cunny.

She writhed in pleasure seeing her like this drove him insane he couldn’t take much more. “Are you ready, my love?” She nodded sweetly. “Please, Aemond…I need it…” she whined and he smiled kissing her to dull the pain as he prodded at her entrance slowly letting it give way around him. He buried his head into her neck and gasped. “You feel amazing, little siren.” He stayed still letting her adjust to his length and girth which was above average. She felt like she was going to break, she need him deeper. “M..More…” he looked into her eyes..”More? Well aren’t you greedy are sure you can handle more?” He laced his fingers around her throat giving her the right amount of pressure before he filled her completely.

She winced but moaned her eyes rolling back. “Good girl you take me so well..” He began his assault pumping into her mercilessly her pussy gripping him like a vice with each pull. “Oh fuck..Aemond…” She called out his name like he always imagined. Was this dream? It couldn’t be it felt too real; too good. “That’s it baby let me make you feel good, baby girl. Let the world hear how good I make you feel.”

She grunted like an animal nails digging into his back the knot in her stomach tightening. She was so close to her release, but he popped her thigh denying her of it. “Please, I can’t hold on anymore..” He hushed her “Just a little longer I want us to cum together.” He continued hitting that spongy spot the drove her crazy, feeling her legs trembling uncontrollably. “Come baby cum on my dick, give it to me.” She screamed creaming all over his dick smearing it with her arousal his seed spilled instantly inside her.

The rode out their orgasms and he carried her inside. He showered with her a got her dressed in a large t shirt leaving soft kisses along her lips and neck. He carried her to bed and they spooned for the remainder of the night until they fell asleep.

To be continued…

@pet1t3 @proudlittlewitchbitch @xlaurenlintonx @jadianasithandjedi @ellxpsismm @chainsawangel @aemondslefteyeball @baebunnyxo @ammo23 @valeskafics @boundlessfantasy

[mawrblaidddrwg]

“I’m picking the song, you’ll probably pick something shitty,” Bulma whined as she nudged Vegeta trying to get him out of her way. He slipped past her easily and shoved his coin into the machine. As he began to click through a few of the options, Bulma pressed her chest against his side to lean forward and look as well. The feeling of her body touching his and the intoxicating smell of citrus and flowers in the perfume she wore was enough to distract Vegeta and for Bulma to punch in the number selection before he could stop her. She grinned victoriously as she pulled away and put distance between them.

“You’re used to getting whatever you want, aren’t you?” He said indignantly.

She palmed one hand onto her hip, noticing that his eyes followed her every movement earnestly. She intentionally stuck her hip out with slightly more oomph than was necessary.

“And what’s wrong with that?” She asked.

“Nothing, really. But what happens when you don’t get what you want for once?”

She took a step towards him, and she noticed the way that his black eyes darted to her mouth and then did a grand tour of the rest of her without any care for how obviously he was looking. It was as though he wanted her to know that he was checking her out. The tequila between them had really taken down any of the small flimsy walls that either one had up in this little back and forth conversational foreplay. She took another step forward so that they were only a few inches apart. “Something tells me that I’m not going to find out.”

Her lips were so close to his that if either of them breathed too deeply they would touch.

“Not tonight at least.”

AU set in America in 1987. Vegeta is working under the Frieza Force when he finds out the truth about who murdered his family and rival motorcycle gang, The Saiyans. He searches for his estranged cousin, Goku, to help seek revenge for the death of their families. In his travels he comes across Goku’s friend and mechanic, Bulma. He doesn’t see any harm in taking a little detour on his road to vengeance. What could possibly go wrong?

[blainesebastian]

sticks & stones

words: 2,546 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “ Austin launches his relationship with his girlfriend, she has a few thousand followers on IG and will post lots of selfies/risque photos and everyone’s tearing her down saying she’s too slutty/Austin is to classy for her?”  warnings: none notes: thanks for reading!! slightly different from request. will re-open my requests after i finish this next fic i’m working on :) thanks everyone!  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

You've always been pretty liberal with posting photos of yourself. Your mother has this saying that she got from these old-timey song lyrics that goes 'accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative'—and it kinda just boils down to that for you? You appreciate a lot about your looks, your body, not in a completely conceded way, but in admiration. Too many women in your opinion aren’t fond with their looks or find something wrong with themselves, that's human, and you definitely have those moments. But you've also worked very hard to love yourself, every part of you. Your body supports you, nourishes you, is your home. Not that you post for anyone other than yourself? but you can't remember a time when anyone's ever had a problem with you either.

At least not until recently.

It comes and goes in waves ever since you started dating Austin—it never ceases to amaze you the audacity some people have online, how they're incredibly bold to strangers just because you so happen to be dating someone specific. You melt it all down to jealousy, you quell down the voices in the back of your mind that start to agree with terrible comments you've read and ignore it because what's the point?

You talk yourself out of it bothering you—until you can't.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you doom scroll as your other hand holds a cup of matcha tea. You take a sip every so often but you're not really paying attention to anything other than the commentary on these candid photos that have been posted. You went to this Italian restaurant for dinner with Austin and his sister to celebrate her birthday and you're wearing a stunning navy-blue dress. It's got an open back, thin gold chains holding it together. The front is high-neck and you paired it with strappy gold heels and…really you've worn this dress around your own family and have gotten so many compliments. There's nothing wrong with it?

If you allow yourself to dive into the black hole of what's 'appropriate' for a woman to wear to dinner, you might not ever return. It'll never change the fact that people have strong opinions on absolutely everything and they somehow deem to apply it to you, what you want to wear, or how you and Austin are in your relationship. You and Austin have so much mutual love and respect for one another, he has never made you feel less than or like you should feel guilty or embarrassed for knowing and appreciating yourself.

And he's certainly never complained about what you've worn. You often know what he thinks about your clothes because he tells you—and something that you love best? No matter whether you're wearing a pair of joggers and one of his t-shirts or an elaborate dress from Fashion Week, the compliment is always in the same wheelhouse—'you're beautiful'.

So…why are these range of comments beginning to bother you? Especially when you realize the small sample size is women. You can’t even appreciate when others step in to back you up.

kelly_allen: she wore that to a…family dinner? austin44: yikes jessi1030: 😍😍😍 elvisfan: oh come on guys, maybe they’re going to a club afterwards? stylespreseleyhearted: pretty sure what she’s wearing is no one’s business—besides, do you see Austin complaining?? elvisthepelvis: bro just saying, his last gf wasn’t nearly as slutty

You don't even hear Austin come into the kitchen but suddenly he's in front of you, gently taking your phone out of your hand with a soft expression, "Told you not to look at that crap."

You crinkle your nose—were you being that obvious? "I know," You turn to lean back against the counter as Austin sets your phone face down, moving to stand in front of you and carefully pin you against the surface. His arms create a cage as he tilts his head down to nip at your lower lip, causing you to laugh. "Sometimes it's hard to avoid."

Austin hums lightly, lifting his one hand to cup your cheek. You turn into the touch a little, pressing a kiss to his palm and closing your eyes for a few moments to take a breath.

"It doesn't bother you?" You ask, gazing up into his blue ones, "What people say?"

He shakes his head before trailing his thumb over your lower lip, "It bothers me that you're upset."

Letting out a soft sigh, you roll your eyes to the ceiling before a semi-dramatic huff leaves your lips. You tilt forward a little until your forehead rests against Austin’s shoulder and it’s…a perfectly good spot right now. His arms move to wrap around your frame, squeezing, one hand massaging circles into your spine. Up and down in a soothing motion, almost perfect enough to fall asleep to.

You just…come to the decision that you can’t let it sit with you. It’s alright to let it upset you, you’re human and you have real emotions, but those words don’t have to plant seeds of doubt—there is nothing wrong with utterly being yourself.

Tilting your head back up, you give Austin a small smile, “I love you.”

He playfully grabs your chin with his fingers, his own matching smile as he leans down to kiss you in response.

--

Everything’s fine until it isn’t.

You kinda remove yourself from social media for a little bit, not deactivating anything, just not actively posting any updates about you and Austin or yourself. It’s definitely unlike you but you feel like you need a cleanse? To just get back on track of just doing your own thing without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And that works for a while.

You’re out and about to grab lunch with a friend and after you’ve done that, you stop at a coffee shop that you frequent to get a latte that you’re only slightly obsessed with. It’s a nice day out so you’re wearing this t-shirt dress that hikes up the leg, showing off a thigh tattoo you have. You’ve paired it with this jean corset that creates a silhouette look, it’s one of your favorite fashion combinations to put together.

You turn to walk out of the café with your order and hold the door for someone behind you and you feel what happens before you even have time to process it. That same person says your name and there’s a fraction of a second where you’re confused because you’re ninety percent sure you don’t know them—

Then, “Slut.” And they toss their drink down the front of you.

You gasp and take a step back out of instinct and your mouth hangs open, not necessarily out of pain even though the coffee is hot, but because you’re shocked.

One of the baristas who know you and Austin well as regulars rushes out from behind the counter to hand you a hand-towel and ask you if you’re alright but…you can barely grasp the towel to begin patting yourself down, let alone answer their question. Emotions are heavy and quick, hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes burn with tears and this lump appears in your throat that is incredibly difficult to swallow over.

You barely push out the words thank you before handing the towel back and rushing out of the doorway, making a b-line for home.

--

It’s a mixed bag of emotions and maybe you’re pissed off because you have no idea how to actually feel. You’re angry and vulnerable and sick to your stomach all at once, you don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you tear off your clothes and toss them on the floor. You lean against the sink in your stained nude bra and underwear, squeezing the sink, not being able to look yourself in the mirror because you know you’ll cry.

Austin chooses that exact moment to walk in the front door.

You quickly turn the shower on and reach for the bathroom door as your boyfriend wanders into the bedroom, “Hey Y/N.”

And you can’t quite close it now, giving him a ghost of a smile as you leave it open a crack to say, “Hey, just gonna grab a shower.”

But your voice does not sound like your own and Austin immediately picks up on that, taking a step closer. His eyebrows draw together as he touches the door, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” You reply, a bit too quickly.

Now Austin’s concerned, you can see the look right on his face because he knows you’re lying. He gently pushes on the door a bit more, getting you to take a step back.

“Austin—” You shake your head.

His eyes flutter across you then to the stained clothes on the floor, “What happened?”

Your voice changes, just slightly, because now you’re starting to get worked up. You just want him to leave you alone at the very same time that you want to tell him everything. And yet the words stick like glue in the back of your mouth because you know this was one of his fans that’s done this to you and…your interaction with Austin’s fans have always been pleasant. They’ve been nice and thoughtful and respectful so the fact that this happened feels messed up even more than it already is.

“Coffee happened,” You reply, voice sharp as you motion to the floor, “Obviously.”

“Y/N.” He says and it’s gentle, far too gentle and yet it somehow feels like a dagger right between your ribs and suddenly everything spills right out.

“Oh my god,” You scoff out a laugh, running a hand over your forehead, pushing your hair back. “What happened was I was at the café on the corner and when I went to leave, someone called me a slut and thew coffee at me. Okay? Happy?”

Austin stands there for a moment, a mixture of emotions passing over his face, his jaw clenching in that way where you know he’s pissed off. He doesn’t say anything though, like you expect he might, instead he takes a step forward and clasps the back of your neck with the palm of his hand. He draws you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you and you’re tense for a long few moments until you just…melt against his embrace.

That’s when the tears come.

There’s no loud sobbing but a stream of silent crying against his shoulder, turning your face into his neck and sniffling, fingers gathering the fabric of his shirt in your hands as your shoulders tremble. He doesn’t move for a long time, just keeps you against him, his hand stroking through your hair and massaging along your shoulders. He pulls back just slightly to look down at you, his hand cupping your cheek and removing a tear track with his thumb.

“M'sorry baby,” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You shake your head, sniffling again—your face feels puffy and wet, eyes red-rimmed, a bit congested from crying. A mess, really, can’t even imagine what you must look like. The thing is—he doesn’t have to apologize to you. He’s not in control of any of this, especially his fans. You know it’s not one hundred percent responsibility but moreso he cares that you’re upset, he’s hurt because you’re hurting.

“I love you.” Austin says, tilting your chin up just slightly so that your gazes meet.

That always manages to pull the softest of smiles from you and this is no different, regardless of how terrible you feel. You nod as you rest your hand on his chest, a point of connection, grounding, as Austin tugs you into his embrace again.

--

A few days pass since the incident and Austin has been relatively quiet about it. It's not that he's ignoring the situation or refusing to talk about it but rather he's just giving you open space to talk to him, or not talk at all. You appreciate that more than you can really put into words, you're not quite sure what you'd say anyways. It's such a push and pull kind of situation—you know that tensions and emotions run really high for fans, they feel a connection to Austin as real as the one you have with him, even if it's not the same at all. You don't want to disrespect that, you get that fans are also what make Austin's work so important—he cares about them and what they bring to the table in terms of his stardom. But at the same time? you definitely feel insulted, hurt, and you don't understand what you've done exactly to deserve such strong words and actions from a stranger.

It's a warmer day out and Austin's decided to take you out because you both have time off (secretly you know he's just trying to make you feel better, but it's working). It's a pretty lazy day, you're wearing a soft yellow sundress, a bit sheer, but it hangs on you beautifully. You're on your way to a brunch after visiting a farmer's market, a tote bag filled with fresh produce, cheese and some homemade fruit pastries that you couldn't pass up.

You wander down the sidewalk, Austin ending up behind you and it takes you a moment to turn around...to see him taking a video of you. Your cheeks flush pink and you kinda give him this look before laughing,

"What are you doing?"

"Filming my beautiful girlfriend." Austin replies, like it's obvious. "Do a twirl or somethin'."

You laugh, shaking your head, "No, stop."

"C'mon, can't be wearin' a pretty dress like that for no reason."

You roll your eyes but you're grinning, so you do what he asks. You do a playful twirl and come to meet him, grabbing his other hand as he flips the video around so that it's in selfie mode, you pressed up against his chest. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips before ending the video. Lazily wrapping your arms around his waist, you watch as he taps open his Instagram on his phone, your eyebrows lifting slightly. You...didn't actually think he was going to do anything with the video he took. He snaps photos and takes videos all the time but they never end up on social media, which is fine, you know Austin isn't as active as you are on apps.

But for him to be...putting this on his story?

"Austin."

"I know what I'm doin'." He replies, drawing an arm around your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your temple and uploads the video to his story with the comment 'main character energy' and you can't help but snort out a laugh because he's ridiculous and cute and…sweet. And you fall a little bit more in love with him in that very moment.

He waits until the video loads before he closes his phone, putting it back into his pocket. Giving you a soft smile, he leans down to brush a kiss along the bridge of your nose. You hum lightly, eyes fluttering closed as you soak in the moment with him.

He definitely didn't need to do that? But it makes all the difference.