#but I didn’t know about my great grandmother

[look-at-the-soul]

A night at Delux

Modern Tommy Shelby

Master list

Author’s notes: This story is for you, in no particular order @zablife @runnning-outof-time @red-riding-wood @teenwolf-theoriginals @justrainandcoffee @brummiereader I’ve had the main idea in my mind for weeks after driving past a luxury restaurant daily, I think it’d still haunt me if I didn’t write this one down lol… anyways I decided to a few names of lovely mutuals. This is a small nod to you all for the amazing work you do and in an attempt to cheer you up or anyone who might need it at the moment. If for whatever reason you feel down, without inspiration, worried, or anything else, know that it will pass. This particular moment that feels like too much won’t last forever ✨I just hope/wish you get what you are looking for. And to anyone else going through anything hard right now, this is for you too!

Ps. Don’t panic the fandom isn’t falling down, I just felt the need to dedicate this story to lovely mutuals to spoil and cheer them up a bit 🤗

Last but not least, extra 🌟 to @blondie-22 for creating this gorgeous moodboard!! 💖

Word count: 3,245

Friday night had been quiet compared to today, it seems like everyone decided to go out on Saturday and go to that club, as if there wasn’t enough options in the city.

Y/N swallowed hard feeling worried, this was her second weekend working at the club and she wanted to give a good first impression and save as much money as possible.

Her other job as secretary paid for the rent and services, but she needed to have this second one on the weekends to support her grandmother and her medicines.

As the hostess, she was requested to wear a total black outfit, so she thought her little black dress was the right choice, it was fitting for her shape, it wasn’t too revealing or short and one of the girls, Red had suggested spraying some lidocaine on her feet to be able to stand all night in those heels. She quickly adapted well to the group of girls that worked there, they were all so nice to her and welcoming.

“Ready? I’ve an amazing list prepared.” Lee, one of the girls walked past her, ready to take her place at the DJ booth.

“Last week was hectic, I’ve a feeling this will be crazier.” Y/N expressed fiddling with the guest list for the night.

“Here, drink this.” Brummie, another of the girls came closer placing a glass next to Y/N. After a week, Y/N learned the reason for that nickname was her strong Brummie accent even after all the years she left the place.

“Go easy on the drinks, she makes them strong.” K chuckled. She was the first one to welcome Y/N into their little girls-gang as they called themselves. The only ladies working in a place owned by men.

“Doors opening in ten.” The manager advised, taking one more look at the place, waiters were ready. “Make tonight a good night everybody.”

Lee started playing the music then, experimenting with some new beats, she mixed a couple of the new hits. Lights down, Y/N took a deep breath, approaching the door.

“They better leave good tips tonight.” Red raised her eyebrows. She was in charge of promos, she was great at convincing people to order another round of shots, or if it was ladies night and they got 2x1 on special drinks.

“We’re in your hands Red.”

“I’ll do my best ladies.” She replied through the device they shared to communicate.

“Alright, it’s about time.” Y/N rolled her neck. “Lee, we’ve a party of six tonight, celebrating a bachelorette, could you include some anthems?”

“Absolutely darl.” Lee then turned up the volume of the music.

“If someone sees that baker, let me know?” Rose appeared then at the bar, she had been hiding in the office, she was in charge of detecting any potential trouble from the monitors.

“Sweetheart, everyone knows he’s not a baker.” Lee informed her, talking about Alfie.

“I haven’t seen him, so I wouldn’t know.” Y/N called from her place.

“Oh he’s just the most handsome man ever.” Rose swooned.

Y/N chuckled, the club would be the last place where she’d find love, she just knew that. Walking towards the door, the guard opened it for her.

She started searching for the name she was given in the guest list. A group of girls wearing exaggerated make up and deep cleavage plus the shortest skirts or dresses where the firsts ones to make it in. She was totally against it, but it was an unwritten rule to let people in, the more skin, the better.

But she wasn’t there to judge anyone, let the girls dress as they preferred, in the end she wasn’t the one getting wasted and dragged in the end of the night to throw up outside. She was there just for the money. Another table was filled by three men, they were older and dressed in button shirts with ripped jeans, as if it was an uniform for them.

Y/N thought how it was funny to try to guess their backgrounds, where they came from and with whom they might leave the club. She was just trying to make the time pass faster.

In no time, the club was packed, but outside there was still a bunch of people trying to make it.

People tried to give Y/N money to get in, some were even rude to her but the guards took charge into the matter and invited them to leave.

“I made a reservation, could you check again?” The young guy requested politely.

Y/N started reading the names again, but by the corner of her eye, she caught someone skipping the line. “Ah, excuse me? Sir?”

The man who was already by the door, turned around slowly, opening the zipper of his jacket. His death stare made Y/N feel a shiver running down her back.

“There’s a line you’ve to make and wait.” Three more men arrived and stared at her with amused expressions. “Name?”

The man blinked and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. “Shelby. But you won’t find my name there, love.” Y/N saw him stopping the three other men with his hand.

“Then you’ll have to wait in the queue.”

For an instant, his expression was so transparent and Y/N knew he was offended.

“I’m sorry, but I’m just following orders.” She apologized and shuddered under his intense blue irises.

“Oi!” One of them, the one with a mustache tried to step closer.

“Arthur, leave it, we’re going to follow this lovely lady’s order and wait.” He then turned to face her again. “Accept a sincere apology for trying to get in.” He then winked.

The well dressed men followed his instructions and stepped back. Then she focused on the next people on the guest list, guiding them inside.

Barely a minute went by when Lucas, the manager grabbed her by the arm, dragging her inside in a blunt movement that made her go alert.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Lucas snapped, spit flying from his mouth. “You left the Shelby brothers outside! The fucking owners of this place.”

Just as Lucas was explaining Y/N her mistake , Tommy walked behind her, with his brothers following his steps.

“That was a first Tommy.” John grinned. “The first woman who doesn’t let you walk in as the owner of the place, and you did nothing.”

John was definitely having fun at Tommy’s expense. Arthur couldn’t help the smirk on his lips, but he tried to hide it behind his hand.

“Yeah, yeah she was only doing her job.” Tommy tried to excuse the hostess.

There was something that took him by surprise and startled him.

“And you walked back to the queue like a dog with the tail between the legs.” John went off again.

Tommy dragged his eyes across the club, he needed to know more about her. So he walked towards the bar.

“The usual Mr. Shelby?” Brummie asked her boss from behind the bar, he always waited to be served at his table.

Slowly, he posed his eyes on her, considering his options. “Please.” He replied then, clearing his throat.

“Here you go, I’ll take the other drinks up in a second.”

“Thank you.” With a nod, he turned his back at her and slowly strolled across the club. Although he had security, he always checked his surroundings.

After a while, he found the manager. “Lucas, come here.” Patting him on the back, Tommy asked him about the hostess, she was just passing by in that very moment, but Tommy noticed the quick glance she threw at him.

“Again, I’m sorry it happened Mr. Shelby, she’s new but it won’t repeat.”

“No problem.” He added calmly. “What do you know about her?”

Lucas shook his head, he didn’t care about the staff personal life. “Not much, but I’ll investigate her.”

In that moment, Tommy’s eyes found her, arms linked with the girl in charge of the checking the credit cards records.

“Damn it, I made a huge mistake, I’m so so done.” Y/N cried in a low voice. Worry written all over her face.

“What did you do?” Rose squeezed her shoulder.

“I didn’t know it was him.” She babbled. “I asked Mr. Shelby and his brothers to wait in line for their turn to get a fucking table.” Y/N explained over the music.

Rose stared at her for a split second and then bursted into an incontrolable laugh. “No you didn’t!”

“I did Rose! I did… and now he’s going to fire me.”

But she kept laughing. Trying to take a deep breath she sent their chat group a message urging the other girls to meet in the back.

You’re not gonna believe what Y/N did, she’s a hero! - she announced proudly.

“I can’t imagine the face he put on, must’ve gone like a stone.” Rose pinched her arm playfully.

Lee programmed a couple of songs to play automatically, Brummie left the bartender in charge while she claimed a quick bathroom trip. Red rushed the guys on the table to pay her for their drinks and tip.

As the group gathered in the back, they we waiting eager to hear what had happened.

“Our newest friend here, made the boss wait in line to get a table.” Rose announced ceremonially, pointing at Y/N.

She wasn’t trying to make fun of her, just trying to have a moment to relax.

Y/N groaned mortified, she kept shaking her head. Overthinking of what would happen.

“Nice way to get the Shelby’s attention.” Red pointed at Y/N with a smile, enjoying the teasing.

“Can we ask for the CCTV footage?” K asked. “I want to see him in the line.”

“I was looking for you,” Isiah one of the blinders appeared suddenly, “ladies how are you doing? Y/N… Mr. Shelby wants to see you.”

A chorus of ohhh’s from the girls filled the space.

Then, the girls started cheering on her.

“There she goes.” K sighed.

“Do you think she’s in trouble?” Lee looked around the group.

“Well it depends…” Red crossed her arms. “Hopefully he’s in a good mood.”

“I doubt it to be honest.” Rose raised an eyebrow skeptically. “But maybe she knows how to tame the beast.”

“Oh oh, if there’s group meeting it means something happened?” Mia joined the girls, she asked permission to arrive later that day. She had some personal affair to attend.

K placed her hands on Mia’s shoulders. “You just missed the fun, but I’ll make a short version while we prepare some drinks.” They were both in charge of the bar.

“Last time we had an urgent meeting, Michael got arrested.” Mia remembered with a chuckle.

“Oh, this is better than that.” Red assured before going back to the crowded tables.

As Y/N followed Isiah, her heart was pounding, grabbing her phone she texted her friend, Heidi.

I think I messed up, BIG.

A quick answer appeared on her screen, in the background a themed photo illuminated the phone, beautiful shades of green reminded her of nature and hope, it was made by a really talented friend.

What happened?! Are you OK?

Yeah. No… I confused the owner of the club and asked him to wait outside and make the line!

Her phone buzzed again.

No way! Tell me how it goes.

If I don’t reply back he probably let me blind. Carries a peaky cap with a razor blade.

Y/N took a deep breath and checked her phone again.

Don’t worry, I’m sure it will be fine. Her friend encouraged back.

She just prayed to not mess it up again and start babbling, arriving at the private area where the Shelby’s were she quickly tried to fix her short hair and bangs.

“Good evening,” her voice was shaking, her legs and her heart, everything! “I’d like to apologize for what happened earlier, I’m new and didn’t know any of you.”

Her eyes landed one more time on who seemed to be the leader, those icy eyes boring into the deepest part of her. His lips were pursed in a tight line.

“It’s okay, love. Don’t worry.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Yeah, now me brother wants to find a way to speed the line up.” One of them explained, blowing his smoke towards the ceiling.

“John.” The man with the blue eyes warned. “Nevertheless, I’ve to thank you for keeping the line in check.”

His deep accent and the way he dragged each word gave her chills.

“Thank you, well that’s my job.”

“Here drink this.” Another of them, the one with a mustache offered her a glass. “To a very good job!”

The two youngest were whispering something and staring back at the leader.

“It’s alright, really.” Tommy assured her after seeing the fear in her eyes.

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The one he called John a moment ago suggested.

“Again I’m really sorry.”

“Y/N is it?” He rolled his tongue over his lips after saying her name. “It’s alright.”

“Just so you know, I’m John, so you don’t mistake me again.” He had a huge grin on his face. “This is Finn, Michael and Arthur.” He started pointing out at everybody. “And that’s Tommy.”

“I won’t forget your names.” She repeated them mentally. “Enjoy your night, I’ll bring you another round.”

Y/N excused herself and went back to work. He was wearing a simple white shirt with a jacket and black jeans, but somehow he made it look effortlessly good. She was trying to focus on the people in the guest list instead of those eyes that reminded her of the most beautiful sky.

She smiled at a couple that walked past her dancing to the beat of the music.

A table next to her exploded in shouts and claps as K and Mia arrived with their shots and sparklers.

From the second floor, Tommy was watching her every move, eyes following her everywhere, studying her moves and the way she approached clients.

Arthur waved his hand in front of Tommy’s eyes after he didn’t listened to what he said.

“Tom? What do you think?”

Finn nudged John’s arm, tilting his head towards Tommy.

Tommy took a long puff of his cigarette, pretending to be part of their conversation.

“Hmm?”

“Earth calling Tommy.” John teased. “He’s still waiting outside in the queue.”

Shooting John a death stare, he asked Arthur to repeat himself.

“Shall we call some women up?”

“Whatever.” He cleared his throat and stood up making his way through the club.

Talking to security, they informed him they kicked out a customer that got noisy and aggressive, but other than that, it was a quiet night. Everything seemed to be under control, the place was packed, everyone wanted to get in, live the experience and have the status only Delux could offer. He knew it was the best club in town, many club owners tried to copy his place, but they all failed, they tried to copy the details that made his club unique, it screamed luxury and good taste.

Eyeing Y/N across the club, Tommy decided to walk towards her, she was focused on the list before her eyes, swaying her hips to the beat of the music, pouting her lips murmuring the words… he could only imagine how would them feel against his, while his fingers tangled in her short hair.

Before he could reach her, she then turned her back at him to walk in the opposite direction, but abruptly, she changed her mind and turned around again, bumping into Tommy’s chest in the process.

“Mr. Shelby! I’m really sorry.” He could tell she was mortified, embarrassed.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Tommy reluctantly took a step back.

Y/N hoped her voice wouldn’t crack. “Do you need something?” Battling her lashes slowly at him. “Can I take you your drinks upstairs?”

He was startled by her overwhelming beauty, under some kind of spell by her voice and smile. It had been so long since he felt so captivated by someone… Shaking his head slowly to clear his mind, but she thought he was saying no to her.

Taking that as her cue to leave, Y/N started walking away. “Well if you need anything, let me know.”

“Actually I do.” Tommy managed to say, making Y/N turn to face him once more.

Everything happened in a blink, he grabbed her by her face and kissed Y/N, not able to resist the desire any longer. But when she answered the kiss with the same eagerness and placed her hand on the back of his neck to pull Tommy closer he lost it.

Guiding Y/N towards the wall, he trapped her between it and his body.

Kissing her hard, he tilted his head to the opposite side, relieved to feel her matching his desire. Feeling one of his hands, brushing down from her waist to her hip and then down her leg, she added some pressure on his shoulders.

“Someone can come.” Y/N warned him breathlessly, his lips barely away from hers, just what was really necessary for her to speak.

“I don’t fucking care, I own this place.” Tommy told her right before kissing her again with passion.

Squeezing the flesh of her thigh and he felt as if he had whiskey injected in his veins.

Y/N moved her head back slightly, that left Tommy with his mouth hanging open in an almost sensual kiss that had just slipped away from him. Opening his eyes after the failed mission, he found her bitting her lower lip playfully.

His blue irises darkened under the dim light.

“I really need get back to work or my boss might fire me.” Y/N explained before stealing one more quick peck on his lips and bending down to free herself from him, left Tommy leaning against the wall with his heart pumping so fast that it felt like he was having a heart attack.

He chuckled quietly at her statement.

Going back up, he stood looking down at the people at the club, his eyes scanning the place until he found that pretty little thing that with just one kiss, made him feel more than anyone else.

Feeling som eking of pressure on 5e back of her head, Y/N turned around and lifting her eyes, she found Tommy staring at her from the second floor. Raising his glass at her, he added a wink.

Y/N felt her cheeks blushing and smile quickly spread on her lips. Checking the clock, she walked towards the door it was about time to not let anyone else in.

“Your lipstick is smeared dear.” Mia pointed out.

“Damn it, really?” Worryingly she went back to the bar, to check her reflection on the mirror behind all the booze bottles.

As the girls started to ask her what had happened, she got another message on her phone.

Think you can send me back to the line twice and get away with it twice? Meet me in my office once you’re done. -Your boss.

She gasped. He oozed trouble from every angle, the one that won’t let you get up from bed after several rounds.

He was practically the bad boy your grandmother warned you about.

✨ thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed a little spiced story 🔥

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[venusvity]

IN WHICH ... We check in on Sena (spoiler: she's not doing well.)

FEATURING ... KIM SENA + FINN LEE + ELLIOT SON

TRIGGER WARNINGS ... Drug Addiction. Mentions of Murder (he deserves it). Mentally Ill Characters. Not smut but they were having sex but they're not having sex so like...IDK kinda sexual content? Poor Coping Skills.

WORD COUNT … 2.3K

WRITERS NOTE … Just a Sena life update piece! She's not doing well! I'm trying to finish pieces I started a long time ago and this has been in my docs for a hot minute so...Here she is! Sena is struggling but when isn't a Venus girl struggling lol! I feel like the POV kinda switches from Finn to Sena during this, it's not jarring or anything but just a heads up! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

Finn feels as if he was cursed from the moment he was born. 

It was raining the day he was born. He became the only son in a family of three girls that would later turn to four just two years after his birth. His mom told him lightning struck the hospital she was giving birth in when he was born, and the power went out for a full twenty minutes. Finn came into the world seven minutes later when the power came back on. 

That story has always stuck with him, leaving a sinking feeling in his gut whenever he thinks about it. He doesn’t know why, but it makes his jaw tighten. 

Finn’s childhood was great. His parents loved him, his sisters loved him, he had food on the table every night, and he watched cartoons every day after school. He learned to play the piano at age six and guitar at seven. His musical abilities came to him naturally, becoming something his mother greatly encouraged. It didn’t take a genius to see that Finn’s mom settled for the high-paying accounting job she would drag herself to every day. Her passion was music, classical, to be exact. She loved the violin and tried to get all her children to at least try it once. Finn hated it, as did most of his sisters except Lauren, but in Finn's opinion, Lauren only lived to please their mother.

There are often times when Finn will sit and stare at his bedroom wall, memorizing every trophy and achievement he’s plastered on there or displayed. He’s won the most prestigious songwriting awards, produced chart-topping hits, made his group go platinum, and he can’t even begin to count the music show trophies he has on his shelf. They’re all fantastic achievements that many dream of achieving, but when Finn looks at them, he just sees things. He sees paper, plastic, and metal that has lost its shine long ago.

Sena knew she was cursed from the moment she was born.

She was born in her grandmother’s bathtub on a Sunday. It was sunny outside. Her mother called her a miracle. Sena never knew why she was called a miracle until she was fourteen, and her older brother told her that her father threw her mother down the stairs four days before her birth. Everyone thought she died in the womb that day, but she came out a happy and healthy baby.

Sena can’t remember much of her childhood; it wasn’t good, and it’s good she can’t remember it. Her mother is dead, her father is in prison for life, her brother is in New Hampshire, and her sister is still living with her grandma. That’s all she cares to know about her family.

Being the daughter of a murderer is something Sena worked diligently to ignore. It’s a ghost that is always in the corner of every second of every day, watching her, taunting her, haunting her. Her father is always there; no matter how hard she pretends he’s not, he will always be there.

He’s there when she looks in the mirror, she’s there when she goes to sleep, and he’s there looming over her shoulder as she holds onto Finn’s shirt with pleading eyes.

“Finn, please.”

“It’s not right, Low. I can’t do that to you,” Finn tells her softly, taking her wrists into his hands. He looks equally as upset as she does. He hates seeing Sena suffer as much as she does, and even though he doesn’t know why she’s suffering, he wishes he could fix it in a way that wouldn’t destroy her. Sena whimpers loudly at his rejection, shaking him the best she can, but Finn is much bigger than her.

“Please, Finn! Please!” Sena begs as a sob falls from her lips. Finn looks away from her as her head falls onto his chest, curling his lips to try and hold back his own tears. He can’t help but want to cry when Sena cries. It’s like every sob stabs him in the chest, twisting the knife and ripping it out only to shove it back in. He aches for her, but he constantly aches for Sena. Sena feels like a book he can’t finish, a doll he can’t fix, a music box that plays off-tune, but he can’t throw away. He feels such a deep tie towards her that severing it completely would break him, but holding on seems to do the same.

“I just need–I just need something to take the edge off,” Sena pleads with a shaky voice, swallowing the saliva that gathered in her mouth as she tilts her head back to look at Finn more clearly. “Finn, I haven’t slept in three days. I can’t fucking take it anymore, please!” 

Finn looks harder at her and sees the dark circles under her eyes. The longer he looks at her, the rougher she starts to look. The moon's dim light is the only thing illuminating his room, but he can still make out how dull her skin is and how dark her undereyes have gotten. He feels sick the longer he looks at her, nearly cracking and giving her what she wants, but he doesn’t. He shakes his head, taking her waist into his hands and squeezing tightly.

“It won’t–”

“I’ll just fucking get some from Yeojun,” Sena snaps suddenly, shoving Finn away with a heavy shove. “Is that what you want? You want me to go to him for drugs instead of you?”

“I don’t want you to do either, Harlow! Don’t fucking do drugs,” Finn snaps back, matching her volume and tone. Sena gawks at Finn’s response, scoffing at him nastily before she laughs.

“Oh, that’s so rich coming from you,” She laughs, shaking her head. “You can’t even rub your nose half the time, and you want to tell me not to do drugs. Fuck you.” Finn scoffs quietly at her words but nods because he can’t disagree. She’s right. Finn telling someone not to do drugs is as ironic as a fireman afraid of fire. 

It’s silly. It’s laughable. It’s defeating.

Finn is a drug addict to Sena. That’s all he’s always been to her, and it’s clear by how easily and spitefully she throws it back in his face that’s all he’ll ever be to her. Finn swallows thickly, shaking his head as he sulks to his dresser. He opens the third top drawer to the right, his long fingers shuffling around inside it, sending baggies and pill bottles scattering as he pulls out the baggie he’s looking for. It’s small and has three blue pills inside it, all shaped like circles. He holds them out to Sena between two fingers.

“Try that,” Finn says dryly, watching Sena’s eyes fall to the baggie and then to Finn’s face, waiting for the catch that never comes. “It’s a Xanax. It’ll make you calm down. You shouldn’t do coke when you’re anxious.” He tells her, voice demining and patronizing, but Sena assumes she had it coming.

She takes the baggie from him slowly, as if she’s afraid to touch it, and a part of her is. She has addiction in her blood, given to her by her father and his father before him. That’s why she can go through a pack of cigarettes on a stressful day. Once she does one drug, she knows nothing will stop her from trying the next, and the next, and the next. She will damn herself to a life of addiction and craving, but she’d rather be stuck in the cycle of needing than the cycle of violence.

“I need water,” Sena tells Finn quietly. She can’t take pills dry. Finn gives her a pleading look, silently asking her to back out while she still can. Sena tilts her head, blinking up at him. “Can you get me some, please?”

How could Finn tell her no when she asks so nicely?

Her skin sticks to Elliot’s sheets as he presses his face in the crook of her neck, moaning into the moist skin as she digs her nails into his back. Having sex is weird now. It’s like she can barely feel it. She can’t tell if it’s the pills or the fact her mind never stops running at a speed that leaves her constantly dizzy, but either way, she wishes it would go away. Sena swallows as she stares up at Elliot’s ceiling, shutting her eyes to try and find some semblance of pleasure in this, but is left with nothing. That’s the worst part. She feels nothing. 

Sena presses her face into Elliot’s shoulder, nails digging in harder into his skin to try and find some kind of feeling to cling to, but finds nothing except frustration. She lets out of a huff, throwing her head back on his pillows. Elliot lifts his head from her skin, shaggy brown hair covering his eyes until he shakes it away. His eyes are so kind, Sena thinks as she meets them with her own, but she quickly averts her gaze to the side. When she looks him in the eye, dread fills her body for some reason. That happens a lot now. 

“You okay?” Elliot asks, a bit out of breath. Sena nods too quickly, making her curl her plush lips in, knowing he will question her further. Elliot tilts his head down at her, looking at her like a confused puppy. 

“You sure, baby? You’re stiff.”

“Just tired,” Sena lies. It’s not technically a lie. She is tired, but that’s not what’s weighing on her. It’s not an easy thing to confess. Murder is heavily frowned upon by most people and is illegal. She can’t just confess to killing a man and how it weighs on her without, at the very least, getting a weird look. This isn’t a normal thing to go through, but none of Sena’s life has been normal. She sighs when he gives her an unconvinced look, rubbing her nose.

“I have a lot going on, El. It’s too much to get into when you’re inside me.”

“You could’ve told me that before I got inside you. We hung out for, like, an hour before this.”

Sena gives him an unamused look, only to be met with that dumb grin he always wears when he says something he knows is funny. She can’t stop herself from smiling, reaching up and smacking his cheek playfully, making him smile more. Elliot’s smile takes up his whole face, his top lip disappearing and eyes turning into crescent moons. It’s a beautiful sight that Sena treasures seeing, even if it isn’t a rarity. Elliot was always smiling or, at the least, grinning. He’s the happiest person she’s ever met. She figures she’d be happy too if she were Elliot Son. He’s handsome, he’s tall, he’s charming, and he’s talented. There’s nothing to be sad about when you’re Elliot Son.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elliot asks, bringing one hand up to brush her hair from her face. Sena swallows the spit gathering in her mouth, running her hands over the expanse of his back. She looks at his adam's apple instead of his eyes, shaking her head. She can’t talk about it, especially with Elliot. Elliot talks. He talks a lot. Sena can’t trust him with something this big despite trusting him with her life. It’s not just about her this time. It’s about Chloe, and Yoonah, and Klara, and even Bliss. It’s about Hyojin and his grandmother, who begged Jinhwa to give her an answer as to where her grandson went. It’s so much more than her. 

Sena takes a deep breath through her nose, shaking her head again.

“I can’t. I just…I just want to lay here for a little bit,” Sena says with another sigh, giving Elliot a pitiful look and silently pleading for him to drop it. Elliot, with a look of sadness gracing his usually cheerful face, nods slowly. His hand trails from her cheek down her neck. He runs down the curve of her body, dipping in with her waist and finding home on her waist.

His thumbs caress the skin, causing Sena’s eyes to fall to watch how his fingers hold and move against her flesh. She lets out a content hum, reaching up and rubbing his forearm. For a second, she feels at peace. Elliot’s thumb rubs against the pale skin over her ribs, pressing hard enough to feel the bones underneath. He leans down, placing a single kiss in the center of her chest with a slight hum of his own as he rests his forehead where his lips once were. It’s a nice, heavy, warm feeling, making Sena close her eyes to take in the bleak bliss that fills her senses. It’s the best she’s felt in months. She knows it’s half due to the pills in her system right now, but she ignores that, pretending it’s all Elliot, and this is how she’d feel sober.

Sena hasn’t been sober in months.

She knows it’s bad. She doesn’t care. It frightens her how little she cares about the full-blown addiction she’s acquired in just two short months.

Her fingers run through Elliot’s light brown locks, taking a slow breath at how soft they feel beneath her fingertips. Elliot slowly lifts his head to look down at her still beneath him, giving her a fond smile that makes Sena smile.

“I should pull out, shouldn’t I?” His casualness makes Sena laugh, hands dropping onto the mattress as giggles fall from her lips. She forgot they were having sex before this, technically during this conversation. She nods, still laughing.

“Yeah…Yeah, I’m not nutting anytime soon,” Sena laughs. Elliot shrugs, chuckling.

“My dick has actually gone soft, so!”

Sena groans at his joke, hitting his chest as more laughs spill from her lips.

She appreciates the normality of it all.

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

See I knew my dad’s side of the family was fucked up… but it apparently goes back a bit further

[lichtecht]

just rewatched Das doppelte Lottchen (2017) and can we all agree that Mo, the best friend of Luises dad, who travels with them everywhere and basically lives with them. that that is gay

like. just a little bit

[pen-of-roses]

Uuuuuuughhhhhhhhhh

[softenji]

I wonder how accurate dna tests that give you your ancestry actually are

[hedgehog-moss]

I asked someone at the village recently if the dairy co-op sold [specific cheese] and she said yes they do, and I said oh I’ll pop by then, I haven’t seen that cheese at the grocery shop for a while, apparently their local supplier is giving them trouble, and the woman I was talking to scowled and said, “the dairy co-op is their supplier and my son works there and yes they’ve suspended deliveries but they’re not the problem” in a combative tone, clearly assuming I had sworn allegiance to the enemy in this dispute I didn’t know existed. It reminded me of how last spring I was saying that I’d seen a really cute foal while driving by [specific farm] and the person I was talking to scowled and said this foal’s mother was a terrible aggressive horse who shouldn’t have been allowed to reproduce and once again I just stood there awkwardly

There are mysterious and antagonistic connections between everyone in rural communities and the only way to be safe is to never mention anyone to anyone else. You say something about a sweet baby goat you can’t discount the possibility that this goat’s great-grandmother kicked your interlocutor’s third cousin in the leg in 1996 and now you’ve unwittingly taken a side in this longstanding feud

[after-witch]

Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo Satoru x Reader]

Title: Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo x Reader[

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru follows you home. ‘Alone in the Dark’ follow-up.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, noncon sex, humiliation, misogyny against reader

No one in your family, no one on the spacious estate--from the rotating guests down to the most menial of servants--believes that you are truly ill. Yes, your family let you return home without too many questions, let you bundle yourself in your room and come out only for meals that you leave as soon as it’s polite to do so. They offer to fetch the physician, and only smile indulgently when you insist that it’s a passing bug, you’ll be fine soon. 

They do all these things, while they know that you’re not really unwell. 

At least they grant you the mercy of not saying it out loud, at least for now, which is something you can appreciate. There is very little that you appreciate nowadays. 

There is a soft knock at the door. One of the maids, then. They were trained to knock politely.

“Yes?”

The door gently opens to reveal one of the newer hires. A modest girl with the ability to act demure and professional just as well as any of the seasoned women who were multi-generational hires, whose mothers-and-grandmothers-and-great-grandmothers had worked for your family.

“Miss, my lord and lady have sent me to inform you that you have a caller.”

You clear your throat.

“Ah, unfortunately, I’m not feeling very--”

It was her turn to clear her throat, interrupting you. It almost made you flinch. It was an unusual gesture, not one your parents would have allowed. It should have been trained out by now.

“My lord and lady have sent me with explicit instructions that you are to come to the parlor immediately, even if you are unwell.”

You bite back a sigh. It must have been someone from one of the other families, then. Maybe throwing out another potential marriage match for you--your mother had fretted, especially recently, that you should have already been married by now. 

The thought of sitting in that damned parlor and pretending like you weren’t constantly about to throw up from stress and shock made you want to tear your hair out. You should tell the maid to go away, and bury yourself under your blankets, and scream and scream because Gojo Satoru made you do something awful and the world was unfair and you thought he was your friend and--

No.

People like you didn’t have that luxury. So you force down your bile and half-heartedly make yourself presentable in the mirror, and follow the maid who escorts you down the hallway, out of the intimate private family rooms and into the grand hall that leads down to the parlor. 

She stops you before you reach the threshold of the open door, and you almost trip on your dainty house shoes. The maid looks back at you with an expression that is something in between demure and overwhelmed. The skin of her cheeks flushes pink. She leans in, as if you were friends, and whispers,

“Miss, it’s--it is Gojo Satoru who has called on you.”

The world seems to drop out entirely. Yet you only feel as if you are falling as you stand there, hand braced against the door frame, head spinning. All the while, the maid grins, unawares, no doubt impressed that her employer’s daughter has associations with someone so well-known. 

Sound pushes and pulls around you, distorting in  your shock, but it’s there, clear as day: his voice. And your parents’ voices, all elegant and honeyed. 

From your vantage point against the door frame, you can hear the trickling edges of their conversation.

“They were smart enough to ask me for some tips, and, well, how could I say no?”

Your mother’s voice oohs-and-ahhs. “No wonder we have seen improvement with them lately. All thanks to your generous tutelage, no doubt!”

You can practically hear the grin in Gojo’s voice.

“Well, it certainly helps that I like their company so much. Very much, in fact.” 

You can vividly imagine the look that your parents have probably just given one another even before you cross the threshold of the door and announce yourself, curtsying slightly to your parents, as you’ve been brought up to do. 

Gojo stands when you enter. Oh, the fucker. All etiquette and primness. Your stomach churns. If he wasn’t buttering them up, if he was anywhere else, if he wasn’t doing this to mock you, he wouldn’t be standing with his hands behind his back and a polite smile on his face. He’d be picking at his ear or lounging on the fine upholstery like it was some ratty college couch. 

Your mother is fluttering towards you in an instant, smoothing down the wrinkled bits of your clothing, fingers darting over your face, looking for blemishes, scratches, anything that needs to be hidden or fixed. 

When she’s satisfied, she lightly clasps your hand and leads you over to where Gojo and your father are standing. Your father greets you with a warm nod--unusual for him, but there is company, after all--and Gojo. Well. 

Gojo smiles. Softly. You think, if he had his way, he’d be grinning like a cat that caught the canary. But that would be too much, in front of your parents. Too uncouth. So instead, he smiles lightly and sweetly and it makes you want to bend over and expel breakfast on your mother’s expensive rug. 

“I’m happy to see you’re up and about,” he says. And then he reaches out and touches your shoulder. You stiffen.

You look to your parents--surely this is improper, surely they will say something--but your mother only presses her hand delicately to her lips and smiles.

Your head turns, slowly, back to Gojo. His smile widens.

“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about our private courtship. We don’t have to hide it anymore.”

The world should fall out from underneath you, but it stays stubbornly flat. 

Your lips open and you will say something to make him leave, you’ll tell your parents what he did or feign illness or--

His hands move to rest on your hips, and--you jolt. Fingers dig into the skin of your hips through your clothing. A painful pinch that tells you: hush.

“I think it’s appropriate for them to have a bit of privacy, don’t you?” Your mother asks coyly, looking at your father. He nods solemnly and takes your mother’s arm. You have never, in your life, wanted your parents to stay with you more than you do now.

But they walk away. As your mother shuts the door, she gives you something most rare: a look of approval. How can she not notice the widened worry in your eyes? The anxiety in your expression? The mere presence of Gojo Satoru shuts out everything but his golden glow, the promise of his connection with your family. 

The sound of the door shutting is like nails on a chalkboard.

You take the opportunity to jerk yourself away from him--to your surprise, he lets you. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You hiss. 

Gojo puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs easily.

“You weren’t around, so I came to you.”

You hate the way he looks too casual. As if you’d ghosted him after a bad study session and not--not….

“Of course I wasn’t around,” you say, almost spitting. “You…” But you don’t say it. Shame washes over you, hot and sticky. 

The silence between you is just as warm, and you want to wash it off.

“Let’s go to your room for more privacy,” he offers. 

“No.” Flat refusal is the only thing you can think to do now. Just say no, no, no, until he gives up and leaves. 

Instead of leaving, he sighs, languid, and stretches his arms above his head. “Ah, your parents will be so disappointed that I left so early, after all that I talked you up.”

You hate him so much.

“C’mon,” he wheedles, when you don’t respond. “I just want to see where you grew up. Is that so bad?’

Show him your bedroom, make him leave. You cross your arms in front of your chest. “It’s nothing special. Just a room,” you mumble.

“Don’t say that!” Gojo reaches for you and ignores your flinch when he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “It’s your room, of course it’s special.”

Your stomach responds to his praise with a low roil, a remnant of how you might have responded to his compliments before all of this. 

--

“There,” you say, voice tight and short, as you gesture towards your bedroom. You pointedly leave the door open but Gojo doesn’t protest. 

It’s not the most impressive bedroom on the estate--that would be your parents’ room, followed by the siblings who managed successful sorcerer careers and have already had a few children. 

But it’s cozy, and it's yours, and for you that’s enough. You just wish Gojo wouldn’t contaminate it with his presence. He looks at everything, smiling, humming. He goes to read a journal open on your dresser and you rush to slam it shut. He jumps back with an exaggerated grin and apologizes. 

He doesn’t look and leave, like you hoped he would. Instead, he sits down on your bed and pats the space next to him.

“You said you just wanted to look.”

He pats the spot again. “I just want to ask about your training. Really quick.” The look you give him must be enough to kill, because he puts his hands in the air. “I promise, only a few questions about your training.”

Your legs tingle as you force them to move, one step at a time, to the bed. You sit next to him and the proximity makes you want to flee. But if you just do what he says and get this over with, he’ll leave. You can deal with your parents’ expectations about some courtship later.

He smiles when you sit. 

“So, any progress? Better? Worse?” He looks down at you through his glasses. “Be honest.” 

“I… I guess I have been getting better at concentrating,” you murmur. You’ve been forced to, really, since you didn’t want your parents to know about what happened. 

“Aw, see? I knew it would help!”

It. Is that what he calls what he did to you? Your throat hurts. 

“That’s not why you did it.”

Gojo has the audacity to quirk his head at you. It’s a gesture you know would make many women’s heart flutters. It just makes you want to close your eyes.

“No?”

You don’t respond, and after a moment, he gets up. It’s enough to make you sigh in relief. He’s leaving. He’ll be gone and you can figure out what to tell your parents and it will all be fine because--

But he doesn’t walk through the door.

Instead, he shuts it.

“Gojo--”

He gives you a look.

“No one will mind,” he tells you, voice light. “I’ll be quiet if you will.”

Your heart thuds, one, two, three.

“What do you mean?”

He looks at you as if you’ve asked him the stupidest question in the world. Maybe you did. Because he’s walking towards the bed now, forcing you to scoot backwards on it. You realize the vulnerability of your body in this position far too late, because before you know it, he’s crawling onto the bed with you.

“Wait--wait,” you sputter. “C-Can’t you just leave? Please?”

He leans over you and pins you down with the mere presence of his body.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” He kisses your neck, and you crane it to the side, which only makes him kiss it more. “So cute. I’ve been thinking about you every day since then. Every hour. Every minute.” His kisses grow more numerous, on your shoulder, up your neck, your cheek, finally resting just above your lips.

“Gojo, stop.” He’s so close that your breath ghosts his skin, puffs against his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about the faces you made,” he says, voice dropping an octave. The words slink out of him like a snake. “How sweaty you got. What you looked like with your come all over that pretty face.”

If your cheeks get any hotter, you’ll get ill. You know it.

“Stop it,” you whisper, but your lips brush against his and he takes the opportunity to capture you in a kiss. 

The distraction is enough to keep you from thinking about his hands, to keep you from being aware of his fingers unlacing the buttons of your blouse, of how he slides your arms out of the sleeves. You’re only wearing a thin morning camisole underneath, and the sound of it shredding breaks through the unwanted kiss. 

“Gojo--” You say, or want to say, but all your words are muffled against him. 

Saliva trails from his mouth--you want to gag--when he pulls away. “Satoru,” is all he says. 

He’s taken off your shirt. He’s ripped your undershirt. You’re lying underneath him, ample chest bared, and he’s not going to get off you.

His fingers find your nipples and give them an unceremonious tweak. 

“Don’t!”The word comes out too loud, too shrieky, and both of you still in the silence that follows.

You expect him to get off you now. You expect him to realize the danger of being found out and take the opportunity to leave; ego bruised, perhaps, but still--he would be gone.

Instead, he grins at you. “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to come in and see us? Ah, but…” He rolls your nipples in between his fingers, and you jerk on the bed at the strange, electric feeling that shoots in between your legs. “Maybe you want to get caught?”

You press your lips firmly together--be quiet, you tell yourself, be quiet!--and shake your head. 

He continues to roll your nipples, and your hips squirm against the feeling. “I think you do,” he muses. “You know, if someone did waltz in here while I’m balls deep in you, we’d have to get married.”

You practically choke on the unexpected sliminess of his words. But perhaps not so unexpected, considering what he was doing. 

“Wh--What?” You hiss.

Gojo looks at you like you’re dumb--cute. But dumb. “I mean, your family is traditional, no? I don’t think they’ll let me deflower you and not make an honest woman out of you after that.” He spreads his fingers out and gropes the plump flesh of your breasts with his hands; his palms brushing against your hardening nipples makes you bite back a sigh. 

“I mean--I meant--we’re not doing, I don’t want to do--”

He leans forward and rubs his nose against your cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. I like foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You ask, helplessly, naively. 

“Fuck, that’s cute,” he sighs. He begins to rub at your nipples with his thumbs, and there’s a warm, prickling sensation in them that makes your toes begin to curl.  “You know how many times I jerked off thinking about these tits?”

“Stop,” you say, breathy. It feels good, and you hate it, but it doesn’t hurt--it doesn’t hurt, at least. That’s what you tell yourself to keep your mouth from screaming.

He ignores your words and squishes your breasts together with his hand, making them balloon almost comically.

“They’re so big, you know?” He pushes and pulls them apart. “How do you even stand up with these things?” 

Humiliation blooms in  your throat.

“Don’t be mad,” he says. “I’m not trying to insult them.” He sighs, then, and goes back to rubbing your nipples with his fingers, eliciting a whimper from your lips. “They’re gorgeous. Nice and big…”

Another whimper, this one louder, making you press your palm against your mouth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He leans down, peering over his glasses. “Feels good when my fingers play with your tits?”

It does. You shake your head. But it does.

Gojo tsks lightly. You feel one hand leave your breast and reach down, down--sliding underneath the waistband of your skirt. Your body lurches but he’s too heavy and strong and you can’t move, even as he swipes his fingers down your underwear. You can feel the way his digits meet some slickness, smearing it around on the other side of the fabric.

“Your mouth can lie, but down here… you’re leaking.”

Your heart lurches with the memory of your leaking cursed energy, with the memory of the hard floor--and with the knowledge that it’s happening again. 

Without fanfare, he grabs the waistband of your skirt and begins to shimmy it down. You kick and struggle, little noises escaping your lips that surely aren’t loud enough to be heard outside the walls. But it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger than you. 

Your underwear goes down next, and you cringe at the feeling of wetness clinging to the soft material as he peels them down your legs. With your clothes gone, it’s easy for him to grip your upper thighs and pull them apart, exposing you directly to him.

“Gojo--” Your throat is dry and your words hoarse.

“Your pussy is prettier than I remember,” he says, ignoring your protests, ignoring the way your legs squirm. “Look--did your clit just twitch? Is it saying hello?” He smiles up at you, stupidly, and some part of you wonders if he really thinks you’ll laugh at what he’s saying. All you can do is swallow against rising bile.

“I was going to eat you out until you squealed first,” he begins, voice low. “But I don’t think I can wait. Besides, you look wet enough.” He rubs his thumb against your clit and you slap your hand back against your mouth at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

You know what he’s doing, even if you don’t want to admit it. You know before he reaches down and shoves his pants down around his ankles. You know before his boxers come down next. You know before you see his cock, hard like the last time.

How in the world is that going to fit inside you? You think. You feel, dimly, your privates clench and twitch at nothing.

“Your body is eager,” he tells you, cooing. “Even if you pretend that you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you murmur. He doesn’t listen. Your fingers grip the sheets of your body and you think dimly about what you’ve heard about sex. All you know is that you weren’t supposed to have it with anyone but your husband, lest you produce unwanted bastards to soil your family’s good name. Your mother had taught you all about the value of your “flower,” the importance of being chaste and virtuous. 

And here you are, splayed on your bed, with Gojo about to take it all away from you.

You let out a whimper when he leans forward and rubs the tip of his cock in your folds. It’s thick and warm. 

“Gojo,” you say, voice tight.

“Satoru,” he chides, sweetly. “I’m about to fuck you, honey, you can call me Satoru.” 

You press your lips together and tighten your fingers on the sheets as he finally moves his hips forward, pressing his cock inside you, slowly.

It hurts. Enough that tears prick at the edges of your eyes, and you let out a soft, pained keen.

Gojo’s there, kissing you, as soon as it leaves your lips. His fingers brush away your tears even as he pushes forward, filling you up more, stretching you. The ache deepens, there’s a sting with it--you wonder if you’ll bleed, like your sister says she did, on her wedding night.

It doesn’t stop once he’s inside you. He pulls his hips back--there’s a brief relief from the feeling when he’s mostly out--before he pushes back in, and the ache reignites, making you jolt and whimper against his lips.

“Shh,” he tells you. One of his hands trails down your stomach, down your thigh, to rest against the top of your sex. His thumb begins to rub out slow circles, and an unwanted aching pleasure begins to build there. 

It doesn’t make the pain go away. It doesn’t make the humiliation go away. All it does is introduce a sick sort of pleasure that makes you feel worse about yourself. How could you like this? It should be impossible, for your body to begin to feel a low, rolling pleasure that cuts through the pain–cuts through the horror–of what’s happening to you.

You whimper, bubbling out a little cry, and Gojo presses sweet kisses to your cheeks.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, you like that, don’t you?” The sweetness of his words is underscored by the wet sound of his cock thrusting inside you, by a faint slapping sensation against you every time he does. 

But you do like it. Or your body does, and you’re not sure what the difference is, splayed on your bed, all warmth and sweat and aches. Gojo’s thumb presses deeper and your mouth opens–you gasp and he swallows your noises in a kiss, not letting up until his thumb is rubbing hard enough that your body arches and there’s a coil snapping inside you.

You grunt, animal-like, into his mouth. He grunts right back and shame curls over you, even as your body spasms in forced bliss. You can feel yourself clenching around him, as if you wanted him, as if you were trying to make the sex better for him.

He doesn’t pull away until you’re done clenching around him, and you shut your eyes for a moment to avoid looking at the almost dopey, pleased expression on his face.

The realizations hit you like slaps  in the wake of your orgasm. 

He made you orgasm. It felt good. You liked it, you hated it. You want more, you never want it again. 

You just lost your virginity--still losing it, he’s not done–the precious commodity that your mother told you to guard well--on your bed. Before marriage. Before you were even in love. Before anything. 

How could it be any other way, with Gojo Satoru? He takes, takes, takes. Takes what he wants because he can, because he knows it belongs to him, if he wants it. You, included. 

There’s a gentle pat on your cheek and you realize Gojo is patting you, tapping you like he might a dazed sorcerer whose head met the rough end of concrete during a fight.

“Don’t get lost on me, now. Look at me… hey, you still here?”

“Yes,” you whisper, although it comes out more stuttered than you’d like with the shake of your body as he thrusts.

He plants a sloppy kiss on your mouth and moves faster. It hurts, still, but some of the more pressing sting is gone. Instead it’s an uncomfortable, new ache. 

“You look so good like this, y’know?” His hands go from your cheeks to your breasts, and he squeezes them. “All ready to be filled up.”

His words take a moment to make any sense--and even then, you’re still not quite sure.

“Fill me… up?”

His thrusts get faster, and you hear your own breath stuttering stupidly as he fucks you. “Like I said--” His words are half-panting, but you get the feeling that they needn’t be; he only wants to seem undone, you think. “Want to fuck you. Want to breed you.” His hands squeeze your breasts, kneading at the flesh. “You’ll get real big, won’t you? With a baby in your stomach, just one at first, but--” He starts to speed up now, and you see a faint redness on his cheeks. “Fuck, who knows how many we’ll have.”

Cold fear clenches your stomach tight, and you resist the primal urge to gag.

“My-my parents,” you plead. Your parents would never let this happen, would they? Not if you told them the truth?

Gojo leans above you, looking down at you with a lascivious expression as he begins to thrust faster, making your breasts wobble with the motion.

“Your parents already approve. They feel honored, and they should, that I want to marry you. Have kids with you. Merge our bloodlines. Might have to fudge the due date, if this takes, but…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, his head veers down towards yours, and his lips practically crash into your mouth as he kisses you and presses himself deep inside you. He groans into your mouth and a warm, gooey feeling blossoms inside you at the same time. He came–inside you. You knew enough to know that was a bad thing, as far as potential pregnancies went. 

When he pulls back from the kiss, he pulls back his hips, and something warm trickles out with his cock. It’s an awful feeling. The soreness, the wetness. The feeling of being used.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, voice tinged with something warm and breathy. “Did you like that? Making me come?” 

You don’t answer.

Gojo doesn’t seem to mind. He flops down next to you and catches his breath.

“We should go back out there pretty soon,” he says airily. “They’ll be expecting us. Your parents, that is.”

Your voice is a croak. “What do you mean?”

Gojo leans up on his elbows and gives you a cheeky grin. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! I told your parents I was staying for dinner. Figured I’d work up an appetite in here… plus we can tell them all about our engagement over dessert. Two birds, one stone?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling, with its ornamented paintings. Pretty flowers and trees that your mother picked out when you were a baby.  You had no input in it, just like you have no say in anything now. 

No birds on the ceiling. 

There are only the stones in the pit of your stomach, waiting to be retched up. 

[thirsty-4-ghouls]

Do to some irl life events I’ve decided that, my Dragonborn had a great-great grandparent who was a mage and no one said anything until she was an adult and her surviving grandmother just casually dropped that information on her as if she already knew that.

Girl grew up bullied for wanting to be a mage in a small nord town (and the autism) and she didn’t even know she was that closely related to any other mages until she was a full blown adult who had already gotten into the subject.

Like, she went to visit again for the first time since she found out she was Dragonborn and her grandma is just like “oh, I just found my grandmother’s journal. She was very into divination and magic” “and you are telling me now? At 25?”

[thestarninja]

It’s that time of year again when I get so depressed that it feels like a vampire drained me of all my energy and left me for dead on the side of the road

[ladyofthenoodle]

fic idea from 2020 that the paris special unearthed from the archives of my brain:

So far, there wasn’t a single thing about this new reality that wasn’t terrible. She was grounded, for some reason, which she didn’t know about, and was therefore double grounded for breaking the rules of the grounding. Which she hadn’t known about!

To make matters worse, when she’d gone to text Alya to complain about the unfairness of it all, she realized she didn’t have Alya’s number. In fact, she didn’t have anyone’s number except her parents, Nadja Chamack, her grandmother, and someone called The Supreme.

She next turned to Tikki to vent, but when she checked her (admittedly cool) purse, she found her kwami wide-eyed, terrified, and most horrifiyingly, muzzled—which Marinette couldn’t figure out a way to undo. 

So she was stuck in the bakery on a Saturday morning with angry parents and no one to talk to and no ideas on how to get out of the worst version of Paris possible.

Which is when Adrien Agreste’s bodyguard walked in. Brief hope flared in her heart before extinguishing just as quickly when she saw he was alone.

Which she should’ve expected. With how awful this world was, she wouldn’t be surprised if Adrien didn’t even exist here. She couldn’t imagine a world this awful with him in it.

She bagged up the Gorilla’s order with a heavy heart and sent him on his way before looking out the bakery display window with a sigh.

Only to spot Adrien Agreste himself, with an asymmetrical haircut and thick kohl around his eyes, staring back at her. He was different than her Adrien—and she couldn’t say she was a fan of the hair—but he was just as handsome, and his eyes even more striking with the eyeliner.

When he noticed her looking, his eyes widened and his cheeks started to turn pink.

Was he blushing?

Marinette could feel her own cheeks heating up as he stared. She ventured a small, embarrassed wave, and he—he!—

He lifted his own hand, brought it to his lips, and blew her a kiss.

Crash!

Marinette, along with about 300 macarons, toppled to the floor.

“Good morning, Marinette!” said Adrien Agreste, during a time that was decidedly morning but far too early to be described as ‘good.’ 

She scowled at him.

“Girl, you okay?” said Alya Césaire, who was—who was speaking to her.

Right.

Alya Césaire was speaking to her. Because Alya Césaire, Hesperia’s favorite lackey, was apparently Marinette’s best friend.

And Adrien Agreste was the boy Marinette was in love with.

She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m great, Alya! Super dee duper. Absolutely swell. What a beautiful morning with all the sunshine and the…. morning.”

Alya looked unconvinced.

“And the Adriens!” Marinette added hastily. “I mean, the Adrien. Because there’s only one Adrien and he sure is… here. Hello Adrien! Your face is looking very attractive this morning, because you are an attractive person. And that’s… something positive I can say about you.”

“Thanks, Marinette!” said Adrien with a dopey little smile. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or just deeply stupid. If her diary entries were to be believed, it was probably the latter. “Your face is looking attractive this morning as well. Did you do something new with your makeup?”

Marinette had done her makeup the same way she did every day, but she supposed his Marinette opted for a boring girl next door ‘no makeup makeup’ look.

Alya squealed next to her before giving her shoulder an excited squeeze.

Marinette took several deep breaths.

“Yes, I thought I’d try something new.”

Adrien smiled and nodded.

Alya shoved her forward.

Marinette barely managed to restrain herself from sending Alya a patented Toxinelle Death Glare. Instead, she smiled wider at Adrien.

Her cheeks hurt.

“Thank you soooooo much for noticing my makeup. That is a thing I am excited about. I love putting on makeup to impress cute boys, tee hee!”

Adrien’s face fell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—I know you always dress for you, Marinette! That’s something I really admire about you.”

His eyes were so earnest, so sincere, and for a second, she almost—

Marinette cleared her throat. “That’s so nice! You can leave now.”

Adrien blinked. 

“Bye!” She shooed him.

“Oh, um, bye Marinette,” he said with a sheepish wave, and then he left.

Nailed it.

“Girl, what the actual fuck?”

[bunnysbrainrot]

But I’m Better

Kintober prompt: Toys

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Content: explicit sexual scenes, praise kink, guided masturbation, dom/sub (kinda) dynamic, size kink (kinda sorta). No outbreak AU, age gap (Joel is around his mid-40’s, reader is early/mid-20’s).

Summary: When something breaks, you always know who to call. Your dresser is broken, and you’re left hopeless. But what happens when Joel finds something peculiar in your drawer?

A/N: Y’all. I am so pissed right now because i wrote so much on my drive home, and it deleted because of a bad connection. i can’t recall everything i wrote, so i did the best with what i could remember. i hope it’s up to your liking!

“Shit,” you grumble as you stare blankly at the clothes strewn across the floor. The knob of your dresser drawer sat stupidly in your hand, the mangled wood and metal mocking you. It looked completely ruined.

You thought about messaging your dad about the repairs, but chose against it. He was never exactly notorious for making these things simple - it would be a question of ‘So how did this happen?’ or ‘How did you manage to break it?’, and it really wasn’t worth the effort for you.

The knob sat in your hand, the screw that held it in the drawer was bent to the side, and incredibly dull. No surprise there, you thought.

To be fair, it was an old ass dresser, given to you by your grandmother when you were younger. It was weird to think that you’d had this dresser for over twelve years.

You bent over the pile of clothes and hoisted the hefty drawer in line with the empty space, grunting in frustration as you tried to shimmy it in. It was settled haphazardly and tilted backwards. Completely screwed up. You took your phone from your pocket and snapped a photo of your mangled dresser, sending it to Joel.

Dresser finally gave out, I guess. Knob fell clean off when I tried to open it

Almost immediately, Joel haha reacted to the image and began to type. He was unlike any other man you’d talked to before. Joel was timely and consistent, and he was always reliable. Even if he didn’t have the time to help, he would instruct you on how to solve an issue, but typically he helped you in person.

As much as you tried to deny it, your feeling for Joel had warped over the past few years. It began as a silly childhood crush - those early days where you and your friends joked about what older men were sexiest. Your friends had given you teasing looks when you mentioned Joel, and even more shocking was how long you’d liked him. It was a simple, harmless, childhood crush.

Until it wasn’t.

You were freshly eighteen and readying yourself for college when the realization hit you. After all those years having crushes on older guys, it would be considered okay. Weird and taboo, sure, but still allowed now that you were legally an adult.

Joel had come to your graduation dinner at the end of senior year. You remembered that night in vivid detail. More particularly, Joel’s presence set your skin ablaze with a new type of anxiety. At long last, you could freely crush on Joel, except that there was now a chance he could like you, too.

That night he’d passed you a small velvet box, tied neatly with gold ribbon. You opened the box to reveal a gold, oval-shaped locket with a simple clasp. Inscribed on the face of the locket were whorled spirals, breaking off as flowers scattered over the gilded surface. Gazing up at Joel, you couldn’t contain your joy as you gave him a quick hug. He briefly wrapped an arm around you, holding you close by the small of your back.

He broke away, smiling proudly at you below him.

“You did a great job, baby girl. You keep that up in college, and you’ll get by just fine.”

You were thankful dessert had arrived in time for you to turn your attention away, hiding your rouged cheeks. Joel probably didn’t remember that night, but you remembered every little thing.

—

You’d done your four years of college and after the endless nights with little to no sleep and hard work, you were finally graduated, and taking a gap year before considering anything further. You worked hard, and didn’t want to burn yourself out with more school immediately.

But now you were back home, and your sights were set on something else. It was a golden opportunity to spend time with Joel - time that you’d lost by being away for so long. Holiday visits and summer break was hardly generous enough to give you any alone time with Joel. You left for college as a timid girl, developed yourself as a whole, and came back a woman. A woman who knew herself and her wants.

And you wanted him, ached for him in a way you could neither define nor justify. He was almost twice your age, a wholly developed man with his own complex past and unsteady dating life.

Mr. Miller.

He had lived in the next neighborhood over for as long as you could remember. He and your dad met about ten years back at a ‘work thing’, as they described it.

Joel was kind and endlessly generous when it came to helping others. He was the first call when something broke, and the best person to have over when times were tough, despite his sometimes-rugged personality.

You’d gotten back in town over a week ago, and since then you’d seen Joel a few times, mostly to ‘inspect’ the furniture in your room - if anything had worn down over time and needed to be replaced, the whole nine. The both of you knew it was some bullshit excuse to see him at work, with those corded muscles flexing under his tanned skin, sending shivers down your spine.

That day, the two of you had enough bravery in you to flirt. It started out lightly, you gave more emphasis on Mr. Miller, until Joel requested you call him by his first name.

“Makin’ me feel like an old man, darlin’,” he teased. You remember how he sounded saying it, with a voice as thick and sweet as molasses.

Before he’d left he’d held you by the waist, staring a little too closely at your face, watching your eyes grow wide when he leaned toward you. He fixed your hair with a gentle hand, said your name, and trailed off, his eyes never leaving your lips.

He refused to kiss you that time. Though the time after that you’d decided to break the boundary, drinking him in like someone dying of thirst. You memorized his scent, the softness of his skin and rough, eager hands across your chest, between your thighs, your throat. You both had been greedy that night. It was a high that coursed through your senses. You needed him, more than you led on.

I’ll get my toolbox, looks like it could be some old hardware. Be over in 10.

You picked up around your room in the meantime, your heart fluttering in your ribcage with each passing second. The room had become stiflingly hot. Suffocating.

A knock at your bedroom door startled you out of your anxious stupor. You reached for the door and now faced a smug Joel Miller in the doorway.

“I could’ve met you at the front door, you know,” you chastised him playfully. Joel shifted his weight of his feet, pulling something from his pocket.

“Helps that I have a house key. Means I can help you even faster.”

You rolled your eyes at him and turned on your heels without a word, striding toward your broken dresser. Joel followed casually, craning his head to look around your room, at the decorations that covered the walls and ceiling. This was no longer the bedroom of a the kid he’d met all those years ago. No, you were fully your own woman now.

“Yup, the screw’s shot to shit,” he muttered, holding out the drawer’s knob to you. “See the end of it? Shouldn’t be that dull - gotta have it replaced every now and then.”

“Do you have the right screw for it?”

He nodded, popping open his toolbox and assessing the different screws in each compartment. His hands flexed with each movement, the veins branching across them shifted with every twitch and roll of his thick fingers. Your legs clenched while the most intrusive thoughts filled your head. Specifically those hands, and what you could imagine them doing to you.

Procuring the right screw, Joel handed it to you. You looked at him in innocent confusion.

God, those eyes. If he had the chance, Joel would look into them all day, to let himself get swallowed whole by their beauty. And when you looked at him all pretty like that, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him, it drove him wild. You knew exactly what you were doing when you’d flirt with Joel, but couldn’t gauge his reciprocation, or if he was even okay with the weird ‘relationship’ you had.

It had been confusing for long enough. Someone needed to make a move, and Joel wasn’t sure if you had it in you to do it. Neither were you.

“I wanna see you try it for yourself,” he explained.

“If it’s so easy, why can’t you do it?” you quipped with a smile, but still taking the knob in your hands. Joel gave no reply and waited patiently for you to back down and do it yourself.

It was far easier than you thought. You handed it back to Joel with a proud smile. His eyes thoughtfully scanned your face before finding home in your eyes.

“Smart girl. I knew you could do it.”

Heat rushed across your cheeks like a harsh sunburn, completely taken over by the brightness in his honeyed tone and brown eyes. Joel laughed at your reaction before he worked on the drawer knob, fiddling it into place. His hands rummaged through your drawer as he worked, and paid no mind to the clothes, though you just realized. This was your underwear drawer - full of lacy underwear, bras of all varieties, and one final item you prayed you hid well enough.

Joel’s hands pushed through your panties as you held your breath. After the drawer had fallen out you’d lazily threwn everything back in the drawer and paid no mind to its organization. Since it wasn’t on the bed or the floor, by accident, you were certain that Joel would cross paths with a toy of yours.

He struck something solid amidst the clothes. The material was solid and heavy, with a bit of give from the silicone. At that moment, he could’ve left it ignored, but there was no fun in that, he thought. Joel gripped the dildo at the base, pulling out of the tangle of clothes and handed it to you, flashing you with a smirk.

“You should find a better place for this,” he drawled. “Never know who could find it.”

You quickly grabbed it from him and scanned your room for another hiding spot, but nothing came to mind. Instead you plopped it back in the drawer, on the opposite side.

“Most people don’t get to go through my underwear, so you can’t give me shit for that,” you grumbled. Joel stood, groaning at the strain on his joints. You giggle at the noise, and gave him your usual teasing, “Old man.”

Ignoring your jab, Joel leaned against the chest of drawers, arms crossed over his chest in a stare down.

His voice was dark. It had become devious, knowing, and more stern than you’d imagined.

“You use it on yourself?”

You choked on your spit harshly, not expecting his question to be so direct. Joel placed a wide hand between your shoulder blades and gave you a pat, coaxing you back to normal.

“Joel,” you pant, catching your breath, “you can’t just- just ask me that.”

“And you wouldn’t be curious if the roles were reversed, I’m sure,” he said coolly.

The redness had returned to your cheeks while you debated on your answer, but your hesitation told Joel everything he needed to know. In the smallest way, you’d let it slip that you imagine him in your free time, not that it wasn’t the same case for him. If anything, it’d been worse. Every text you’d sent him set him ablaze; at night he thought about you in detail and palmed himself through his pants, or pumped his cock in a fervent hand as he thought of you, squeezing himself inside your tight pussy. Countless nights he’d stained himself with his own seed, wishing it was inside of you instead, where it belongs. That toy should be him, it always should’ve been.

“Do you?”

You huffed and turned away from him, striding toward the bed to adjust your pillows - any sort of casual distraction from the question.

“Why do you want to know?” you countered.

Joel’s hands brushed against your hips from behind, his feather-soft fingertips brushing across the skin above your jeans. You drew in a breath as Joel whispered next to your ear.

“Because I’m a selfish old bastard, and I’m wondering what it looks like.”

“What what looks like?” you ask softly. You knew precisely what he meant but you wanted to hear something from him anyway.

He burrowed his head at the crook of your neck, gently kissing your skin up to the soft spot below your ear. His breath flew over your skin hot and heavy, sending a new wave of heat to your core.

“I want to see your face when you’re all filled up. I gotta see what your little pussy looks like when it’s all stretched out.”

You pushed your hips back flush with his to find a growing bulge trapped in his jeans. Joel rolled his hips into your ass, groaning at the constraint of the rough denim.

“Joel,” you breathed.

He mumbled against your neck, “What is it baby girl?”

Shoving your ass against his crotch, you whined, “I need you. Please… need you so badly.”

His hum rumbled against your skin, sending goosebumps rolling across your arms. A hand wound up to your hair and tugged a good handful back toward him. You gazed up at him with those beautiful glossed over eyes he dreamed about. He pictured this look on your face for a few years now, and he finally had the joy of seeing it, of causing it himself.

“Not givin’ it to you yet, baby,” he tugged once more on your hair when you whined in protest, “Gonna try something different first.”

In one movement you were facing him, finding two dark eyes staring you down, pupils both blown in lust. Joel gripped the back of your head carefully now, cradling you like something precious, something coveted. This was exactly how he saw you. You were someone to protect and take care of, and now it’s shifted to something far more intimate. Joel vowed to himself that he would make you feel every ounce of pleasure you’d been missing out on. All those nights where his hand replaced your pussy built up a frustration only you could truly fix.

Joel crashed his mouth to yours, as he’d done twice before this, and the kiss sent the same heat through your body. You clenched your thighs in a pitiful attempt to gain pressure against your swollen clit, nestled sweetly between your soft folds, soaking your underwear with your slick.

He pressed you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. The kiss was no short of pure ecstasy. The way his stubble scratched against your cheeks, the way his breathing grew heavy when you bit at his lower lip, the way his tongue edged into your mouth to explore every inch.

You gasped when Joel pulled away, watching him step to your dresser and draw out the dildo you’d hidden back inside. He turned to you with the toy in hand, wobbling slightly in his grip.

“‘S a pretty big one, sweetheart, you actually use all of it?” his voice was far too casual for a man holding your dildo.

You offer him half a nod, “Kind of. I’ve been trying to get… all the way in.” Joel assessed your words before he joined you on the bed, holding the toy against your stomach, at the base of your pelvis. He let out a low whistle when he saw where the toy’s length ended at your tummy, past your bellybutton.

“All of that inside you… felt pretty daring getting one so big, huh?”

That wasn’t the case and it was the most embarrassing part. The truth is, you chose the size based on your image of Joel. You didn’t even know how endowed he was, but you let your fantasy of him take over. That, and the time your hand brushed against his erection during your last kiss.

“I wanted to see if it would feel like you,” you admitted.

Joel’s eyes crinkled with his laugh, “Darlin’, a toy don’t compare to the real thing. Not really.”

You jabbed his arm at his teasing, “Listen, I’m doing the best with what I got, okay?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the best you could get, now is it?” he purred, pushing forward to plant a kiss on your neck. You shook your head, knowing he was exactly right. The toy would never really feel like the real thing.

You glanced up at him with a nervous expression, furrowing your brows, “What did you want to do?”

Joel looked at you coolly and leaned back onto his elbows. He eyed you, then the toy in his hand, then back to you.

“You gonna make it fit - take it all the way - and I’m gonna help.”

Crimson shaded your cheeks at the thought, staring nervously at the toy. Surely you were wet enough to take it, but the action of pushing further, to get it in completely, had been a challenge. In hopes to boost your bravery, you hunched over him, kissing him harshly as your hands flew to your pants. You fumbled with the waistband and slid them off of you, until you were stark naked, laid and bare before Mr. Miller.

He simply drank you in as you sat nervously in the lamplight. Joel eyed you darkly, his eyes raking from your quivering thighs, your slightly hidden sex - masked by your censoring hands, to your perk nipples atop each soft breast, and to your face, eyes half-lidded in pleasure adjoined with your soft panting.

“Jesus.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, shaking slightly to decline the compliment. Joel looked you over fondly as his hand found your cheek, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. You glanced down at him, still giving you that goofy smirk and a excited glint in his eye.

Joel kept eye contact as his hand traveled down your body - through the valley between your breasts, down your tummy, to just above your slit, daringly close to dipping between your wet folds. You pushed yourself into your knees and knelt at his side, your aching cunt exposed to him in the dimly lit room.

He trailed his hand up each thigh, halting just before he reached your pussy. Each touch was carefully light in a way that made your whole body shudder against him. A single finger slithered up your thigh once again, finally finding its way through your slit, nestling comfortably against your clit and drawing lazy circles.

You cried out against a hand held at your mouth. Joel’s hand smelled of metal and bourbon, mixed with pine and lemongrass. He smelled smoky and fresh and completely warm against your face. You bestowed your face into his palm as he gained a rhythm on your clit, drawing out the smallest cries against his skin.

“Nice and wet for me already, darlin’, that’s good… that’s such a good girl. Drippin’ and ready.”

Another dumb nod has him chuckling while his finger skirted lightly across your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until your stomach grew tighter.

“Gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum for me already?” His comment draws another moan from you, falling like a melody past your bitten lips, a chorus straight from heaven, just for Joel.

“It’s okay, baby doll, go ‘head. Cum for daddy,” he said sweetly, the Southern drawl thick through his words.

You unravel around him, jolting your hips as your orgasm takes over your senses. A soft cry sounds through your gritted teeth; you gently grind your hips onto the pad of his finger to ride through the shockwaves. Joel leans up to kiss your shoulder, his lips warm and supple.

“Just as beautiful as I imagined,” whispered Joel. His tongue skirts along your skin to your neck, fully sitting beside you to bore his eyes into yours.

You glanced back at him with lust-blow pupils, steadying your breath as his hand slowed its tempo. Joel gave you a lazy smile, the lamplight catching the salt-and-pepper hairs of his scruff in a soft display of his rugged features.

“Can,” you started, “you be… inside me?”

Joel’s hands found your hips and gripped snugly. The look in his eyes was nothing short of affectionate. Even still, he shook his head.

“Not tonight darlin’,” he replies, “I want you to show me how you look using this-“ he points to the dildo on his opposite side, waiting. “Since you think a toy could be so much better than me-“

“That’s not it at all,” you protest, “I needed something, Joel.”

He holds up a hand to stop you mid-sentence, “You could’ve asked me, but ya didn’t, did ya?”

You gave him a scowl, “I didn’t think this would happen, Joel.”

Ever since you hit eighteen, he wanted you to practice calling him by his first name purely out of comfortability, and since you’d grown up, it seemed more fitting.

He doesn’t reply, but his smirk grows when he brings the dildo over to you, sitting between your thighs. It was embarrassing enough with how little of the toy you could handle this far, and to do it in front of Joel seemed doubly humiliating.

Joel gives your ass a small smack to lift you up. You rise, letting him set the toy between your thighs and beneath your throbbing entrance. He cleared his throat, daring your attention back to him.

“Go at your own pace, but get it all in, sweet girl.”

All thought had left you - your only reply being in an eager nod. You started off slowly, notching the toy in at your tight hole, and slowly bounced yourself along its length. Your legs shook with each movement as you filled yourself more and more, every gyration sent shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of your being.

It took a few moments to ease yourself fully, now bouncing on the dildo’s length until it became glossy with your slick. Joel eyed you affectionately. Your face twisted in ways he couldn’t imagine, and your cunt wrapped around the toy in ways he could only dream of.

Joel patted your thigh as you bottomed out at the hilt of the toy. He pawed at your hips, kneading at the tender flesh of your ass, and pulled you into a grinding motion, setting the dildo ever deeper into your cunt. It struck a new spot deep inside of you, pushing against your cervix. A low moan fell from you as you moved your hips absentmindedly, solely following Joel’s command.

The tightness in your stomach only grew as his praises flowed through your head.

“Such an obedient lil’ thing.”

“That’s a dirty girl, gettin’ all needy like that. Wishin’ it was me in your sweet pussy, don’t you?”

“You have no idea how badly I want to fill you right now, baby doll.”

You mewled softly as another orgasm crashed through you, your hips sputtering as you ground onto the toy. Joel’s hands caressed you through your high, though he didn’t stop tugging your hips. He beamed lazily when you cried his name once again, shuddering around the toy nestled inside of you.

“Attagirl,” whispered Joel, “so fuckin’ beautiful..”

You shook your head at him like before, but he showed no signs of backing down from his stance. Joel peppered your thighs with kisses and he lifted you off the toy, listening to your whines as you were left feeling empty. His cock twitched in his jeans, eager to play.

But not yet. He needed to see this first.

“How was that, sweet girl?”

A beat of silence said every unspoken thing you’d come up with. It was good, but not mind-boggling. Not the ‘fucked til you’re dumb’ pleasure you’d expected from tonight.

Joel patted your ass, “That’s the thing. Toys… they feel nice. But-“ He plants a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, grazing over the swollen skin.

“I’m better.”

The next few minutes consisted of cleaning after yourself and settling back into your clothes. Joel fixed your hair neatly before looking you over.

“Cant stay long tonight, darlin’, gotta get back home.”

You sighed dramatically at him, to which he scoffed away the gesture. On his way out, he gave you a far more longing look - a loving, thoughtful gaze that told you one thing.

You were his. Completely and wholly. It was clear he saw you differently now, as you did him.

Joel fucking Miller.

MDNI spacer is by cafekitsune!

hi everyone! thank you for so much incredible support on this fic!

Just FYI: Blood Flow, and Daddy’s Girl are now up as parts 2 and 3! have fun, lovelies

[sebscore]

Please write something with drivers praising female f1 driver during March because it’s womens history month. Anytime something bad happens to her on the grid she’s like someone hitting her car “how could they during womens history month 😞😧”

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY

pairings: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader / lewis hamilton x driver!reader / sebastian vettel x driver!reader / small lando cameo

warnings: none?

author’s note: I know it’s not the entire month, but I saw lewis’ post for Stephanie and I couldn’t shake the thought of him making a special post for our gen z driver 🥺 I hope you like it, my darling!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

“Have you seen Daniel’s new post on Insta?” Her performance coach asked her, scrolling through his own phone while they took a break.

Y/N shook her head, not having been on the social media app that day. “No, why?”

“He talks about you.” He grinned, handing his phone over to her with the post ready on the screen.

Daniel had updated his Instagram with a clip of an interview he had done, where he’s asked about which women in his life inspire him.

He starts off by speaking about his grandmothers and their move from Italy to Australia. Daniel also mentions his mother and the support she has given him.

“From an athletic point of view, there’s 2 people that come to mind. My, uh, former colleague and friend, Y/N Y/L,” he laughed, “her entire story on how she came into Formula 1 is very inspiring and she has brought a lot of positive change into the sport,”

“But she’s also a great person and she always has something incredible to say,” Daniel teased his younger friend, “so, yeah, Y/N is definitely an inspiration to me.”

The woman had a soft smile on her face throughout watching the entire video, touched by Daniel’s words.

She gave her coach’s phone back and grabbed her own from her bag, deciding to leave a comment under Daniel’s post.

YourUsername I didn’t even have to force you to say this 😭 thank you, Dan! 💙

A mere hours later, she had seen multiple notifications of people tagging her in a post Lewis had made. She opened the app again and saw an entire post dedicated to her made by the World Champion himself.

lewishamilton Beside Stephanie, I also want to highlight the journey of @/yourusername. I’ve been privileged to watch her make history as the first female driver to stand on a F1 podium, to grab pole position and to win a Grand Prix. Y/N, thank you for all the work you do and continue to do. You use your platform well and I can’t thank you enough for standing by me in the causes that I feel passionate about. I’m excited to continue to follow your journey. Happy #InternationalWomensDay to you, thank you Y/N.

Y/N felt emotional reading Lewis’s message. She had idolized the driver ever since she was a little girl and to have him appreciate and acknowledge her hard work means the world to her.

YourUsername thank you so much, Lewis! 🖤 not you making me cry on international women’s day 😭 this should be illegal

— lewishamilton ❤️

The official F1 Instagram account had also made a post dedicated to the female driver which had been reposted by several drivers on their Instagram stories like George, Carlos, Valtteri, Esteban and even Lando.

The McLaren driver had called her “my goat 🐐” in his caption, something that had made her chuckle.

The best message she had gotten for the special day, came from none other than Sebastian Vettel.

It was a shock to her when the German send her a text message as she hadn’t heard from him in a while, she figured he wanted the time for himself and his loved ones.

SEB VETTEL

Happy International Women’s Day, Y/N! Congratulations on P2 in Bahrain, a great start to the season. I hope you’re doing well and that you had a good winter break!

Today I was reminded of the amazing journey you’ve had since your karting days. I am honored that I have been able to watch you grow as a woman from so close. I’m very proud of you and I’ll keep supporting you, even if I’m not there as much anymore.

I hope you have a great day and I wish you the very best!

Big kiss! X

She send him a message back, thanking him for his beautiful words and asking him how he’s been doing. They send a few texts back and forth, updating each other on their lives.

Y/N also decided to pay a tribute on social media, posting several pictures of herself with the caption:

YourUsername happy international women’s day to myself, cause I’m the best woman I know ❤️‍🔥

[theveryworstthing]

life has been lifein’ haven’t been posting for a while but hopefully i’ll have stuff to post soon. 

without getting into the full rollercoaster of misery, health problems abound in my loved ones and every year for the last 3 years we’ve lost at least one family member. my gramma Rosezina died on July 1st after 83 years of being A Problem. her funeral was on the 8th during a day so hot that we couldn’t be at the graveside for more than a few minutes, fitting weather for a woman nicknamed Hot for her good looks and spicy temper. i loved her very much, i love her very much, and the emotional strain of everything that came after the Big Stroke fucked me up a little bit.

here’s one of my favorite stories about her, stop me if you’ve heard this one:

my gramma was schizophrenic, a fact i didn’t figure out until i was told by a family member at some time during my preteen or early teen years because the way schizophrenia was depicted on tv or movies was so different from what she was. she was an amazing quilter, gardener, cook, baker (i’ll never have a caramel cake that rivals hers), and general gold star deep country grandmother who was always sweet to me, her first born granddaughter, even when she stopped remembering who i was exactly in her later years. 

also, she never liked being told what to do.

also, also, she hung out with the devil for a while.

she said he’d just show up sometimes, the most beautiful, angelic, enchanting man you ever did see. he’d come to her when she was feeling overwhelmed, upset, or lonely, and offered words of comfort and a gentle listening ear. she had a hard life, and that comfort was very valuable to her even if it was coming from the devil, so over time he became her friend and she trusted him right up until the day he told her to kill her kids and free herself from all the problems constantly weighing her down. 

need i remind you, she did. not. like. being told what to do. (especially when the thing she’s being told to do is murdering her own children)

so of course, she told all her kids to walk up the road to my great gramma’s house, and when they were gone Hot dragged the couch the devil was sitting on outside into the front yard and set it on fire with him sitting on it. 

from what i was told he seemed very irritated but didn’t get up as she stared him down and watched him burn. 

afterwards some other family members put the fire out and she returned to her chores like nothing happened. as far as i know the devil never talked to her again.

and that’s why i grew up knowing that the, ‘the devil made me do it’ defense is some bullshit. if the devil is real he can’t make you do shit. he flounces off if told no (and set on fire) once. 

weak bitch. 

[marzipanandminutiae]

articles about the “wild new trend” of piercing from the late ‘50s and early ‘60s are fascinating to read. a selection of excerpts:

- one doctor cautioned that girls with pierced ears would be “required to constantly wear earrings to hide the holes in their heads” (or you could just not be weird about a tiny dot on someone else’s earlobe?)

- Genevieve Dariaux, then director of the Nina Ricci couture house, said in 1965 that “Pierced ears are unthinkable for an elegant woman, and even more dreadful for a young girl.” bear in mind that, as I’ve said, earrings that made your ears LOOK pierced were still common. what the difference was, nobody has yet made plain

- lots of evidence that going to a doctor was the preferred “safe” method for piercing at the time. but many doctors refused to do it, or said they would but that they strongly discouraged patients from having the procedure done. this checks out with my mother’s experience in 1965- her schoolmate’s anesthesiologist father did free piercing for all his daughter’s friends

- some teenagers around 1965 called clip and screwback earrings “chicken earrings” (implying that the wearers were too scared of pain to get their ears pierced, I think)

- one advice column, also from 1965, implied that pierced ears were just a passing fad. the previous several centuries of western history would like a word, Mx. Columnist...

- A GIRL WITH RESTRICTIVE PARENTS BRINGING UP THE ARGUMENT THAT HER GRANDMOTHER HAD PIERCED EARS. YES. FINALLY SOMEONE REALIZED THE LOGICAL FALLACIES HERE. the argument against that is, indeed, a sort of “that was the Bad Old Days and we know better now” deal as some other commenters have hypothesized

- one article mentions that the trend could be part of the Victorian revival that was just becoming popular in the mid-60s, which is a fascinating thought I’ve never considered before

- many doctors complaining that they were suddenly being called upon to pierce ears despite not really knowing how. this is interesting, because before the Great Ear-Piercing Taboo, jewelers offering piercing services were more like modern piercers than Claire’s employees (and doctors weren’t involved at all unless an infection set in). descriptions I’ve read of Victorian piercer-jewelers mention a lot of things we’re familiar with today- needles designed with a hollow for inserting the starter jewelry, for example, and even “freezing” solutions to numb the earlobe. so in those early resurgence days, going to a long-established jewelry store for your piercing might actually have been a better option than a doctor’s office

- two young women in a 1964 Canadian article (from Calgary) mention that they think screwback earrings look cheap and gaudy, and the pierced version is more conservative and tasteful, in an interesting reversal of mainstream thought

- a newspaper columnist saying pierced ears give him “the wim-wams,” so they are to be avoided. whatever the hell that means

- a LOT of people seem to think that ear piercing was popular in the Victorian era because wealthy women didn’t want to lose their expensive jewelry. sorry folks- my collection of Victorian costume earrings (all pierced) says otherwise

- much confusion as to why modern girls want to do something so old-fashioned

- one woman marvels at how comfortable it is to wear earrings in pierced ears, as opposed to clips and screwbacks. I feel infinitely blessed, as an earring-lover, to have been born when I could escape the scourge of ear-vises altogether

- apparently an eccentric elderly man on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, literally bribed all the women of the community to pierce their ears because he liked the way it looked. one of them mentioned that she held out for $25- $244 CAD or $188 USD in today’s money. all because some rich Victwardian codger had a very specific fetish

- this absolutely incredible response of an Indian diplomat’s wife when asked, in New York, why she wore a diamond nose stud: “Because I feel [diamonds] become me more than rubies or emeralds.” QUEEN

- “when the fad changes, as it indubitably will-” are you certain of that, ma’am

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now. 

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die. 

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was. 

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?” 

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about. 

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions. 

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat. 

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it. 

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth. 

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod. 

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed. 

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye. 

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look. 

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them. 

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee. 

Just in case she slipped from her seat. 

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things. 

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly. 

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock. 

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look. 

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.” 

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?” 

“You want to give it to me anyway?” 

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand. 

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself. 

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.”  Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.” 

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging. 

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face. 

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought. 

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work. 

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed. 

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece. 

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing. 

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back. 

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.” 

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again. 

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more. 

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building. 

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance. 

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater. 

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe. 

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him. 

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”