#but ultimately that only works in French

[icharchivist]

Listen, I just made a big brain joke and I feel like I need to inflict it on you

Spot has a lot of holes

Because you are what you eat

It works on multiple levels because of the bagels but yes. I'm weirdly proud of that. It's dumb and I'm sleep deprived

Wow thanks i hate it! so much!

yeah it's definitely just about bagels. just the bagels. only the bagels. I refuse to think anything else just bagels.

It was really cursed, but thank you for sharing <3333

hope you get to rest up 🥺 take care!

[capricores]

if you have strong mutable (gemini, sagittarius, pisces, virgo) placements then you NEED to write things down if you don't already. all those thoughts that constantly swirl in your head: the frequent tasks, goals, feelings, aspirations, opinions, etc - WRITE THEM DOWN. this is not only therapeutic & stress-relieving for you but almost necessary, or you're going to burn out and overload your own mind constantly.

when you bottle, or when you let plans, goals, dreams, to-do lists, projects, etc live solely in your head - you'll notice you can't sleep as well, it's harder to rest, your memory gets more foggy than usual, you feel burnt out and unable to connect, etc. specifically:

write down your feelings. this will be your ultimate (free) therapy. start to journal, write a diary. make a private twitter/tumblr where you spill your feelings, frustrations, thoughts. you will feel an immense sense of relief by writing or typing your feelings out - even if no one is reading it but you. mutable moons especially. our feelings tend to change rapidly, but it doesn't make them less valid. don't bottle out of the fear your feelings will change/you'll just "get over it"!! write it down and let it out!!

write! to-do! lists!!!!! these don't have to be for important things. you want to learn digital art? you want to study coding? you want to learn french? you want to re-decorate? you probably have a billion things you want to do, and then you get overwhelmed by the options, and do nothing. write down all the things you want to do. make a to-do list for these things. get them out of your head and somewhere permanent/physical. looking at the options in front of you will feel much easier.

make excel project trackers (you can even make these for to-do list items/goals/etc)! mutable placements have a tendency to start a lot of projects or tasks, and never finish any of them. make a simple tracker for all the projects you start. you won't forget what you're working on, and you'll be less overwhelmed trying to remember what you have going on (example of the one i always use pictured below)

talking out your thoughts and feelings is also very cathartic. make fake (or real, i support u!) youtube vlogs where you spill your feelings and talk about your plans, your day, what you have to do, etc. talk to someone you love and trust, vent to them about how things are; or about what you're getting up to. i find writing has an edge, because you can go back to it for reference (mutables tend to forget things easily) - but as long as you're getting the swirl of your mind somewhere outside of your head, you'll feel so, so much less stressed.

mutable dominants tend to constantly live in go-mode, we're restless and always doing something. we feel uncomfortable and sometimes guilty about staying still. our minds don't ever shut off. it's very important for mutable placements to learn how to rest, be present in the moment, and learn grounding. this can be done in many ways, but i've found personally that writing works best for me. other helpful practices can be: talk therapy, acceptance theory, yoga, meditation, hiking, camping, etc.

i also want to remind mutable signs: we change a lot. we have a lot of ideas. there's so much we want to do. we often feel like we have no path, no big goal; we can struggle with purpose as we don't often aspire for permanent things or "one big goal". this is NOT bad. there is nothing wrong with changing your feelings, your mind, your goals, your life path. you CAN do all the things you want to do! you have your entire life ahead of you! yes, you can learn all those languages. yes, you can have three different careers in your life. yes yes yes! don't listen to negativity from others. don't beat yourself up for not having one big goal like some people around you might. cherish and embrace all the things you want to achieve and complete (both big and small). learn to follow-through with and finish the things that matter to you (writing things down will really help with this, make action plans/steps - break everything down into smaller pieces). take the time to slow down and enjoy the moments as they come. you got this!

[fxirysforesight]

Future Career Pick A Card

Directions: Take 3 Mindful Breaths and Pick The Work Set-Up That Attracts You The Most!

Disclaimer: This is a general reading. It may not resonate for everyone and that's okay! If you are having trouble choosing a pile, take a minute to relax and then try again.

Pile One:

What Career Path Is Pile One Looking To Go Into?

Judgment, 9 of Cups, 4 of Swords

I feel like this is my Legal Studies, Politics, and Healthcare Pile. A lot of you are looking to go into Law or careers where you feel as though you are doing the right thing. You may want to go into careers where you are representing people or being a voice of reason for someone. You all seem to be problem solvers or at least interested in conflict-resolution based careers. Those of you who chose this pile are probably all or nothing people. I don't think a lot of you have any Plan B's or C's. You probably decided very early on what you want to be or do and that's what your heart is set on. You are looking for a career that has everything that you want. A career that fits your wants and needs and is a source of fulfillment for you is ideal Pile One.

These Are Some Careers I See You All Looking To Go Into/Be: Lawyers, Judges, Administration, Healthcare (Doctor or Nurse, a Veterinarian as well), Legal Work, Therapist (Mental Health, Massage, Etc.), Yoga or Meditation Instructor? For some of you, I see jobs where you are the Middle Man like for example a Hiring Recruiter.

What Career Path Is Best For Pile One?

8 of Cups Rx, The High Priestess, Strength

Pile One, you need to go into a career path that you know you won't walk away from. A career path that is sustainable for YOU. Regardless of the pay or whatever other constraints there may be, you need to find a job that satisfies your soul and not just your financial or social needs. I said before how I think that you all may enjoy conflict-resolution careers. It would be best for you all to find a career from which you can learn from or solve problems within. You would likely excel in careers that involve caring for someone or something in some way, shape, or form.

These Are Some Careers I Think You Would Excel In: Healthcare (Doctor, Nurse, Vet, Psychiatrist, Psychologist) Detective Work, Professor or Teacher, Guru, Counselor, Medium, Psychic, Astrologer, Tarot Reader.

Significators: French, Frenchie, or French Tips, Aries, Spring Months (March, April, May), 20+, Dyed Hair, "Not Yet", 444, Libra, 7th House Placements (Specifically Mercury and Sun), Strong Pisces, 12th House Sun or Moon, Moon and Neptune Dominant, Leo or 5th House Placements.

Pile Two: (This Pile was very similar to Pile One. If you felt drawn to that Pile go and give it a read and see if it resonates!)

What Career Path Is Pile Two Looking To Go Into?

5 of Swords Rx, The Star, The Wheel Of Fortune

The first thing I saw and heard was "Giving Back". This is my Humanitarian pile. A lot of you are likely studying or wanting to study Humanitarian Studies. You likely find yourself leaning towards careers or social endeavors that benefit not only yourself but the rest of the world as well. Your ultimate goal in a career is overcoming challenges, compromising or ending a conflict of some sort. You all want to change the world and give the up and coming generations inspiration and hope for a better world to live in. You want renewal. A fresh start.

These Are Some Careers I See You All Looking To Go Into/Be: Public Service, Tech and IT Jobs, Motivational Speakers or Anything To Do With Public Speaking, Freelancers or Non Contract Workers, Nonprofit Organization Workers, Health and Safety Professionals, Human Rights Activists, Scientists, Researchers, Entrepreneurs, Advocates, Social Workers.

What Career Path Is Best For Pile Two?

The Emperor, 4 of Swords Rx, Ace of Wands

Pile Two, you need to go into a career path where you have the opportunity to lead. A career path that offers you stability and structure. A career path that is practical and logical according to your own needs. All jobs will make you feel stress, but I would advise you to enter a career that provides you with the sanctuary you need to rest and recuperate. I feel like those of you who chose this pile get tired or burnt out pretty quick? Extroverts with low social betteries? It would do you well to enter into careers that you see yourself building a future off of. Additionally, for some of you I think jobs that are more hands on and interactive would be better for you. Careers that provide you with passion, action, and excitement!

These Are Some Careers and Career Titles I Think You Would Excel At: Self Employment, CEO's or Bosses, Government Based Careers, Entrepreneurs, Engineers, Military, Managers, Administration, Manual Labor, Tech and IT Jobs, Freelancing, Careers That Allow You To Travel, Sports or Athletics. This Pile has a VERY strong Masculine Energy. A lot of you may find yourselves in Male Dominated Career Paths, and you may have a lot of Masculine Energy in your Natal Charts as well.

Significators: Aries, Leo, Aquarius, Libra, Spanish, 10th House Mercury, 10th House Uranus, Chart Ruler in 11th House, Air and Fire Dominants, Mars in 1st or 10th, Libra Mercury, Sun-Mars and Sun-Saturn Aspects, 555, Aquarius Midheaven and DSC, Uranus Dominant.

Pile Three:

What Career Path Is Pile Three Looking To Go Into?

Queen of Wands, Queen of Cups, Page of Cups Rx

Creative Workers. A lot of you who chose this pile may have struggles or are currently struggling with finding the career path that suits you. You WANT to do a certain career, but you may think that you NEED to do another career because the career you dream of is unrealistic or out of reach or maybe just doesn't fall into your life plans or budget. You are likely searching for a career that you have an emotional connection to. Although money is important to you, you're not really concerned too much about monetary matters, because you know that you can't be happy in a career that doesn't speak to you. You want a career that you get excited about being able to do, a career that allows you to feel as though you are in control of your own life. A lot of you want to work with kids and young people, I can tell.

These Are Some Careers I See You All Looking To Go Into/Be: Elementary School Teachers, Leaders of Some Kind, Child Counselors, Midwives, Nannies, Children's Book Authors, Music Teachers, Singers, Poets, Interior Design, Home Business (Maybe a Daycare), Family Therapist, Realtor or Real Estate. In contrast to Pile Two, there is a lot of Feminine Energy in this pile. You all may find yourselves in Female Dominated career paths and you may have an abundance of Feminine Energy in your chart.

What Career Path Is Best For Pile Three?

King of Swords, The Chariot, Justice

Pile Three, I would advise you all to go into career paths where you have structure and routine. A lot of you who chose this pile have very strong morals and values with all of this watery energy here. You are kind and empathetic but you are also logical and firm. You would do well in a position of authority, where you are allowed to demonstrate and enforce self-discipline and hardwork. You will likely be known for your candor and integrity in your careers pile three. You value honesty and fairness, and it will show regardless of what path you choose. You would thrive in careers that allow you to teach others about the wonders of the World, whatever that may mean to you.

These Are Some Careers and Career Titles I Think You Would Excel At: Counselors, Networking, Mediators, Influencers, Authors, Motivational Speakers, Auditors, Elementary School Teachers, Family Therapists, Behavior Technicians, Children's' Book Authors, Interior Design, Home Businesses, Real Estate.

Significators: "Soon", Cancer, Sagittarius, Gemini, 20+, Fire, Musician, 10th House Sun or Moon, 1st House Moon, Mercury in 9th House, 4th House Stellium, Water Dominant, Pisces Moon, Cancer Midheaven, Libra, Saturnians.

[morallyinept]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 17

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 6.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie and Jude arrive home to their respective families, and begin to face the realities of their separation.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 16

You’ll be surprised to know that the odds of surviving a plane crash are pretty much in your favour; despite the fact I killed everyone off in this story except for our Delta hero and his heroine.

Around ninety-five point seven per cent in your favour to be precise. However, the doomed flight eight-sixteen defied those perky odds when the engine caught fire and the plane plummeted out of the sky and crash landed into the ocean, nose first. 

The survival rate was hampered by several factors: the storm, the pilots being unable to regain control of the aircraft, and the fact that the plane hit the water at such a speed that it broke apart upon impact. 

There were no other survivors; the plane’s black box was never found. A search party ensued of course as soon as the plane didn’t arrive at its intended destination, but the searches were only conducted in and around the immediate area where the plane was last spotted on radar. The point of its disappearance was just past the tip of South Africa, having been tumbling off course as it was crash landing, towards the Kerguelen Islands; a group of islands in French Southern and Antarctic lands.

The original destination for flight eight-sixteen was Madagascar - Jude’s choice for a sunny getaway and Frankie’s work taking him there for a fresh start. To relax and unwind and do some lemur spotting whilst getting over their respective break-ups and life kicking them in the mutual grits. 

A distance of two thousand, four hundred and forty-eight miles separates Madagascar and the Kerguelen Islands. And a distance of one thousand, three hundred and thirty-four miles from Cape Town on the tip of South Africa to the Prince Edward Islands. 

The islands are for the most part uninhabited, except for a native colony of penguins. However to the north east of the islands, there are further tinier islands that are also uninhabited and isolated, and this is where our two survivors ultimately washed up. 

The climate around the islands is predominantly warm with generous helpings of rain and it’s for this reason that Frankie and Jude were able to survive and collect water on a regular basis, although sometimes dangerously sparing. Sheer dumb luck in brute honesty, I mean, they could have crash landed anywhere, right?

Of course this knowledge now seems useless and pointless to them because every day on that island was a constant battle for survival and no amount of facts or ‘you were lucky you landed where you did’ spiel is going to change that harrowing thought. 

The flight back home to The States was as anxious as they come. Stepping foot onto that plane was one of the bravest things they both had encountered and achieved. And the pair didn’t let go of each other’s hands at all, occasionally squeezing tight when the plane would dip or jolt from turbulence; their hearts trying to make a dash for it and their bowels equally bracing for carnage in their seats. 

The flight from Cape Town to New York’s JFK was approximately twenty-one hours with a stop-over in Amsterdam for a re-fuel. They sat in business class, with that extra leg room for Frankie of course, and Jude marvelled at the space, courtesy of the US Embassy.

The luxury and the service came with a bright bleached smile, whilst Frankie admired and watched Jude as though she were a caged animal being let loose for the first time. 

They had no physical luggage aside from a tiny carry-on with a spare pair of clothes each, their phone chargers and a small amount of cash that Benny had wired Frankie through the help of a local bank; other than that, they just had their new passports, out of date iPhones and each other. 

Jake had arranged for a security escort to meet them at the airport and to drive them to their Air Bn’b in the city, close enough to Jude’s parent’s house. 

They eventually dozed off together, Jude’s head resting on Frankie’s bony shoulder and his head on top of hers, clutching tightly onto one another’s hand still, even in their drowsy state. 

The plane touched down at JFK and it was raining out; a grey sky greeted them, seemingly following them home from the island, and despite it, it was good to be finally on firm ground that wasn’t sand.

They waited to exit the plane under instruction from their escort, after the flurry of the other passengers who paid no mind to them at all, and in no real rush to face the inevitable - Jude’s stomach was already in knots. 

They went through border control, handing over their passports for inspection and scrutiny with Frankie taking his cap off to reveal his long, overgrown locks to the officer.

They both were in dire need of a haircut amongst other things, but Frankie was kinda rocking this shaggy grown out look and even attempted a man bun. 

“You look like a pretentious dick, take it out,” Jude had said to him, laughing, when he modelled it for her back in the hotel room in Cape Town.

“It was the look I was going for.” He’d mused to her.

Just outside the arrivals hall on the other side of passport control, an officer is holding up a plaque with Frankie’s last name printed over it, and they both approach them cautiously. 

“Captain Morales, I presume?” The officer enquires. He’s flanked by several other border patrol and burly military officers, and their escort from the consulate in Cape Town hands over their documents.

“Just Frankie,” Frankie greets as the man offers his hand to shake it.

“We’re here to escort you both through arrivals and get you home. It’s a little crazy out there. Everyone is glad you’re both home safely.”

Jude can hear the ruckus already - an animated fracas of chatter and excitement. The sounds of camera shutters are already going off and flashes of lights pulse down the entrance hall. 

“You ready?” Frankie asks her, tightening his grip on her hand.

She smiles. “No.”

Frankie takes his cap off and places it on her head, pulling the visor down over her face.

The officers flank them in an arrowhead formation, closing the gaps on the sides whilst two officers head up the front. 

“Just keep your head down, hermosa,” Frankie says, and squeezes her hand. “It’ll soon be over.”

They begin to walk in unison and it’s like they’re walking in beat to the rhythm of her heart, slowly getting faster and faster as they break through the automatic doors into arrivals and into a deluge of carnage. 

The crowds start clapping and cheering. The terminal is a whirlwind of noise and motion, a stark contrast to the quiet isolation of the island.

“FRANCISCO! JUDE! OVER HERE! FRANCISCO!” 

The crowds are cordoned off with barriers and police officers lining the route. A plethora of journalists and paparazzi flank them, following through the crowds, and a glitter of flashing lights blind them both as they push on forward with the military officers surrounding them. 

“Francisco, how do you feel about being rescued?”

“What's the first thing you’re going to do now you’re back?”

The questions come rapid fire and are yelled through the gaps of the officers, each one more intrusive than the last. 

“How did you become a couple?”

“Do you have anything to say about the Airline? Are you going to sue?”

Frankie tightens his grip on Jude’s hand, drawing strength from their connection. He can feel her trembling, and he knows she’s just as overwhelmed as he is. 

The cacophony is deafening and Jude feels Frankie squeeze back onto her hand tightly before he pulls her inwards, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and she buries her face into his armpit and squeezes her eyes closed, wishing it was over.

“Keep moving,” one of the soldiers instructs, his voice firm but reassuring. “We’ve got you covered.”

They push through the throng, the military personnel forming a protective barrier around them. The crowd is relentless, cameras flashing in their faces, microphones thrust forward in the hope of catching a soundbite.

Frankie tries to keep his focus ahead, his hand pressed up against the shoulder of one of the army guys so as not to get separated, but the sheer volume of attention is staggering. 

“How does it feel to be back on American soil?”

“What was the hardest part of your ordeal?”

“Can you tell us what you remember about the crash?”

The noise seems to die out a little as they exit the terminal and are practically manhandled into a large car with tinted windows, which speeds off as soon as the doors are slammed shut. Jude clocks a few wayward journalists taking photos of the car and running after it. 

The car heads out of the airport, picking up speed as it hits the freeway and she finally breathes.

“You guys okay back there?” The soldier who greeted them turns in the front passenger seat to face them. 

They both nod with eyes wide and frightened. 

“You okay?” Frankie asks her, still moulded tightly under his arm.

“Yeah. Just a little overwhelmed. That was insane!” Jude whispers back to him. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ crazy…” Frankie murmurs.

They’re dropped off with their documents and the soldier informs them he’ll be back tomorrow to escort Frankie to the airport and drop Jude at her parents.

Once inside the safe confines of the Air Bn’b, which is a little apartment, with a double bed and bath tub big enough for them both, they both sit back in the hot bubbly water as Frankie cradles Jude against his chest after washing her hair and listening to her humming and singing her favourite songs. He automatically braids it and she smiles at him over her shoulder.

“Habit,” he replies as she runs her hand down the tight weaves of the braid. He leans forward and kisses her shoulder.

After making a small meal, which they barely manage to eat, they lay in bed together, their limbs knotted and entwined as they kiss and touch and stain their skin with one another. 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Jude says to him as the room darkens around them.

“I won’t stay away long.” Frankie confirms.

“Take as much time as you need. Your family will want to spend time with you.”

“It’s gonna be weird not waking up with you in my arms.” Frankie admits after a while of lying there with her and feeling her warm body against his. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.

“I know. We’ve not spent a day apart for over a whole year.” 

He nods against her head, his chin butting it slightly. “Mm,” he agrees.

“Will you call me when you land?”

“Of course. I’ll call you every day, at least five hundred times.” He smirks into her hair.

“Maybe not five hundred… four hundred and ninety-nine will do just fine.” Jude giggles.

They both laugh and he pulls her closer, breathing out through a stretch and a yawn.

“Are you sleepy?” She asks him.

“A little.” He replies through a small sigh. “Been a long day.”

She kisses his forehead delicately, resting against his head as he shuts his eyes. 

Frankie opens them momentarily and strokes her face. “Do you have bad dreams?”

“About the island?” Jude asks him.

“Yeah.” He admits timidly.

She nods. “I used to have this nightmare while we were there, that a helicopter came and rescued you, but it left me behind. I could see you flying off in the distance and waving at me. I was running so fast but then you disappeared.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Frankie reaffirms to her. 

“I know. It was just a bad dream, right?”

“Right.” He says. His breath smells sweet in her face, scented from the mint of his toothpaste. “I’m coming right back to you, okay?” He promises.

“I know.” Jude says. “Get some sleep, you’ve got another flight again tomorrow.”

He kisses her gently. “Duerme bien, sin pesadillas, hermosa.” (Sleep well, no nightmares, beautiful)

His fingers dance upon her bare skin in the early morning fuzz of the light, and every single touch, even the lightest of touches, makes Jude’s body convulse and react in a way that she never thought possible.

Her body is communicating with him, becoming fluent in his language whilst receiving every part of Frankie that he offers so freely.

His big hands engulf her body, sweeping across the surface of her warm skin and soothing her. Frankie kisses her lips and down her chin, sucking on it before he sweeps under her jaw towards her collarbone. 

Licking her nipple and awakening it from a swollen, puffy areola in the warmth of a new day being born across the Big Apple, that flows in from the open window, she hums out deliciously as she stretches around him. He pulls it further into his mouth as her back arches, enjoying the feel of his wet tongue running over it and leaving cool, wet tracks. 

“Mmm...” She whines softly into the air with her eyes closed.

Frankie nips it gently making her squeal. He smiles around the hardening bud as he smooches on it gently, carrying on his journey down her body.

His unruly curls tickle against her skin, long and feeling coarse and wiry from being dried out by saltwater and constant sun exposure. Jude runs her hand through it, sweeping it out of the way so she can see those lips and the disruption they cause. 

He kisses down her stomach, hooking his fingers into the elastic of her panties and pulls them down over her hips. Frankie has her spread with his whopping hands separating her thighs and pushing them up as makes out with her pussy. Kissing and dipping his adept tongue into her wet folds to taste her as he goes. The clicks of his kisses sounding out are all around her as the flicks and darts of his tongue delve deeper each time he licks her out. 

Jude reaches down, raking her fingers through his locks as he looks up at her - those piercing, dark eyes swirling with infecting poison; his lips mashing against her cunt and his tongue flicking over her clit as he sucks around it. 

His fingers massage the inner meat of her thighs, gripping and rubbing as he feasts on her, making her body squirm as the tingly pressure on her clit mounts. 

“Frankie...” She gasps out as his delicious gnawing begins to intensify and make her toes curl.

She scratches harder at the back of his skull, him grunting into her at the feel of it - those fingers twisting around his hair and tugging as they become knotted in his scalp, sending prickles flooding down his back. 

His cock is rock hard, being crushed between his body and the mattress as Jude writhes against his face. He sucks her fleshy lips, popping and squelching out of his greedy mouth before he’ll lick them up again and suckle some more, unable to get enough of her. 

“Oh fuck!” She sighs out, her eyes closed and tumbling.

She gyrates her hips around, rocking against his tongue to get the best of him, feeling that pulsing and glitter begin to blind her vision.

“Mmm, don’t stop.” She writhes more intensely now, hearing his gasps around her folds as her legs twitch and her thighs shake uncontrollably. Tasting those wet, fleshy ribbons as he licks up and down, up and down on a repeating cycle that makes her soar. 

Her gasps are getting louder, her back arching higher in a dangerous contorted curve as she pants and groans, fisting inside of his hair ferociously that she could almost tear it out.

Her body shakes, rippling as she cries out, reaching down with scrambled, frantic hands and gripping onto his arms as the veins in her neck strain, her eyes roll into the back of her head and her pussy contracts and explodes all over his mouth. 

“FRANKIE!”

Frankie sucks harder on her clit, pinching it between his teeth deliberately as she bucks and pulses; her head thrown back into the pillows, the room feeling like it’s spinning faster around her. 

She’s out of breath as he licks up and down, planting kisses and his lips knock against her clit, buzzing and making her thighs jolt from the shock of the sensitivity that now crowns it. 

He smooches against it delicately, looking up at her and holding her eyes. He kisses the inside of her thigh, nuzzling into it.

Jude beckons him to her and like a slave to his heart and cock alike, he willingly follows. He slowly begins to crawl up her body towards her face. His cock sweeps against the inside of her apex and he’s solid and heavy against it. Precum smears across her skin and feels cooling in the morning breeze. 

He leans over her on his arms as he pushes his hips into hers, slipping comfortably inside of her wet, slick hole again as she gasps out for him, her head lifting off the pillow to meet his plush inviting lips. 

The island has stripped everything superficial, leaving only raw unfiltered connection, this bond that can’t be broken. Every glance, every touch speaks volumes of shared pain, survival and resilience. It isn't just about love, it's about understanding. They had seen each other at their lowest, held each other through heart-wrenching despair and found strength in their unity.

Words are often unnecessary now; a simple look can convey the deepest of emotions. Her hand slips into his, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that feels ancient, as if they've known each other for lifetimes.

His hand swoops around the back of her head and holds her, keeping her close to him as Frankie slides in and out of her, working up a tantalising rhythm that makes his lips part, his breath coating her face. Deep, indomitable strokes make Jude feel every inch of him -  make her remember him. 

Frankie curls his fingers around her throat gently, stroking the skin there with his thumb and feeling her groans vibrate against his palm as he kisses down the side of her face, a slew of kisses planted under her jawline. 

He flashes back to the countless nights when the fear and hope had danced on the edge of their consciousness, where dreams of rescue seemed distant and elusive. It was during those moments their connection had solidified, becoming an unbreakable anchor in a sea of uncertainty. She was always there, holding him up; her eyes reflecting the hues of the setting sun and sparkling off the ocean waves at him. 

He feels it, feels the emotion surge over him and he buries his face into her neck, squeezing away the tears as he scrunches his eyes shut. Frankie can feel her legs tightening around his waist, hanging onto him and taking him so deep into her.

“We made it, I love you. We made it… I love you.” She chants through her gasps and cries. 

His head lolls a little, like he can’t handle it any more. His body feeling weak and out of breath and losing his stamina fast. Gasping so hard his throat runs dry and no noise will flow out of it anymore; just those inhaled croaked whispers of oxygen steaming past his teeth. 

Jude whimpers as he presses his forehead against hers, his hips still bucking into her deeply; the slick feel of his cock sliding in and out of her with ease, her walls contracting and tightening around him. Gasping out loudly in unified melodies as they swallow each kiss, panting as their bodies slide across one another’s. 

“Come for me,” she hears him grunt through his gasps as the slapping of his cock inside her soaked pussy relentlessly hammers. 

Squeezing into his skin with her fingers as her body trembles and shakes, she releases, feeling wondrously dizzy.

Frankie slows, winding his hips into her so she can feel him deeply. They stare into one another’s eyes, holding that gaze as they pant and soar together. He cradles her closer to him as he kisses her, feeling how good she feels around him. She squeezes and her body aches, aches for him to never stop. 

Her hands are in his hair again, scratching around his scalp and making his head tingle and pulse. 

“I love you,” Jude whispers to him and he groans out in response, his body starts to fly. 

“I love you, hermosa,” Frankie replies as he mashes his lips to hers and grunts out in a deep, husked whine as he comes deeply inside her, his cock twitching and seeing stars behind his eyelids as she cradles him in her arms. 

“We made it.” He pants.

“We made it.” She sighs. 

As soon as she knocks on the door, Jude’s engulfed by her parents who won’t let her go out of their strangling grip.

Her mother clutches hold of her as if she might disappear again and her father’s tears betray his own usually composed exterior. The three of them cry all over each other, for what seems like hours on the porch, as Frankie hovers awkwardly until he’s dragged into the throes of it. 

He’s plied with copious amounts of coffee, feeling sick to his stomach, whilst they listen horrified and aghast at their tales of sheer grit on the island. 

They don’t divulge too much, but it’s enough to render her mother to tears again and her father to shake Frankie’s hand for saving his daughter.

“Actually, she saved me. She’s got bigger balls than I do.” Frankie chuckles, and her father pats him on the back approvingly. 

“I like him,” her father says to Jude approvingly.

But hovering over the reunion is the agonising moment when Frankie and Jude will have to part and it's in the looks they give one another as her parents talk and engage with them. It’s in the sinking feeling in Frankie’s gut and the acrid taste at the back of Jude’s throat. 

Watching him pull away in the car, waving to her through the window with that giant palm, is like her heart has been ripped out of her chest.

His departure, even if only temporary, leaves a hollow ache. An unsettling thought creeping in about how she can navigate being here without him. She knows she can't.

They had been inseparable for so long, facing every challenge together and now they had to do this one alone. She tries to offer him a smile with her wave, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and she can barely hold on. She wraps her arms around herself trying to stave off the chill despite it being a warm day. Without him, the world is bleak and cold and scary. 

Her mother comforts her as best as she can when Jude bursts into tears as the car disappears around the bend in the road at the bottom of the street, but all she does is retreat to her old room that has been left untouched and climbs into bed, crying until she falls into a stunted sleep. 

The thought of him being mere inches away from her, let alone nearly a seventeen hour drive away in Florida, is shattering. The absence of Frankie is already felt the moment he’d let go of her hand and she would have given anything at that point to be back with him and in his arms.

Frankie’s flight back to Florida was delayed by a few hours, in a typical prolonged agony. You’d think as the writer of this tale I’d give the poor guy a break, right? 

When it touches down eventually at Pensacola International Airport, there is no wild fracas to greet him like at JFK. It’s hauntingly quiet, no journalists, and leaves Frankie on edge a little as he stalks through arrivals on alert. Benny meets him in the terminal. 

The sight of his old friend and comrade brings a flood of emotions. Benny’s face breaks into a wide, stupid grin, his arms opening out. 

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it, you son of a bitch!” Benny hollers, his voice choked with happiness and relief, as he hugs the fuck out of Frankie, and for a while doesn’t let go.

Frankie smiles ghostly back at him with pink, chapped lips and tired, droopy eyes.

“C’mon, let’s get you home, Fish.”

On the ride back to Benny's place, Frankie’s quiet, contemplative and staring out the window at the familiar surroundings of Pensacola. The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the city, highlighting the palms swaying gently in the breeze.

They pass by the old coffee shop where he and Eddie used to go after the NA meetings and talk about his feelings and cravings. It still has the same faded awning and the neon “open” sign flickering in the window. Frankie can almost taste the bitter, cheap coffee and hear Eddie’s encouraging words again, but the memories feel like they belong to someone else. 

“You okay, man?” Benny asks him as he winds his hand round the steering wheel, eyeing Frankie carefully. The car turns into a familiar residential street and he realises Benny still has the same apartment. 

“Just weird, you know?” Frankie says, squinting in the sunlight through the window.

“Yeah. You came back from the fuckin’ dead. If that isn’t weird I don’t know what the fuck is, right?” Benny says with a smile draped in disbelief.

In some ways it’s like he had died on that island. Frankie knows a piece of him is still there, still trapped and unable to escape; his feet lodged in the sand that refuses to let go, and without Jude here beside him, he’s daunted at the prospect of truly living again.

A weird feeling considering, before the island, he'd felt dead in some ways too.

Benny explained that he had immediately called all Frankie’s family to inform them all that Frankie was very much alive and well, and was coming home. They had all cried, celebrated and struggled to wrap their heads around it of course, with so many unanswered questions at how he managed to defy all the odds.

“What happened to my apartment in the end?” Frankie queries.

They pull up at a stoplight, and Frankie’s gaze settles on a group of teenagers hanging out in front of the convenience store. They look so young and full of life and potential, even if they aren’t doing anything with it. He remembers being that age, full of dreams and plans to join the military and make something of himself. Now, after everything, those dreams feel so naive and distant. 

Benny scratches over his head. “It was sold. We thought you... Well, you know.”

Frankie nods and bites down on his lip.

“You can stay here with me until you find somewhere else. I got you a pull out cot.”

“What about my stuff?”

“Maybe your parents kept some of it, I dunno. The rest is gone, man. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Frankie replies. “It makes sense.”

“You thought about what you’ll need to do, call the bank, shit like that?” Benny asks him. They drive down a quieter neighbourhood, the sidewalk packed full of parked cars. 

“Yeah. I’ll do it this week, maybe tomorrow.” Frankie shrugs. 

Benny nods, turning the car onto the driveway and he kills the engine. “I got you, Fish. Anything you need.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” Frankie smiles. 

As Benny leads Frankie up to the door, he feels a weariness settle over him. All he wants to do is find a quiet corner and sleep, to escape the overwhelming swirl of emotions and noise. The journey home, the media attention, the fact that he's left Jude in New York without him, is all too much. 

But as they step inside, all those thoughts of sleep are immediately squashed as a cacophony of voices yell out in surprise and greet him. 

Faces from his family and friends all blur as they mingle and crowd him, the sound echoing off the walls of sobs and sighs of relief. Pats on the back, hugs into full bosoms. Benny looks a little sheepishly at Frankie and shrugs. 

“They all wanted to be here,” he simply says, and Frankie can’t summon the strength to be mad at him for it, he’s just too exhausted. 

So he allows himself to be passed around, gripping everyone tight in his arms. Banners and balloons are floating around and the apartment, cramped and small as it is, is filled to the brim with cheers, laughter and the smell of freshly baked food.

He spots Will and freezes. The two men stand facing one another for a moment, the weight of everything they’ve been through during the worst of Frankie’s addiction hanging between them. Then Will steps forward, pulling Frankie into a tight hug and he sags against his friend. 

“It’s good to see you, Fish.” Will says into his shoulder. “You look like shit, but it’s damn good to see you.”

He stands there stunned. Frankie hadn’t expected this and although he’s pleased and relieved to see everyone too, he’s not sure if he can handle it all right now.

He looks around the room and at what feels like millions of pairs of enquiring eyes swarming him, lips moving with questions that are repeated and he doesn't hear them all, not fully. It goes on like this for what feels like hours; a tidal wave of gushed hugs, strong drinks being passed around the room in celebration of Frankie’s arrival home and tears from almost everyone. 

Phones are ringing off the hook with relatives, friends and well-wishers all keen to speak to him that can't be there, and pass on their love and support. Being pulled this way and that into their arms and shoulders.

He feels like a bumper car, wandering aimlessly around the apartment, bashing into everyone who he comes across, and being pulled into conversations that are on a continual loop about how he managed to survive on the island and come home to them all. 

The repetitiveness is exhausting him and overwhelming him in equal measure; it’s akin to being thrust into a plethora of screams and screeches, a black hole of braying deafening pitches, each desperate to reach out and touch him. To tug him here, there and everywhere and to get a piece of him, no matter how small or miniscule.

Around nine PM, Benny clocks the anxious look blooming on Frankie’s face crammed into the furthest end of the couch and seeming incredibly small inside it. 

“You alright?” Benny asks him as he spots Frankie leaning on the sink in the kitchen with his eyes closed a few minutes later.

“Just tired,” Frankie replies. "It's a lot."

“Yeah. I get it. Everyone’s amped. Maybe it was a bit much having everyone here at once.” He admits. 

“No, it’s cool. I wanted to see ’em. I’ve fuckin’ missed ‘em all.” Although it may have been better in small, contained doses - his head is hammering. “Thanks, man.” Frankie replies, stifling a yawn from escaping with the back of his hand.

“You going to call her?” Benny asks, as he notices Frankie checking his phone again.

Frankie nods and clears his throat, blushing.

“What’s she like?” Benny asks. 

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Frankie replies looking at him with sincere, watery eyes. “If she hadn't been there, I’d be dead for real.”

“What are you fuckin’ talking to me for then, call her.” Benny says and claps Frankie so hard on the back it winds him a little with the force. “I’ll get everyone going. You look like you might crash.”

He smiles as Benny heads off into the lounge and Frankie lets himself out of the back door into the small, overgrown garden. He dials Jude’s number and it rings a few times before she answers.

“Hey you,” comes her voice down the phone. It sounds relieved and he feels like he finally breathes for the first time since he left her.

“Hi, how are you?” Frankie asks, smiling as he speaks. “I’m sorry. I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

“Don’t ever say sorry for calling me,” Jude says, and he can hear her smiling. “You okay, you sound tired?”

“Yeah, I arrived to a surprise party. Wasn't expecting that. Everyone’s here.”

“I bet that’s nice.”

“Yeah… yeah.” He scratches at the back of his head. 

“Or not?” Jude queries and he smiles at how well she can read him, even without seeing him. 

“Just a bit much to take in. Tiring, but great.” He says.

They’re quiet on the phone and both laugh at the same time.

“I fuckin’ miss you,” Frankie says to her, the ache in his voice palpable.

“I wish you were here right now, I can’t sleep without you.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna sleep much either.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” She enquires. 

“I gotta go see my lawyer, talk to the bank, convince them I’m not dead so they give me my money back,” he chuckles. 

“Yeah, me too. Fucking sucks dying, right?”

“I need a haircut.” Frankie chirps, running his hand through his long tresses that are down to his shoulders.

“Oh, me too. But, I’m going to miss your mop head.” She muses.

“I’m going to miss braiding your hair.” 

“I won’t get it cut too short then.”

“Good,” he replies smiling as he wanders around the garden. He slings his free hand into his pocket.

There’s another silence between them.

“I want you here with me,” Frankie admits to her.

“I wish I was so badly right now.”

“I’m tempted to fly back to you.” Frankie admits, already trying to work it out in his head. 

“I know, but your family needs you. And so does mine for a little bit.” She explains. “My mom is a mess.”

“Yeah,” Frankie replies, his back sagging a little.

“Have you watched the news yet?”

“No.”

“We’re on it. They got us at the airport.” Jude explains. “The news just keeps showing it over and over… feels really surreal.”

“Figures. They’ll wanna talk to us at some point.” Frankie explains, sniffing in deep.

“I know.” The tone in her voice is flat.

“We can wait, okay? Do it when we’re ready.”

“I just wanna kiss you right now.” Jude whines. 

“Fuck, Jude. Stop it, or I will get on that fuckin’ plane.” Frankie warns, feeling the ache inside his gut and loins alike.

“I need you, Frankie. I’ll always need you. You know that right?”

Frankie smiles as he stops walking around the garden. “I love you,” he says to her down the phone.

“I love you, more.” She says to him and he chuckles. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” He smirks.

His name is called from somewhere in the house. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Go back to your family.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Can’t wait.” Jude smiles down the phone.

“Fish!” his voice is called again, and after hanging up and taking a calming deep breath, Frankie wanders back inside. He searches for the voice calling him and is met with a concerned look on Benny’s face. 

“I didn’t know she was coming, man.”  

Frankie spots Will, nursing a beer and laughing at something a woman who stands beside him says. She drops her wrist from his shoulder and the whole room goes silent except for the familiar tinny jangle of bracelets that have always adorned her wrist. 

He watches in slow motion as Carla’s eyes land on him, widening a little and a small smile turns her lips upwards at him. A wave of her palm and then she’s walking over to him, and Frankie’s rooted to the spot. Unable to move or hear anything except the clattering beats of his blood pulsing in his ears. 

“Frankie,” she murmurs softly. 

He simply nods at her and tries to force a smile he knows he should give her. There was a time he smiled for her a lot. He remembers the early days, the memories stuffing themselves in between his ears, even if he doesn't want them to right now. The laughter they shared, the plans they made. They had fallen in love so quickly, so frivolously.

There were memories of lazy Sunday mornings in bed, spontaneous road trips and the way she used to look at him like he was her whole world. But then there were lies, secrets and shame. Frankie tries to forget them and bury them deep because that was a different Frankie, it had to be.

He remembers the lies he told her about his addiction, the late nights when he promised he was working, but was actually out scoring coke. He remembers her worried eyes, her pleas for him to get help, her face coming into a fuzzy view at the hospital when he woke up after the overdose.

He remembers his stubborn denial and digging his heels in. The fights, the arguments and the day he finally caved and told her he was done. And then he’d gotten on that damned plane. Leaving her and their history and pain behind and thrown up in the air, and it’s all here now, confronting him like a tidal wave, and he’s drowning right in front of her.

“When I heard the news, I-” She trails off unsure of what to say, and again, he just simply nods. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, it's uh… it's good to see you.” Frankie says.

And it is, in some bittersweet way; she looks good, healthy. A sheen in her eyes and a tan on her skin. They stand there for a moment, the silence stretching out between them. 

“Listen, I… it’s not the right time, but we need to talk.” Carla says, offering a weak smile to him. 

“Talk about what?” Frankie asks.

He feels the weight of their shared past hanging around them, thick in the cool conditioned air in Benny’s apartment. She looks at him, a mixture of sadness and relief in her eyes. And something else he can’t quite put his finger on, guilt perhaps?  

“I’m sorry,” Frankie says, his own guilt pressing hard on the back of his tongue. 

She baulks clearly not expecting it. 

“For everything… For lying to you. For hurting you.” He says. And he is, part of him will always be sorry for it.

She reaches out, touching his arm gently, and he flinches. 

“I know, Frankie. I just… I wish things had been different.” 

His legs feel weak as he stands there before her, offering her an apology that’s long overdue, and yet hearing the words flow out of his mouth doesn't do it justice somehow. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Carla says, her voice trembling. “After we broke up… I didn't know how to tell you, and then you were gone, and it got so messy and I didn’t know what to do-”

“Carla-” 

She takes a deep breath, meeting his concerned gaze. “Frankie, you’re…”

“What? What is it?” His mind races with a thousand thoughts and scenarios, but the one he doesn’t expect is the one she ultimately breaks him with. 

She speaks again, the wobble in her voice sounding the words out clear and unmistakeable. “Frankie, you’re a father.”

To be continued...

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[meazalykov]

she was the golden girl

uswnt x (romantic) aitana bonmatí x (platonic) fridolina rolfo x uswnt!reader

what happened in a world where reader plays in the 2023 World Cup after winning the 2019 World Cup?

warnings: tiny bit of angst and sadness, google translated spanish.

part two (part one here)

I remembered when I stood on the french pitch, surrounded by the deafening cheers of the crowd, sometimes I can’t believe that it happened. Tears welled up in my eyes as I hugged my best friend Mallory, threatening to spill over as a whirlwind of emotions flooded my mind. 

My hands trembled as I clutched the World Cup trophy tightly to my chest, feeling the weight of my team's triumph. The third goal in the world cup was scored by me, the youngest goalscorer in a Women’s World Cup final. The journey to this moment had been grueling, filled with sacrifices, sweat, and endless dedication. But looking back, all the pain and hardship were worth it.

Before the World Cup, the Champions League medal hung proudly around my neck, a testament to the skill and hard work I’ve displayed on the field. At the time, Lyon was the club of my life. I believed that I would’ve never left the french institution, extending my contract as much as I possibly could’ve. The memories of each game, each goal, each victory rushed back to me, overwhelming my senses.

And then there was the Ballon d'Or many months after both competitions, the ultimate recognition of my individual excellence. To be acknowledged as the best, only at the age of 19 years old, was a dream I had hardly dared to entertain. Yet there I was, being the second woman holding the prestigious award in my small hands, my name etched into football history forever as I stood beside Lionel Messi who received the men’s d’or. 

Surrounded by my teammates, coaches, and supporters, I felt a surge of gratitude and humility. This moment wasn't just about me; it was about the collective effort of everyone who had believed in my skills along the way. I will never forget it.

Four years later, It's 2023. I am 23 years old and still impressing the fans around the World. However, the scars of my ACL injury were still fresh, a constant reminder of the hurdles I had overcome to be here after the harsh 2022 year.

Playing for Lyon had once been a dream come true. I’ll never forget that experience. When I signed to Lyon from Portland Thorns at the age of 18, I was overwhelmed in joy. I needed that new challenge, and that challenge earned me the best awards, collectively and individually. But, the fallout from my December 2021 injury had left a bitter taste in my mouth. The club I had once called home had felt more like a distant memory as I felt forced to make the difficult decision to part ways and start a new life in the sunny Spanish city.

Now, I wore the red and blue Barcelona jersey onto the pitch. The transfer left me heartbroken, at first, now I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The road to recovery after my ACL injury in France had been long and arduous, filled with doubts and setbacks. Sometimes, I believed that my prime occurred at the age of 19, instead of the predicted 24-30 years old. Yet here I am, defying the odds once again to represent my country on the world stage in two months.

Sometimes the memories of my victories with Lyon and the United States lingered in the back of my mind, serving as both motivation and a reminder of what was at stake. The Champions League trophy I had lifted with Lyon and the World Cup I had claimed with the United States were testaments to my talent and resilience. But now, I lifted the Champions League trophy with Barcelona. 

After scoring the second goal of the final, with Patricia before me and Fridolina afterwards, the gold hung beautifully around my neck. It was my fourth time I've felt such a high amount of glory, but the happy tears still came as if it were the first. 

A month later, I am on a fourteen hour flight from Los Angeles to Wellington, New Zealand. As The plane soared through the clouds and I sat in my business class seat, my hands gripping the armrests tightly and my heart pounded in my chest.

“Y/n?” I took out my airpods when I heard the faint sound of my name coming from outside of them. I turned to my right and saw my teammate and captain, Lindsey, looking at me with a confusing look. 

“Hey.” I joked, pretending like my stress wasn’t visible for everyone to see. 

“Are you okay?” Lindsey asked. In my head, I debated on if I wanted to lie and say yes, just so I didn’t have to burden her with my stress. However, she’s known me for many years, the woman would notice my lie from miles away. 

“Not really. I’m just–a bit nervous.” I swallowed. The blonde girl nodded her head in understanding as she rested her arm beside mine. 

“That's understandable. Is it the competition that's bothering you? I mean– we are defending champions so we have a lot to prove.” Lindsey asked. I took a deep breath as my mind shifted to a particular person from my Barcelona team. 

“No– It's about–um.” I stopped speaking. I didn’t want her to cloud my head during the competition, as we both promised ourselves that we would play as rivals, not lovers. 

“Aitana?” Lindsey questioned, but yet finished what I would’ve said. I noticed my head as my face was plastered with sadness.

“yeah.” I mumbled. The Lyon midfielder looked at me with a questionable look, wondering if there were problems between the Spanish girl and I. 

“I mean– there's no problem between us. However we prioritize football first you know? we both agreed that during the competition, we wouldn’t talk much.. just so we can focus on this.” I ranted. I’m not stressed because of a possible match between Spain and the United States, I know that I’ll miss the shorter woman a lot. Also, what if we stop talking and a third factor might influence our relationship moving forward? 

“That's good that you’re prioritizing us– You shouldn’t feel nervous about your relationship because this will give you time to miss each other– things will go back to normal once the world cup is over.” Lindsey patted my shoulder in sympathy, I smirked as my nervousness started to subside. 

A month later, as I stepped up to the penalty spot, the weight of the world seemed to rest upon my shoulders. We finished the match against Sweden 0-0 and after extra time, we had to go into a penalty shootout. The stadium roared around me, a cacophony of cheers and chants from both sides echoing in my small ears. Nerves danced in my stomach, threatening to consume me with doubt and mistakes.

With a deep breath, My eyes focused on Zećira Mušović standing between me and the goal. She did great throughout the game and has the reflexes to stop my shot. Determination burned in my eyes, she saw it too. 

As I approached the ball with speed, the tension in the air was palpable but I couldn’t care. Every step felt like an eternity as my foot sent the ball soaring towards the goal. Mušović dove in desperation, but my ball went directly to the middle as she dove left. The ball crashed into the back of the net, eliciting a deafening roar from the crowd and from my teammates. 

My dimples on my cheeks showed as I am happy to make the penalty. Being substituted on the pitch after halftime, I tried my best to score but my shot on goal was overturned by VAR. Apparently, my body was offside. 

Now, my arms wrapped the bodies of Sophia Smith and Megan Raphinoe as I looked ahead at Kelley O’hara. My heart raced as I stared at her white colored cleats. She needed to score this, or else Sweden had the opportunity to win the knockout. 

She Missed. My heart dropped to my stomach as I looked at the Swedish players with rising confidence and opportunity. Hurtig took the shot and Alyssa blocked it over the line. This caused a debate among the crowd. Deep down, I knew Sweden made it. They’ve won. However, VAR was the only hope which would have proved me wrong. 

Unfortunately, I was right. Sweden emerged victorious in the penalty shootout, their celebration serving as a bitter reminder of the heartbreak that awaited my teammates and I. 

No, No, NO! I thought to myself as I felt the moisture in my eyes start to take place. Immediately, my mind did a flashback to the 2019 World Cup Final. Being 19 years old and happy as my small, yet muscular, arms held the heavy World Cup trophy. 

With a heavy heart, I broke away from my teammates and looked among the Americans in the stands. My shaky hands clapped to the fans in the stands, my facade of strength crumbling with each step she took. Cameras could capture my weak struggle to stay strong as the Swedish crowd rightfully celebrated. 

Turning around, walking back towards the Americans who were on the team, my knees collapsed on the grassy pitch, tears streamed down my tired face. This was the worst that the United States had completed in a World Cup. What went wrong? 

I wanted to stand up so badly, but I didn’t. Shame and Defeat took over my body which laid in the grass. What is my family in the crowd thinking? What are the USWNT fans thinking? What are my fans thinking?... my tears cried out more when I wondered what Aitana was thinking. 

After ten minutes of darkness in my eyes, covered by my hands. A comforting presence enveloped my body. I recognized the floral smell mixed with a tint of sweat. I looked up from my hands and saw Fridolina, my teammate from Barcelona and now my opponent who won the Round of 16. 

“You did so good, Don’t beat yourself up over this!” Fridolina spoke to me first as her thumbs wiped over my teary eyes. I felt comfort but a small amount of envy was inside of me, I wanted to win so badly. 

“Congratulations Frido.” The Swedish girl took her hands and helped me stand up as she gave me a tight hug. Aitana, Frido, and I are a trio back in Barcelona. In fact, she helped Aitana and I confess our feelings to each other. 

“Thank you! Just know that I am proud of you, she is proud of you too. Even if you aren’t proud of yourself.” The 29 year old said as my eyes stained her yellow covered shoulders. I knew she meant Aitana when she said “she”. However, I didn’t know where the Spanish woman was at the moment and what she was thinking. 

“Just go be-beat Japan. Okay?” I said through a crack in my voice. I found solace in the embrace of my friend. I might’ve lost but I am not a bitter person, now I want to see my club teammates have a good World Cup like I’ve once experienced.

As we exchanged jerseys, the voice in my head kept reassuring myself that I'll come back stronger than ever in 2027. 

Just a week later, most of my American teammates left Australia and went back home. However, my teammate Kristie and I decided to stay back. Kristies had a girlfriend who played on a different international team like I did, so we wanted to support them as they’re advancing to the semi-finals. 

Witnessing my Barcelona teammates play each other in the Spain vs Sweden match was intense. Standing beside Aitana’s parents, I wore a basic dark green t-shirt with 501 mid-thigh levi shorts. This is the first time I've met them as her girlfriend and they’re sweet people. We celebrated Spain’s win against Sweden and my heart would have exploded in happiness. My girlfriend will experience a World Cup final! 

On August 20th, after an intense match and a lovely goal from Olga Carmona, Spain won the World Cup! The feeling was bittersweet for me. I am happy for my girlfriend but subconsciously, I knew I wanted it to be me with the United States. However, I brushed that feeling aside since I needed to be happy for my lover. 

“Aitana ¡Estoy tan feliz por ti!” We both ran towards each other and hugged. I feel her lightly kiss the side of my head as I inhale her scent. Being able to feel her embrace after a month apart filled the small void in my heart.

“¡Esto es tan irreal, ahora sé cómo te sentiste hace tantos años!”  (This is so unreal, now I know how you felt all those years ago!) Aitana smiled. The smile on my face struggled to stay as a small frown, which I tried hard to conceal, plastered on my face for a quick second. I don’t think she noticed. 

“Lo siento por lo que ocurrió. En el fondo esperaba que fuéramos nosotros dos quienes nos enfrentaríamos en la final.” (I'm sorry for what happened. Deep down I hoped that it would be the two of us who would face each other in the final.) Aitana said as she understood my defeat in the Round of 16. 

“Aquí también. Sólo debes saber que todavía estoy muy feliz por ti, a pesar de mi derrota.” (Here too. Just know that I am still very happy for you, despite my defeat.) I said as I admired the goal medal that sat perfectly on Aitana's chest. She gave me a sympathetic smile before hugging me again. 

“¡Te amo!” Aitana whispered into my ear. 

“Te quiero más” I smiled back as I relaxed into her arms. 

<3

[girlsdressingrooms]

Iris Barrel Apfel, Decorator and Fashion Stylist

(August 29, 1921 – March 1, 2024) 

Ms. Apfel was one of the most vivacious personalities in the worlds of fashion, textiles, and interior design, she has cultivated a personal style that is both witty and exuberantly idiosyncratic.

Her originality was typically revealed in her mixing of high and low fashions—Dior haute couture with flea market finds, nineteenth-century ecclesiastical vestments with Dolce & Gabbana lizard trousers.

With remarkable panache and discernment, she combines colors, textures, and patterns without regard to period, provenance, and, ultimately, aesthetic conventions. Paradoxically, her richly layered combinations—even at their most extreme and baroque—project a boldly graphic modernity.

Iris Barrel was born on Aug. 29, 1921, in Astoria, Queens, the only child of Samuel Barrel, who owned a glass and mirror business, and his Russian-born wife, Sadye, who owned a fashion boutique.

She studied art history at New York University, then qualified to teach and did so briefly in Wisconsin before fleeing back to New York to work on Women's Wear Daily, and for interior designer Elinor Johnson, decorating apartments for resale and honing her talent for sourcing rare items before opening her own design firm. She was also an assistant to illustrator Robert Goodman.

As a distinguished collector and authority on antique fabrics, Iris Apfel has consulted on numerous restoration projects that include work at the White House that spanned nine presidencies from Harry Truman to Bill Clinton.

Along with her husband, Carl, she founded Old World Weavers, an international textile manufacturing company and ran it until they retired in 1992. The Apfels specialized in the reproduction of fabrics from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and traveled to Europe twice a year in search of textiles they could not source in the United States.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute assembled 82 ensembles and 300 accessories from her personal collection in 2005 in a show about her called “Rara Avis”.

Almost overnight, Ms. Apfel became an international celebrity of pop fashion.

Ms. Apfel was seen in a television commercial for the French car DS 3, became the face of the Australian fashion brand Blue Illusion, and began a collaboration with the start-up WiseWear. A year later, Mattel created a one-of-a-kind Barbie doll in her image. Last year, she appeared in a beauty campaign for makeup with Ciaté London.

Six years after the Met show she started her fashion line "Rara Avis" with the Home Shopping Network.

She was cover girl of Dazed and Confused, among many other publications, window display artist at Bergdorf Goodman, designer and design consultant, then signed to IMG in 2019 as a model at age 97.

Ms. Iris Apfel became a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin in its Division of Textiles and Apparel, teaching about imagination, craft and tangible pleasures in a world of images.

 In 2018, she published “Iris Apfel: Accidental Icon,” an autobiographical collection of musings, anecdotes and observations on life and style. 

Ms. Apfel’s apartments in New York and Palm Beach were full of furnishings and tchotchkes that might have come from a Luis Buñuel film: porcelain cats, plush toys, statuary, ornate vases, gilt mirrors, fake fruit, stuffed parrots, paintings by Velázquez and Jean-Baptiste Greuze, a mannequin on an ostrich.

The Museum of Lifestyle & Fashion History in Boynton Beach, Florida, is designing a building that will house a dedicated gallery of Ms. Apfel's clothes, accessories, and furnishings.

Ms. Apfel’s work had a universal quality, It’s was a trend.

Rest in Power !

[adarkrainbow]

Since I am on the topic of these people that get a lot of criticism for their take on fairytales but still deserve to be kept around due to their influence, I want to briefly evoke Bruno Bettelheim's book "The Uses of Enchantment", known in France as "Psychanalysis of fairytales".

Note that I will not speak of the book itself or the reception of the book in English-speaking countries, but I want to talk about its reception in France and an impact it had on France. Today, numerous elements of the book have been debunked or criticized, coupled with many people misunderstanding the intentions of Bettelheim or misinforming about the context of the book or how it had to be read. As a result, today there is a tendency to crap on this book or laugh about it when we talk about fairytales analysis. However this book had a great importance in France when it came to "save" fairytales.

Before going into the general, as a brief piece of personal experience - which isn't exclusive to me, as others also shared this. This book actually was what got me into the analysis and study of fairytale. Or rather, when I read it as a pre-teen, it made me discover that... fairytales could have depths. Fairytales could have hidden meanings behind being simple children stories. It made me consider how these stories could be taken and reinterpreted as so many allegories and metaphors, it opened my eyes to a certain visceral, psychic, social aspect of these tales, and without this book I certainly would not have been into fairytales as I am today.

Not that this book is the ultimate resource of fairytale analysis - and the entire process of a psychological reading of fairytales is someting that exists but should not be taken into account when trying to explain them (fairytales being the produce of the encounter between literature and folklore). However, this book stayed a door-opening key for me, outdated maybe, overthinking stuff I guess, but that at least allowed me to glimpse into the "great beyond" behind these stories.

And now for my actual point... How Bettelheim's book saved fairytales in France. This is something I learned when studying the life and work of Pierre Gripari - in a book called "Pierre Gripari, un passeur d'écritures" by Inna Saranovska.

When Bettelheim's book reached France in the late 70s, fairytales were in a bad spot when it came to cultural authorities. Already fairytales had been reduced in people's mind to simple, naive children stories only good for making American cartoons (cough cough, Disney). But those of Perrault were still evoked and studied in schools (little schools for little children) because it was part of the heritage of France, of French culture, and the evolution of French literatue...

However what happened in the 70s? The very serious project of just burying fairytales was brought forward. The talks by politics and school authorities were simple: let us stop teaching fairytales to children in school, let's remove fairytales from school libraries, we do not have any use for them anymore, let them be forgotten. On one side, as I said, there was a discredit due to them being seen as silly children story, and thus no real pedagogic or "useful" chilren literature. But on the other side, there were very concrete and serious political business involved - fairytales were seen as antithetic, and opposed, to the principles of the modern Republic of France. Fairytales were seen as backward antiquities that went against what a great democratic nation should be. For example, people really did took issue in the fact that fairytales depicted monarchies, with kings as absolute authorities, and where a happy ending meant to end up prince or princess. For them, it was literaly teaching children to favor and idealize monarchy when they should rather learn about democracies and republics, and while it might seem silly today, it was serious back then and what almost led to the complete erasure of fairytales from school programs.

But then came Bettelheim's book. A book which proved to these folks that fairytales could be of a deep, psychological, social use to children. A book which taught these authorities to see beyond the "silliness" of these children stories or the "backward social message", and which told them how these stories could contain and express the deep fears, the secret desires of children, and help them grow up and deal with familial, social relationships. The book was a best-seller in France, and it completely changed the higher-ups opinion, and convinced tem fairytales should indeed be maintained in school - because fairytales were now "serious" due to being part of the very serious and praised domains of psychology and psychanalysis (which was all the fad and rage in the second half of the 20th century France).

And as such - no matter what you might say about the book's uality today - it can still be thanked for actually "saving" fairytales in France.

[sirenmoth]

we’ve seen southern american?reader and french!reader but what about scottish!reader? what if reader if from the scottish highlands (this is me being self indulgent, have a a problem with it? argue with the wall) (I wrote in this on my phone in an hour)

!Can be read as platonic or romantic!

Scottish Highlander!Reader who grew up in the far northwest of the highlands where they still speak scottish gaelic.

Scottish Highlander!Reader who speaks both scot’s language and gaelic, so what comes out is a weird hybrid of the two that only reader understand

Scottish Highlander!Reader being unaffected by rain, wind and really any extreme weather due to the harsh storms and conditions of the highlands, the boys have to wrestle reader to wear something weather appropriate. price is on the verge of a heart attack.

Scottish Highlander!Reader who gets along with soap really well but even he is confused by what they say half the time due to the heavy highlander accent and mixed in gaelic, the british are very confused. reader insults them and they have no idea, soap finds it funny

Scottish Highlander!Reader who sasses Ghost back for telling them to speak english,

“tha thu nad leth-fhacal”

“speak english”

“speak scottish”

Scottish Highlander!Reader who has soap as translator for them, doesn’t work all the time but it gets the job done. though he refuses to translate some things for your sake and others.

“hae ye caught up wi’ th’ ryle fowk?”

“what?”

“their askin’ if ye met the royal family”

“oh, yea, during military award ceremonies and events like that sometimes”

“Did ye goid fae thaim?”

“bonnie, i’m nae askin’ that”

Scottish Highlander!Reader who teaches soap gaelic, ultimately becoming an unstoppable duo. Gaz helps them understand english a bit better.

Scottish Highlander!Reader hates the english but would kill you if you insult the three brits they’ve come to love.

Scottish Highlander!Reader who teaches price, gaz and ghost about scottish holidays with the help of soap, in turn they let the three teach them english holidays.

Scottish Highlander!Reader taking the boys up to the highlands for a get-a-way, refuses to go back to their home town due to it “having nothing to do”.

Scottish Highlander!Reader who’s accent gets thicker when their annoyed or mad or excited it gets to the point where not even poor johnny can understand them.

All in all, the boys love their scottish highlander, even if they have no idea what their saying half the time.

Translations:

ha thu nad leth-fhacal - you are an idiot

hae ye caught up wi’ th’ ryle fowk - have you met the royal family?

goid - steal

Did ye steal fae thaim? - did you steal from them?

bonnie - beauty/beautiful

happy hogmanay everyone!

[sissa-arrows]

Albert Camus could not conceive of Algerian independence, nor could he conceive of himself as separate from French Algeria. It was his “red line in the sand,” the boundary which should not be crossed, the ultimate taboo. Algeria was the jewel in France’s colonial empire, so important that the French authorities considered it a region of France. It was not just a military conquest; it was an administrative one as well. Camus was defined and defined himself by colonial Algeria and could not live without it. Yet the paradox is that Camus persuasively uses the rhetoric of humanism while supporting French sovereignty over Algeria. Many of Albert Camus’ arguments are vastly identical to those trotted out today regarding Palestine.

“What is illegitimate in Arab demands ? The desire to regain a life of dignity and freedom, the total loss of confidence in any political solution backed by France, and the romanticism of some very young and politically unsophisticated insurgents have led certain Algerian fighters and their leaders to demand national independence. No matter how favourable one is to Arab demands, it must be recognized that to demand national independence for Algeria is a purely emotional response to the situation. There has never been an Algerian nation. The Jews, Turks, Greeks, Italians and Berbers all have a claim to lead this virtual nation. At the moment, the Arabs themselves are not the only constituent of that nation. In particular, the French population is large enough [c. 1/9], and it has been settled long enough [c. 150 years], to create a problem that has no historical precedent. The French of Algeria are themselves an indigenous population in the full sense of the word. Furthermore, a purely Arab Algeria would not be able to achieve economic independence, without which political independence is not real. French efforts in Algeria, however inadequate, have been sufficient that no other power is prepared to assume responsibility for the country at the present time.” — Algerian Chronicles

Camus is like the “Israeli left” and a part of the Western Left in general who cannot conceive the total liberation of Palestine. That’s why I said that if they actually cared they would have more “porteurs de valises” and less Albert Camus.

The porteurs de valises who were settlers totally conceived a free Algeria in their mind and they saw themselves living there as ALGERIANS and they did. They also acknowledged that as settlers they had bias and they worked on those bias (I made a post with the testimony of on of those men and how he realized that he had racist bias against Arabs and how he eventually realized that even if he was white his people were not French people but Algerians…) Most of those settlers who fought alongside our grandparents did not leave because they were kicked out at the independence. They left as refugees during the Black decade and had to fill the SAME paperwork as other Algerians. (I could talk about the 121’s Manifest but given that some of the people who signed it turned around and became Zionists I think the manifest was more about white people wanting a clear conscience they did put the right to not be an oppressor on the same level as the right to not be oppressed)

Camus on the other hand was racist he was a product of settler colonialism. You cannot steal, dispossess, oppress a people for over a century unless you don’t see them as fully human. He kept equating the resistance with the oppressor he kept pretending to condemn violence on “both sides” but when he was asked to sign the letter condemning the systematic use of torture by France against Algerians he refused to sign it. He also kept implying Algeria didn’t exist before France anyway. He also showed his lack of knowledge on history by claiming everyone had a right to Algeria anyway not just “Arabs” because Algeria had been part of the Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire. Jews as a whole have zero rights over Algeria. Imazighen Jews had a right over Algeria because they were Imazighen not because they were Jews. If Turks, Italian, Greeks had a right over Algeria then we have a right over the south of France, over Spain, over Sicily, over Greece because some Roman leaders were Imazighen and because Al Andalus existed.

But what’s maybe one of my biggest issue with Camus, probably because that’s still happening to these days. Is how his position would require only Algerians to compromise. Settlers were simply asked to stop the killing and to pretend to see Algerians as equal humans that’s not a fucking compromise. Algerians on the other hand were asked to pretend that nothing had happened? Those white settlers who had killed your sons and nephews on May 8th 1945 in Setif and around? They never got punished for it. They never even expressed regrets they were proud of it. Algerians were asked to just forget about it to pretend it never happened. The guy who stole your father’s land and is making money from that land? In Camus’ Algeria he gets to keep that land in exchange he must pretend Algerians are equal. The Algerian has to pretend that land was never stolen that he doesn’t have a right to it. In Camus’ vision for Algeria only the Algerian is asked to actually make compromise so the white man gets to be cleaned of his sins.

To these days in the West, PoC are the one asked to make compromises all the fucking time (sometimes on a smaller scale sometimes not). “vote for the lesser of two evils it will be easier to fight and we will help”. Once the lesser of two evils is elected the people who told us to compromise don’t respect their part of the deal they actually call us out when we protest. Because those “deals” are not meant to save us all they are meant to save white people. Because the lesser of two evils doesn’t affect them and their lives so they will be able to afford staying comfortably at home and criticize us for still fighting.

That’s why what I resent the most about Camus is that “let’s make a compromise” attitude that actually only requires compromises from Algerians while settlers get to keep up with their lives the same exact way except they have to pretend they see us as humans. I would believe in the genuine intent behind these compromises (while still being against it) if reparation was mentioned for example but no, settlers get to live the exact same way as they did before they just get absolved of their crimes without ever getting justice. Meanwhile Algerians are asked to pretend nothing happened.

Just like I previously said that a settler colony cannot create settlers without racist bias and that they need to work on those bias, a settler colony also cannot create indigenous people who are not oppressed. Every single Algerian family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. Every single Palestinian family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. Every single Native of Turtle Island family has a fucked up story to tell about the horror of colonialism. I could go on, the point is you can’t ask people to just pretend it never happened because now the settlers are pretending to see you as a human.

[vvh0adie]

clingy

pairing: jimin x reader | type: drabble | words: 2.5k | rating: 18+/M

Your clingy boyfriend eats you out in an attempt to keep you home.

— genre/au: fluff | slice of life ‖ boyfriend | hybrid — persona: fennec fox!jimin | possessive!jimin | mischievous!jimin | companion!reader — cw: cussing | smut — dynamic: soft dom!jimin x sub!reader — sw: overstimulation | cunnilingus | nipple play | slick eating | french kissing | hickies | vaginal fingering | anal play | squirting — a/n: Jimin is nasty as hell in this. Fun Fact: This was a Billlie Tsuki fic

masterlist | inbox

© vvh0adie 2022- [do not AI train/copy/repost/translate]

✧༺♡༻✧

Your boyfriend has been really clingy lately. Like the kind where if you go to the bathroom, Jimin’s sure to be right behind you. At first you were annoyed, which is hard to do when his big, brown eyes bore into you and his creme colored ears perk up.

But you eventually succumbed to his cuteness. And you can’t deny that it gives you somewhat of an ego boost to have him always attached to you, always trying to steal kisses or skipping foreplay all together just to drag you to bed.

Jimin is a master of persuasion, making it hard to leave for work, or even hang out with your friends. You’ve even tried to get him to go with you sometimes, but he wants you all to himself. As toxic as it may sound, it’s never been that serious because usually all you have to do is satiate the horny little fox that possesses him. Afterwards, he becomes too tired to get out of bed and jump you or lock you into a deathly grip.

“Jimin, Baby, let go of me,” you giggle, grabbing his arms around your waist. He digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you.

“Don’t leave,” Jimin whines, prompting your gaze down behind you to see him pouting. Your eyes wander his plump lips, glistening with his favorite strawberry gloss. Then you meet his dark brown gaze, amused at how big they are. Any wider, and you think he might be able to peer into your soul.

“I promised Taehyung that I’d be there for his show tonight. He sounded really nervous last time we talked.” You’re pouting now, trying to be just as cute as him which is probably impossible.

Jimin only looks at you, causing your heart to stir as  the anticipation of your decision becomes unbearable in silence. But lucky for you, he catches your brows relax, signaling him to make a move.

Without warning, he leans back, still wrapped around your waist as you fall onto the bed. Your head hits the mattress so hard, spurring a bout of whiplash.

“Oops! Sorry, Baby. You okay?” he asks, cupping your cheeks.

You hum, feeling his hand slide under your neck to massage your nape. Scooting up, he lets you see the way his gaze turns sultry as his beautiful lashes try to hide his dilated pupils.

He’s probably not that sorry —probably elated—because now he can have his way with you, seeing as you’re slightly immobilized. Jimin can feel his cock straining against his tight little shorts, begging to be milked by your cunt.

“Jimin~” you whimper, a chill running through your body as he hits a nerve.

“Mhm, Baby, you’re already crumbling when I haven’t even done anything.”

“You know what you do to me, don’t play.”

“Me? Playin’?” Jimin raises a brow, his other hand traveling down your side to caress your stomach before slipping the other into your sweatpants to cup your heat.

“I don’t understand,” Jimin says timidly, his head tilting and his eyes widening. He looks so innocent and truly curious as his big fluffy ears twitch. But then he smirks, not bothering to hide it, wanting you to be aware of your torture. How can someone with such a baby face be this depraved? It’s sometimes a little jarring but ultimately fun because of how unpredictable he can be.

He dips down to kiss you, soliciting your moan. Biting your bottom lip, he moves to suck on the inner vermillion. He loves the way his lips are able to glide and lap up your taste.

“I hope your pussy is as wet as your mouth,” he whispers against your open mouth.

Jimin begins to rub small circles over your clothed clit, applying pressure to every other swirl of his fingers. Your head knocks back and your mouth gapes but no sound escapes. The only signs of pleasure are the shake of your legs and rising of your chest.

He hums at the way your face contorts, taking delight in your anguish. He removes your shirt, lending the cold air to harden your nipples. He loves this part as your buds reach peak sensitivity, aiding him in getting you aroused much faster, but ultimately have you aching at his drawn out teases.

Jimin wastes no time, wrapping his tongue around your perky buds, swirling slow circles and sucking. Then he releases with a pop, lightly grazing the tip of his warm tongue over to tease you.

“Please~ Jimin,” you whine. He tilts his head up, a smug smile splayed across his face.

“Should I?”

You nod your head, gazing at Jimin through your heavy lashes. He giggles at how quickly you've become dazed. “Oh, you look so pretty begging.” He leans down into your neck, sucking hard till it becomes hot. You whine, prompting him to let up and lick the spot into a soothing warmth. He admires the bruise on your melanated skin; it’s a little light for his liking but it should be enough to send the message.

“Will you come back and fuck me, if I do?”

“Yes. I promise.”

“Good girl.” Your thighs squeeze together, smushing Jimin’s manicured hand. You gasp in pleasure when he pinches your clit to release your vice grip.

Suddenly, Jimin’s sitting up taking your bottoms off. You tilt your head to look at him and his dark eyes staring right back as he licks his lips. They still sparkle and glisten even after ravaging your mouth, but it won’t last long once the taste of strawberries and your essence has melded on his tongue.

Jimin kisses you lightly before his angelic face disappears from your sight. The shake of the bed causes you to hold your breath, waiting for the sensation of his warm mouth to hit your core. And when it finally comes, you sigh in ecstasy and your eyes close shut.

“So soft and plump,” he coos, rubbing a finger over the top of your mound. He loves that you only trim; it hides the best parts of your succulent pussy for him and it brings him extra warmth as he basks in its glory. Jimin loves the soft tickle on his lips, urging him to find home nestled deeply in your essence. 

He traces down your slit, and your legs beg to open wider, but he grabs your hip in deterrence. “I don’t wanna see your little glistening cunt yet. I want it to spill out of your lips first.” You can hear the teasing tone in his voice, unable to do anything but cry as your whole body shakes.

It’s even worse when he blows along your slit. Jimin loves watching you squirm, he’s also aware of your limits. He won’t linger too long, but he’s going to go through each step. Why disrupt something that’s not broken? You always cum this way.

So finally, Jimin drags his tongue to trace your slit but never enters beyond. He pinches your plump mound, it spreads slightly as now he can see a little pink on the inner of your lips. He can feel himself getting wet from the anticipation of seeing your slicked out pussy. He imagines you’re a mess, the sweet tanginess of your essence ready to stimulate his senses.

Running his tongue along your spread lips, he then places soft kisses. He looks up to see that your hands are all over the place, not knowing where to go. You place them on your head then back down to cup your breast. You’re so overwhelmed, but you do know that if you press his face further into your weeping cunt, he’s just going to stop and leave you shaking for more.

“Okay, Baby,” Jimin coos, no longer wanting to keep you in this state. He pushes your thighs open, and with a pop, he no longer has to imagine your squelching pussy, as your lips open to reveal the beautiful scene.

You’re so wet and pungent with sweetness. Jimin spreads your lips wider and flicks his tongue on your clit. You jump and your legs shake. He gazes upon your gaping hole, contraction as you keep pushing out more slick for him to devour. Jimin sticks the tip of his tongue down into your abyss, just to get a little taste on his buds, and it's pure ecstasy as his eyes close, savoring the taste.

“Baby, you taste so fucking good,” he praises, hearing you moan as your little hole clenches.

Slightly sits up, he can’t take his eyes off your sparkling pussy as he pulls a pillow to place under your hips. Then he pushes your legs back to spread you wider, allowing slick to spill over the edge of your perineum and down to your puckered hole.

Jimin dips down to catch it, swirling his tongue over your rim, kissing and sucking. He pushes his tongue into your ass, lightly grazing his teeth over a swollen hole. Jimin smiles, eliciting you to moan his name.

He sits up, giving you a good glimpse of him licking his lips. Jimin's entire chin is drench, causing you to gasp and  your brows to knit at the sight. You pussy squelches as he looks down at the pool between your legs.

“Now for the dessert.”

You let out a shuddering breath as he comes back down, immediately attacking your clit. He pulls back the hood to flick his tongue and suck at the sensitive red bud. And your eyes roll back as you scream, “Oh my fucking God, Jimin! Suck my pussy, Baby!”

He giggles at the way you growl, rocking your hips against his sloppy, plump lips. You’re just as freaky as he is, so he never understands why you try to run from him. There's no need for other earthly decisions when he can give you pleasure whenever.

You listen to him slurp your essence up just to sloppily sputter it back into your flooding cunt. “So fucking wet. Such a dirty hole; need me to clean you up,” he coos.

You can’t bear it anymore, bring a hand to hold his face further into your sopping core. “Ugh, fuck me with your tongue, Jimin.” Your gasp turns cry when he thrusts his wet taste into your entrance, pushing himself deeper for his tongue to flexing up into your walls. It tickles sensation into your nerves, causing you to clench around him.

Jimin brings a hand to push one leg back, ultimately teetering you onto your side. He’s no longer worried about keeping you propped up, driving himself against you, wanting to get closer than he already is. From nose to chin he’s covered in your juices, the gushing sounds of your pussy spilling, from the sounds of the side of his mouth as spit runs down his cheeks.

“AAAAAAH! Jimin, wait. Wait, Baby,” you cry. But he’s not listening even as he takes a finger to swirl your puckered hole, and he lifts up for a split second to dip into your pussy, dragging two fingers back down to stretch your ass around his fingers.

You’ve completely gone ballistic, shaking and screaming as Jimin pumps his fingers into your ass, smirking at your ferocity before going back to devour you. You feel the pressure build up in your stomach, your whole body shaking as your fist twists into the sheets to the point your knuckles hurt.

“You horny fucking anal slut!” he growls, flicking his tongue and sucking your swollen asshole before releasing with a sloppy kiss. As he comes up, hair is wild and you watch a strand of your slick drip onto his shirt.

“Thank you,” you cry, your head falling back in exhaustion.

Light sparkles against his blown out pupils and he breathes heavily as his tongue runs along his upper lip. He was truly about to drown in your ocean.

Jimin’s wanderlust gaze suddenly turns cold as he grabs your thighs to flip you over onto your stomach. Then he lifts your ass up and presses onto your back guiding your chest and cheek onto the cool sheets.

“Hands on your thighs. Now,” he says darkly, giving a light slap to your ass. The sting feels wonderful, urging you to follow his commands in hopes for more.

Your hands wrap around the back of your plump thighs and his knee-high socks come beside your head as he gets under you. He props himself up on his hands to sit face to pussy. Sticking his tongue out, he catches the slick running down your cunt. It tastes so good, urging him to scoot up and wrap his arms under your thighs then over your ass. He spreads his own legs against your arms to deadlock you into position. There’s no escape.

Jimin swallows your pussy whole, sucking and swiping the expanse of his tongue up to meet your entrance so he can fuck into it. Then he traces back down, hooking into your clit and applying pressure to swirl deep into your bundle of nerves. Your body shakes and writhes, trying to run but it's no use.

“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” you plead, your final call devolving into gibberish as he ignores you. Once again, sloppily eating you out, his eyes close and his head sways. To him, your screams and cries are music to help him concentrate.

The knot in your abdomen tightens, feeling as though you’ve been doing the longest plank of your life. Then he sucks your clit, keeping one arm wrapped around your thigh as he brings the other to enter your pussy and begins pumping.

The white haze comes over you, your surroundings disappearing as you ascend into immense euphoria. The knot snaps, your body writhes and your temples relax as you feel a cold sweat wash over you.

Jimin coaxes you through orgasm, your body jerking away from his lips, so he has to follow you to stay attached.

“YEEEEEEESSSS, JIMIN!”

When your high descends, you still feel him licking and pumping. You know he’s going to keep going till you cum again, so you let it happen.

“I love you, I love you, I- AHHHHH!” You feel a snap once more but it's lighter and instead of feeling him inside of you, you feel your essence coming out. You hear your pussy gush and Jimin gasps like he didn’t see this coming. You’re screaming and he’s laughing, completely ecstatic at the squirt showering him.

When you feel the last of it dribble out, your pussy squelches and Jimin gives you no time as he places a peck on your hole. Your body jumps and your holes clench.

He admires the mess running down your legs, “So pretty and mine.”

You can’t help but giggle at the remark. You’re completely spent and soaking wet. You feel your boyfriend kiss the swell of your ass, rubbing a hand over the wet, supple skin. You can tell he’s getting cozy, cuddling up to you; a literal odd ball to be this in love with your ass.

He obviously thinks you’re not going anywhere. As long as you two have been together, you would think he knows you by now.

You’re still going out, but you will definitely be back to pay your dues.

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[max1461]

Yeah, I think the failure mode of a lot of mathbrained and also philosophybrained people in thinking about natural language is that they forget they have to check things empirically. Like, it's really easy to introspect on "how language works", and if you're of the systematizing type, come up with some nice ideas about it. And you can sort of handwave away places were the reality of natural language doesn't look like your nice system, because ultimately it's not the nitty-gritty of natural language you're interested in, it's something more abstract and more grandiose, like How Truth Works or what have you.

And this is fine if you're only ever interested in the philosophy or the math. Hence Russel, Frege, Wittgenstein, whatever. But if you ever try and turn things around, and reason about human-language-the-empirical-phenomenon by way of your nice theory, it won't work. It won't work because you can't philosophy it or math it, you have to science it! You have to check! You cannot determine how it is by thinking hard!

And when you check it's like, a bunch of weird shit. Right, all the shit that you thought was The Most Important Part is kind of, not. Like you might come up with some sort of compelling philosophical idea about the order that kids must learn words in, right, because the meaning of some words is dependent on others. Uh so they have to learn "horse" before "cart" or some shit like that. Feels like this is the kind of thing a 17th century guy would think. Well then you check and that just isn't true, the order kids learn words in is as much about how phonologically comfortable they find them as it is their semantics, etc. etc. There's a bunch of specific empirical shit you have to deal with.

Well I feel like a fair amount of non-linguist commentary on natural language is sort of a more advanced version of that. You gotta check! Always remember you gotta check.

...And don't just check English and French!

[weebsinstash]

I didn't notice vals coat was his wings until you mentioned it, but side note, val and vox were literally frenching it in the last episode, vox literally had vals spit all over his mouth wdym they're not dating???

Oh yeah, the wing reveal was an entire thing!

In episode 4, Masquerade, Charlie decides to put her foot down and use her authority as Princess of Hell to try and visit Angel at the studio to talk to Valentino, but, um, she cannot read a room to save her life, massively fucks it up, starts a small fire (not entirely her fault, that surge protector was a mess), and Valentino actually uses his wings and his weird smoke/pheromone powers to put out the flames (so also I've thought of him rescuing Reader from fires now because of course)

I'm not sure how the logic of the coat wrapping around his arms to form sleeves works but it fucks severely. then I also think, what are alternatives for a moth Reader? Someone sent in an ask about Reader being a silk moth so that you have the moth powers but you're ultimately helpless because you either don't have wings or they're too small for you to actually fly and escape ( because domesticated silk moths were bred to not be able to fly) and I think that would be great. Maybe Reader just has a tattoo of moth wings across their back, OR you have just, magical poofing powers where you can retract that shit back in, like Anthony's second pair of arms, and when they're hidden away, you have a tattoo. It leaves potential for hiding who you are from Val. This whole mystery of him chasing down some cute moth he sees in blurry footage from your first night in the afterlife and he doesn't realize the mysterious moth with rumors of a special dust that knocks you on your ass and makes you see stars is right next to him

I just. I keep thinking of butterfly/moth Readers and different powers they can have, like a silk moth Reader who can create silk and lowkey be Spiderman (or... bondage powers? 👀) , or the pheromone powers we mentioned before, or just a Reader who has their own fuck huge wings. Most moth species have female moths be physically larger than the males and I can just see like, a luna moth Reader who's wings are big and elegant and can become an evening gown or whatever, just a moth Reader whose wings become something pretty 😍 (ughhhh callback to my "Reader becomes an incognito Overlord called Big Blue" poeer fantasy except now I'm thinking of a Reader who's tall like Val and you're a blue morpho butterfly.

Reader being in the midst of being Val's weird pet slash forced partner, waking up and Valentino is sleeping beside you and he's just got those big ass wings open and they're draped all over the bed and they're covering you like a blanket while he squeaks in his sleep... you wind up as the filling in a VoxVal sandwich and those big red bitches are huge enough to cover everybody... also... what if Valentino used his wings lowkey like a tripwire so if you try to get up out of bed, you can't move without touching the wings, and he wakes up the instant you leave the bed, I'm talking you're 5 feet away still tippy toeing and you hear "you better get the fuck back here before I have to get you" and you're instantly scrambling back to his bed and now he's wrapping his arms around you so you can't leave again

I feel like Vivienne saying Val and Vox aren't dating is.... I saw someone phrase it as "dating is a really heteronormative concept and you'll have people be in domestic partnerships who aren't married" which is a good point and i also saw someone say "you've got two men throwing nasty hissy fits and probably having the world's best hate sex afterwards, you know Valentino isn't taking this man to dinner"

I feel like staticmoth IS sort of canon but it's not, explicitly like, they would DIE for each other or anything, idk. Maybe Valentino is only truly capable of loving himself and he loves the attention Vox gives him, and Vox is toxic codependent but he truly loves Alastor, who fucking knows, I'm still over here writing them both as my favorite problematic horny queers. Now I can just see Val and Vox fighting for "custody" of their shared darling, arguing who gets them which days, stealing them from each other, sabotaging each other's dates, just being selfish nasty evil obsessive gross dudes 😩❤️

[neytirisheaven]

she’s all i wanna be so bad

warnings: no use of y/n, slughorn calling you sweetheart (a jumpscare in itself), regulus being oblivious, slight angst

regulus black x fem!slughorn!reader word count: 1.2k (part two)

summary: being slughorn’s daughter, you were immediately sorted into slytherin, where you befriended the infamous regulus black. throughout your five years at hogwarts, you only grew closer to the youngest son of walburga and orion black, and you just so happened to develop feelings for him. unfortunately for you, a beauxbatons transferee would steal his heart before you could even manage to grasp the fact that he had yours.

notes: THIS IS UNBEARABLY SHORT I’M TERRIBLY SORRY, i wanted to get something out for you guys so you wouldn’t have to go through a long wait!! i do have a part 2 in mind if anyone would like to read it, and while this is definitely not my best work and i don’t really like it.. i PROMISE it’ll get better once i get the hang of tumblr fics!

THE EERIE SILENCE of the Slytherin common room was relaxing at night, the high-positioned windows allowing the dim moonlight to shine through the dark living space. The light crackling of the sparks from the fireplace echoed against the stone walls, and the only other audible sound was the crinkly noises of your book’s pages. 

They had been soaked with water just a day prior, when an entourage of snobby Ravenclaws ‘accidentally’ tipped their goblets over. You were only grateful it wasn’t pumpkin juice, just as they should’ve been grateful that your best friend was there to hold you back from hexing them in front of your professors. 

Everything would have gone red if it weren’t for Regulus. He was always there for you when — wait, where was he? You couldn’t quite remember where he told you he was running off to, only that he had the most shit-eating grin you had ever seen him bear. His pearly-whites were shining ever-so-brightly, and not even the appearance of his parents could dampen his spirit.

Being the most amazing best friend you could be, you didn’t pry and only let him be, ultimately deciding to head down to the common room and read your book in the peace and quiet that came with it. 

“For the love of Merlin, Reg, you’re practically bouncing your leg off,” you had commented during Potions.

Regulus had been spinning his quill between his fingers as if he hadn’t just dipped it into a fresh pot of ink, biting a smile back as he gazed off into the furthest wall of the confined classroom. You were snapping your fingers in an attempt to gain his attention, but your efforts were to no avail. All he did was hum and spit out a “yeah, sure.”

“Have you even been paying attention to any of the instructions?”

“Of course, I have, dimwi—“

And then she walked in. A pretty girl, one of the prettiest you’ve ever seen, with long, luscious, blonde locks cascading down her shoulders and back. You were sure you could run a pine cone through her hair, and it still wouldn’t get tangled. It was like she had some sort of glowy aura radiating all around her.

You hated it.

Correction, you hated the way he looked at her. The way his eyes almost popped straight out of his skull at the mere sight of her undeniable beauty was unbearable for you to watch. 

That’s why he was giggling to himself, you thought to yourself when the whole class went dead silent. Your father shot her a welcoming smile and trotted over to her with his hand extended out. You could make out the small, white paper that the girl held in her hands — oh, Merlin, her hands. They were absolute perfection; her figure itself seemed like it was sculpted by the Gods. 

No wonder Regulus was completely and utterly awestruck.

“Is this the correct class?” Her accent, from what you could tell, was a very thick French accent, a sign that she was from the Beauxbatons Academy. And there was no way you could compete with a Beauxbatons girl. “You are Professor Slughorn, yes?”

Your father nodded his head and led her to the front of the class, “Indeed, I am. You’ve come to the right class! What is your name, dear girl? Go ahead, introduce yourself to the class.”

The girl clasped her hands behind her back as she spoke. Her posture was impeccable, straight enough to hold the whole library on her head if she wished to. Her voice was full of light and confidence, which only added to the already-long list of reasons why your best friend was head-over-heels for her.

“My name is Adaléne, and I am a transfer student from Beauxbatons. Thank you for welcoming me into Hogwarts,” she beamed, her rosy cheeks lifting when she smiled. 

Maybe it was the intensity of your emotions, or maybe it was just the fact that you were a Slytherin, but you were glaring so hard that if looks could kill, she would’ve been six feet underground the second she stepped foot into the Potions classroom.

Your father said a few more things to her and the class, but you had tuned his words out. You only focused back when you felt Regulus’ soft taps on your thigh. Your gaze immediately softened as you looked at him, the sole feeling of his fingers against your leg being enough to bring you down from the rage that was building up inside of you. He nodded towards your dad, who was now looking straight at you with a concerned gaze. 

“Sweetheart, could you and Mister Black fill Adaléne in on the curriculum and the topic for today?” He asked, already bringing the blonde girl over to your table before you had enough time to respond. 

You and Regulus looked like complete opposites, his excited grin contrasting with your deadpan look. For the rest of the class period, you sat there expressionless, watching Regulus and Adaléne flirt with one another. Just watching.

Now, you sat alone on the couch before the fireplace, toying around with your bookmark as your eyes fluttered over the inked words on your pages. Your ears almost perked up when you heard Regulus’ voice trailing through the entrance of the common room, your book becoming the least of your worries. 

You heaved yourself off the green couch and plastered a grin onto your face while you tugged on the knitted sweater you fished from your best friend’s clothes. The sleeves fell just past your fingertips, shielding you from the chilly temperature of the dungeons during wintertime. You opened your mouth to call out the boy’s name, but before a word could leave your mouth, you heard his name leave her mouth.

“Oh, Regulus,” she sighed dreamily, her black Hogwarts robes draping down to her expensive shoes. You could hear her giggle behind her hand, and as soon as the boy’s figure came into your line of sight, your smile dropped.

Regulus had his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and his face was littered with pink lipstick stains. His cheeks were flushed just as rosy as the color of Adaléne’s lipstick was, and his hair was run rugged from what you could assume was the girl running her hands through his thick curls. Maybe you were jumping to conclusions, but every detail only led you to worse and worse ideas.

You could barely manage to stand there without feeling the urge to vomit or scream. For the few seconds you looked at the two, you saw Regulus’ wide grin when Adaléne cupped his cheeks and beamed up at him, and all you could wonder was why that wasn’t you. 

Your book found its place in your hands, and as quickly as you could, you swiveled on your heel and dashed into your dorm. 

You didn’t even notice the bookmark you dropped, and you definitely didn’t notice Regulus’ regretful, burning gaze piercing through the back of your skull.

[sailor-aviator]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! Also, if you DO NOT fill out the form below (Tag List) then you will not be tagged! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. “Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,” you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

Tag List: @jakeseresinlover @haley-hotchner @queerqueenlynn @dempy @fanficfandomlove @aworldwideapart @stoptaking-the-good-names @maximus890 @sky2nd @devil-angel-winchester @hopip99 @hookslove1592 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @uniquedreamlandcheesecake @imamomof8 @pietrothemovie @kmc1989 @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @deliriousfangirl61 @hangmandruigandmav @na-ta-sh-aa @witchybabel @keyrani @i-wanna-be-your-muse @buckysteveloki-me @clancycucumber230 @dreamlandcreations @emotionallysalty @fandom-life-12 @a-girl-who-loves-disney @nouis-bum @topherwrites @squeaky-bumblbee22 @hangmansgbaby @goldenseresinretriever @bobgasm @linkpk88 @number-0-iz @xl-pr @stillreadingfantasy @shibble @horseshoegirl

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

quiet night in listening to you speak another language (it's so casual)

summary: it's the eve of christmas eve and nate's somehow found himself listening to you speak french (he's not complaining)

warnings: swearing, tension?, mentions of christmas celebrations

the series!

< this was originally going to be longer but i need to rehash the lore first >

In all actuality, Nate hadn’t actually realised that he’d even owned a book in French. He’d scoured past every title and spine of each single one at least three times before, and not once did he clock the French one. In his defence, the title was pretty misleading – that was in English – and still, according to you, the inside pages were all in French. 

French. He’d shaken his head, and if it had been anyone else, he might have scoffed and not believed them, but he was beginning to get the hang of reading your body language and facial expressions pretty well in the five or six months you’d been friends – and he’d yet to decide if that little skill of his was a good thing or not. On one hand, it let him know exactly when to shut the fuck up (now, for instance), and on the other…well, the more he thought about it, the more he was coming to the realisation that there wasn’t much to not like about getting to know you more.

But now? You standing in his living room because you’d both miraculously managed to get back to Cole Harbour for a few days at Christmas? If he was being completely honest with himself, it was kind of driving him crazy.

And for the life of him, he couldn’t work out why.

It might have something to do with the fact that he was a little bit tipsy; it might have had something to do with the fact that maybe he found he wasn’t entirely too bummed out that he’d just made a fool of himself in front of you; or it might have had something to do with the fact that he’d just realised your voice changed when you spoke French.

Was that something that happened to everyone who spoke more than one language? He couldn’t remember. He’d heard Jo speak French on a number of different occasions, even you when he’d met up with you in Montreal, but with the close proximity forced by lowered inhibitions from the alcohol in both your systems, he was just now figuring it out.

Your voice was deeper, but somehow softer. And Nate found himself wondering if it changed yet again if you spoke a different language. He found himself wanting to find that out. Actually, that seemed to be a recurring theme lately: you’d say something or do something, and he’d stop for a moment, his mind soaking in that new piece of information – the calm before the storm – until his brain would ultimately spiral into a smattering of different thoughts and questions, all of them pertaining to you.

He’d considered writing them down and making a note of them, but the risk of someone accidentally stumbling across such a list was slightly mortifying, and the only thing he could do was promise his future self that when things stopped being a little bit awkward (i.e. silences where both of you would remember that the person in front of you was still a stranger and not in fact an old, good friend), he’d just start asking them. Out loud. And without shame.

Take this moment, for example:

It was the day before Christmas Eve. He’d spent the morning dropping off presents to non-family in the local area (mainly Sid and some other childhood friends that he still kept in touch with), and along the way he’d received a phone call from you and walked home to the sight of you huddled on his doorstep, clutching a bottle of wine with the excuse that you thought it’d be more bearable to drink with someone else than alone.

And if he was being completely honest, when his phone first lit up with that incoming call, he felt himself perk up, a grin already on his face when he answered – of which he was entirely sure you could hear in his voice down the line. Though, that was nothing compared to the actual proof of you on his doorstep, nothing at all.

He’d had to keep his hands from shaking when he stuck the key in the lock, and stop himself from staring for too long, because you’d clearly come from some sort of dressy-gathering and were wearing pretty, formal clothes and you’d clearly had a good day already because you were practically already glowing.

Needless to say, it hadn’t taken much for the two of you to eventually settle in his front room, a Christmas movie on low volume in the background as you trawled his bookshelf with curiosity. That was when the little debate had started, and it was also when you’d rather unapologetically rolled your eyes and shoved the pages under his nose to prove you were right, because what else would you have done?

What would he have done? Probably the same thing. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen your competitive side, either, and if every little discussion ended up with you sitting right next to him, your legs folded underneath you as you held the book in front of your face, eagerly rattling out sentence after sentence in French – he figured maybe losing this kind of this wasn’t such a bad idea. He also figured he could cope with going a little bit crazy every now and then.

(Nate hated losing, that should be known.)

Though, one thing he found sufficiently annoying was his own inability to understand just what it was you were saying. He’d always wanted to learn French – he’d have probably ended up on a different team in his youth if he had known French – but he’d never really committed himself to picking up the language, not even when he met Jo. Sure, he knew basic phrases, as did most people, but this was something else.

Every sentence or so you’d have to reread what you’d just read in French in English for him to understand, and even though he wanted to know the translation, he also wanted to batter his child self for ever turning those lessons down, because hearing English after speaking French was incredibly…well, as much as he liked the English language, it lacked the unique beauty of the French language.

“Do you want me to keep reading, or–”

“Yes please.” He instantly regretted interrupting you – not only because he was honestly so eager to keep hearing you talk, but because of your own reaction to said eagerness. He didn’t even need to be looking at you to feel the heat of your amused stare into the side of his face.

Though, he also knew, at least some unconscious part of him did, that it was also because he liked being close to you in this way: a kneecap pressing into the side of his thigh, one sock-clad foot under said thigh, and your shoulder leaning against his bicep from where it had previously (already) been outstretched across the back of the couch. After all, you’d put yourself there. Initially to prove a point, but you hadn’t moved, neither of you had.

The glasses on the coffee table were empty, as was the bottle, and it was getting pretty dark outside already. The fire was on, While You Were Sleeping was playing, and he felt comfortable. Infinitely more comfortable than he would have done if he’d have just come home to an empty house, though he half suspected that if you hadn't been here he’d have just asked to have dinner at his parent’s house, but you’d sorted that too with a few clicks on your phone.

He rather liked having you around, it was something he’d recognised from the very beginning but he seemed to be reminded of it each and every time you saw each other – which wasn’t very often at all, not often enough: you were in Montreal and he was in Colorado, and very rarely were the two of you ever in the same place at the same time. Not unless he had a game in Montreal or you had to visit the chain in Colorado, or you were both at home. Other than that, your friendship was strictly limited to the confines of technology, and even then there was often a small conflict with the time difference.

Two hours wasn’t much, but with his constant travelling and your workload, you’d come to learn it was no easy feat trying to organise a video call – hence, texts just seemed to be the easiest thing to do.

Yeah, he found himself thinking, fuck knows when you’d get to see each other next.

It was why he took the chance of sounding like a bit of an idiot: if he wasn’t honest then it’d take forever to actually get to know each other properly, and he wasn’t going to have that, at least, not if he could help it too much.

“Does your voice sound different when you speak Spanish than when you speak French?” He wasn’t looking at you when he asked it, but the burning of his cheeks did intensify when you slowed to a stop, the book lowering to your bent knee.

When he did look at you, your head was tilted, a careful look of consideration melted into your features. You rested your head momentarily on his arm and he had to fight to not react to that.

“Probably.” You settled on, voice rough from the alcohol, “You have to use your facial muscles differently to produce the sounds depending on accent, rhythms and intonation patterns.”

Your head lifted off his arm, and for a second his mind went blank.

“What does your Spanish sound like?”

You raised your brows, eyelids heavy, “You want me to speak Spanish?”

He just nodded, fighting off a cheeky grin.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“Cualquier cosa.” You muttered, watching his face carefully for any indication your voice had changed.

It was a little odd to admit, but there was something entirely endearing about watching Nate react to things – whether it be something you said, or something that happened. It was fascinating: the way his mouth would twitch or his brows would dip down or raise, or the different creases that would appear. It felt like a game trying to predict what would change on his face to formulate a complete reaction, but it was weirdly adorable.

Though, your favourite thing just had to be his nose – mostly because it was the one constant: you could always rely on the sharp slope and slight curve to stay the same. The relevance that had to your previous observation was little to none, but…you liked it.

This time his mouth twisted, and he glanced away from you momentarily, like he needed the extra few seconds to replay the moment in his mind to make the decision. In truth, you already had an idea of what your own voice sounded like speaking different languages: part of the learning process was to record and talk and relisten to improve pronunciation, and it was then that you’d realised for yourself that you sounded slightly different.

Spanish was a higher pitch, probably because you found it less comfortable than speaking English and French. English was a nice medium to refer back to, and French was lower even then, probably because of the accent itself, and the fact that you’d been speaking it just as long as you had English.

Still, it didn’t take ten minutes for you to notice the differences like it had Nate – it took a good couple of days.

“Spanish is higher than French and English.” Nate turned back to you, confident in his answer, and for the sake of not showing just how shocked you were at that, you nodded.

“A propósito, tu cabello se ve bien de ese modo.” 

He blinked, eyes lazily focused on your mouth as you moved, and his lack of reaction to the unfamiliar phrase prompted an unintentional blush to warm your cheeks – the sheer intensity of his eyes and the mix of his slightly parted mouth (either out of curiosity or lack of self-awareness) bringing something a little heavier to the moment. You attempted to distract him from the colour of your cheeks by nudging his thigh with your kneecap.

He swallowed, mouth closing, “What does that mean?” 

And because he usually had pretty pale cheeks, the flush of the alcohol blended seamlessly into any further reddening making it almost impossible to distinguish if he was the least bit embarrassed about you having caught him staring so unashamedly – if it weren’t for the tips of his ears burning.

“It means ‘by the way, your hair looks good that way’.” You muttered a little sheepishly, lifting the book up to hide the bottom half of your face, eyes peeking over the top to spy on his reaction whilst also trying to appear nonchalant. 

You watched his eyes widen a little bit, jumbled mind digesting your compliment, before running a self-conscious hand through his waves. They were probably the most messed up you'd ever seen them: unruly and a little floppy. It wasn’t exactly a sight that screamed ‘Nathan’ to you, but you weren’t lying when you said it looked good. He looked good.

Only, he didn’t seem to agree, because he frowned, fingers twirling the ends of his hair, eyes cross-eyed as he dragged strands down to his own view, “My hair’s a mess.” You heard him mutter rather confusedly, and you lowered the book once more, leaning your head against your fist, mindful not to knock his arm off the back of the couch.

And maybe it was because you were also tipsy, or maybe it was because you didn’t want him to start fixing it, or maybe – just maybe – there was a small part of you that needed him to know you weren’t teasing, convince him that you you weren’t just saying it for the sake of saying it, “Stop fussing with it.”

“I can’t, it’s pissing me off.” He groaned, using both hands to scrape his hair backwards, which did nothing but draw your attention to his features: the shadows under his eyes from the light and his lashes; the prominent hook of his nose; the precise groove of his philtrum; the shape of his mouth; the soft stubble decorating his chin.

You were staring.

And he opened his eyes, the clear blue startling you to look sharply at the TV, now acutely aware of the fact that you were tucked against his shoulder, pressed against his thigh and under his thigh, all in pretty close proximity to say you’d only known each other for a few months.

Usually it took you a while to get comfortable with someone as a friend, even in the physical sense: hugs weren’t usually a comfortable thing – you didn’t know why, you just weren’t like that – though alcohol was the only thing that made you more comfortable with that kind of thing.

The common denominator.

“When do you go back to Colorado?” You spoke as you turned your attention back to him, speaking the first thing that came to your mind to get his sudden frustration away from his hair.

“Christmas morning.” He sighed, thumb scraping his eyebrow, “What about you?”

“Christmas evening.”

There was a lull in conversation after that, the both of you quiet as you took in what it meant. Usually you hated uncertainty and having such a lack of control over future plans, but it was something you’d had to quickly accept and adjust to if it meant you wanted Nate in your life. You didn’t know when you’d next see each other after this holiday. It could be weeks, it could be months.

You swiped your phone from the coffee table, pulling up your calendar app and scrolling through the dates. You knew he didn’t have any games left in Montreal, which left (at least, up until the play-offs) it up to your own work schedule. Sometimes your boss would have you travel to other branches across Canada and the US to implement training or just to evaluate how different departments work in your division – maybe you could learn more efficient techniques etc. But that was rare – you’d been down to Colorado once in the last seven months, and it was only luck that Nate was at home then.

Which put you up to Summer if the Avs clinched the playoffs, and even then it was fifty-fifty as to whether or not you’d be able to take holiday, obviously not to just see Nate, but to spend time with family that you didn’t get to see as often as you’d like. Though, your holiday leave tended to be used for birthdays.

You switched off your phone, running a hand through your hair and placing the book on the coffee table, untucking yourself from Nate to sit next to him instead, a suitable amount of distance separating you on the cushions. It wasn’t an obvious gap that you’d placed, but it was appropriate enough.

“Two days to spend time with the family.” He murmured, arms crossed over his chest.

“I think that’s the thing I miss most about not living here anymore. But I’m always ready to go back to my little apartment – I hate feeling like a kid again.”

Nate hummed in agreement, though a part of it felt fake. He knew what you were saying, he understood where you were coming from, but it felt fraudulent to sit on his couch in his house and agree with you – you who had to go back to your parents and probably get pestered (lovingly) as to where you’d been all day, before getting told not to go to bed too late. He hadn’t had that in years. He’d spend days at his parent’s house, but he’d always come back here.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want.” 

He’d said it quietly, a part of him wanting to be drowned out over the sound of the movie, and despite wanting to come across as it being a casual suggestion, he couldn’t help the note of sincerity seeping into his tone. He supposed it was that that had you hesitating, eyes carefully roving his face.

“I have a spare room already made up, it’d be no trouble.” He shot you a wry smile, shrugging helplessly, before turning back to the TV to give you space to think.

Only, you just sighed and picked your phone up again, before throwing him a glance out of the corner of your eye, “Are you sure?”

He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile, “I’m sure. I can drop y’off in the morning.”

[malii-the-bonehead]

The Other Woman pt1

its here ladies and gents its here.

Slow burn

Summary: Chris, a popular hockey player at school where Y/n went, found himself falling for the beautiful, shy girl. As time went on he found out who Y/n truly was as a person and ultimately, he had to make the choice, his girlfriend, or the other woman.

She was beautiful and he knew it. He knew because every chance he got, he would look in her direction. She sat so perfectly in 3rd hour history class, her back facing him. But he could imagine exactly what her face did. The way she focused so hard. So hard that she’d lick her lips too many times. The way her eyebrows furrowed when she didn't understand the lesson. Her long hair perched in a messy bun on top of her head. How her cheeks were always dusted with a light pink color. She was so, so beautiful. Not everyone would think that, but one adored her. Chris adored everything about her. She was so sweet and soft spoken and she was a little bit shy. He would listen to her talk when the teacher would ask a question and wonder how she got so wise and smart. He was proud of someone he never knew.

He thought about her a lot. And ofcourse, he was beautiful as well, but he didn’t think so. He thought he could never, ever be good enough for her. Chris thought he lacked the smarts and personality that she had. He thought he wasn’t worthy of her, and so many people, except himself, knew he was more than capable. Chris wasn’t exactly sure of how popular he was in school. Him on one side of the social status and her on the other.

Despite not many people knowing her, the ones who did were fond of Y/n. They had no reason to despise her. Everyone apart from Chris’ girlfriend. No one understood why, not even Chris. And Chris loved his girlfriend, but she wasn’t Y/n. The love he felt for Y/n was different from Clairisa, Chris’s girlfriend. She was beautiful too, super smart as well and always kind.  But there was something that drew Chris to the other woman. He didn’t have a clue what it was but it kept tugging at him. And it pained Chris to know that if Clairisa knew how he felt about Y/n, it would crush her. But that didn’t stop him. He just wanted to talk to her. To be close to her. He wanted to be her friend. That’s why he’s where he’s at right now, in front of Y/n's desk in their only shared class.

Y/n’s pov

I wrote on my paper, studying the last bit of information I could before the test. I didn't have time to study last night. Work kept me up til around midnight, and when I did finally arrive home, I had to clean the kitchen. It was always a mess when I got home. I regret not doing it after school, seeing how tired and stressed I was this morning. I scribbled down as much as I could. I found that I can memorize things quicker if I write it down a few times. God how I hated history. I was good at everything, math, science, English, and even French class, but history? Hell no. I sighed, closing my eyes and rubbing them with my fingers. I heard a slight tap on my desk in front of me. I moved my hands from my face and looked up slightly. It was a boy with brown hair and very blue eyes. I felt my face form a confused expression. I knew who he was, everyone did. Chris Sturniolo was kind of popular with the girls and he was very friendly with the majority of the guys at school as well. Most knew him because he played hockey, and damn was he good at it. 

Why is he at my desk? Class is about to start and he’s at my desk.

“Um, yes?” I asked, glancing over his face before shifting in my spot. His gaze was making me uncomfortable.

He looked at me for a few seconds, but it felt like so much longer. He looked like he wanted to get something off his mind but couldn’t form the words.

“Do you need something?” I questioned him once more. Then, as he was opening his mouth to say something, he closed it and walked away to his desk. I looked down at my hands on my lap. What was that about?

I glanced back slightly, him already looking at me. I quickly turned around, picking up my pencil and scribbling on my paper again, trying to hide my face from others that were filing into the room. I felt a blush slowly creep up my neck. Well that was embarrassing. The bell rang meaning class was starting. I closed my book as the teacher announced we had a test today and started going over the directions of what to do after we had finished.

The test wasn’t difficult at all. I was actually the second one to finish it. I knew I had gotten an A on it. Majority of it was common sense. After I turned the paper in to the teacher, I walked back to my desk. I glanced around the room, my eyes finding the top of Chris’s head. He had his head down, probably sleeping. Did he finish his test? Why is he sleeping right now? I shook my head slightly and sat back down at my desk. I opened my bag and grabbed my phone and headphones. I opened my music app and played my music, letting out a breath and sighing. I had work again today. From 4 to 11:30. That meant that when I got home I had to clean the house quickly, so I didn’t struggle like I did last night. I placed my head down softly, shutting my eyes and listening to the music playing through my headphones.

–

School was slow. Every class seemed to take forever. I think it was because I was so exhausted. Lunch was nice though. I normally go outside for lunch. I like to look at the sky, listen to my music and enjoy the quiet. Sometimes there would be the occasional person to say hello to me but today it was just my thoughts. I was grateful for that. I appreciated the 45 minutes of peace. I liked talking to people, but most of the time it was too much to deal with. Talking meant focusing, and lunch was the time that I didn’t need to focus, unless I was cramming information in my head because of an exam next hour. 

The last bell of the day rang, excusing students to go home and enjoy the rest of the day for themselves. I walked outside, to my car. A white  2017 Nissan Sentra. Nothing special, but I loved it. It was cozy and gave me good memories. Memories I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life. My dad got it for me on my 16th birthday a year and a half ago. That was probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.

I got in and shut the door, starting the car. I looked around, making sure it was safe to go. Slightly to my left, a little ways across the parking lot, I spotted Chris leaning against his girlfriend's car, his hands in his pockets. She was leaned up against him, talking about something I obviously couldn’t hear. 

She’s so pretty, I thought to myself. I’ve always admired her, always been jealous of her since the 4th grade. She’s so lucky to have a guy like Chris. She deserved him. He deserved her. I blinked slowly, realizing I was staring at them. She kissed him and walked around to the driver side of her car. He walked to the passenger side and they both got in, pulling out of the parking lot. I leaned back in my seat. I wonder what he needed earlier. I honestly forgot about it, even though the situation made me very uncomfortable. I hope he didn't think anything bad of me. I mean, why was he standing there just looking at me. Why didn’t he talk? What if he wanted something from me? What would he want? I have nothing to offer so why would Chris Sturniolo be at my desk? I put my head down, rubbing my eyes with my fingers, for what felt like the 10th time today. I lifted my head and drove out of the parking lot, going in the direction of my home.

You have more important things to worry about, Y/n. Get home and get ready for work. But, I still thought about those blue eyes looking into mine all the way home.