#i’ve got to get back to the uk so bad

[otrtbs]

i leave the uk and jobs at the tate open up?????????????

[wosoragebaiter69]

that’s enough

barça femeni x teen!reader, alexia putellas x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: this is a mess. the plot is like when ur writing an english essay and you let your subconscious mind write it so it ends up splitting into three topics with no context.

TW: throwing up, coarse language

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Last night, I went out again. It isn’t unusual for me and if I get caught it gets me in trouble with Alexia. I’m not even doing anything bad most of the time, just driving around to take the pressure away. What I don’t factor in this time is the fact that we have an early morning session and a late night session. So if hell was a day, this is it.

First, we have a video session discussing tactics. Which is at 7am, then at 6pm we have a field session. Of course when I wasn’t there when Alexia woke up she immediately called me.

“Where are you? Where’s your car and why aren’t you in the house?” She questions clearly annoyed.

“Relax Alexia, I went out on a little drive, I’ll be there for the video session don’t worry.” She’s about to say more but I hang up. I know I won’t hear the end of this but there can’t be too much harm.

Turns out there can be.

I walk inside the room with my mcdonald’s coffee, I’m not the last person there but Alexia is in the room and shoots daggers at me. I shrug my shoulders, moving to sit next to Ingrid.

“Alexia is really mad, what did you do this time?” She asks, looking at me with a slight smirk.

“I went for a drive to clear my mind. I guess it’s illegal to do that now. I got a coffee though.” She wrinkles her face in disgust.

“Out of all the places to get coffee, you choose the worst one? Honestly kid, please find some place better. Staring at that makes me physically sick.” I roll my eyes.

“I was in a hurry and they call it fast food for a reason. Imagine if I was late? I’m already in trouble.” She nods her head in understanding.

“So, any plans for today or are you going to play Hogwarts Legacy all day.”

“I’m going to watch a movie.” I reply.

“The whole day?” She questions confused.

“Well… I never said I was seeing the movie IN Spain.” She sighs pinching the bridge between her nose.

“That’s not a good idea. Why would you do that?”

“Because I hate subtitles and I don’t want the movie to be in Spanish.” I shrug.

“That’s… a good point. If Alexia finds out you’ve left the country again she’s gonna lose it so have fun and make sure not to tell her you told me.” I nod.

“Will do my friend.” I’ve left the country before, one time to Germany where I accidentally met Georgia Stanway and got drunk with her. And the other time was at the UK in which I got into some nasty fights against some sad Arsenal fans. Like yes I was taunting them but no reason to attack me. I won in the end, obviously.

So if Alexia finds out I’ve left again she will be so mad. I focus my attention to the screen in front of us and listen in on what whatever Jona has to say.

- - - - -

After the session, I quickly make my way out of the room and into my car. I’m almost gone but Alexia is right behind me and she bangs on the window. I groan pulling it down.

“Hi Aleeee.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi Ale.’ me. Where have you been and how long? Do not lie to me.” I sigh.

“I went out on a drive around town, it’s so pretty at night, so excuse me if I want to look at it. Now if you must know. I’m on a tight schedule so, may you please move so I can move?” I ask, she reluctantly agrees and steps back allowing me to drive off to the airport.

(this is rlly fast paced but you can imagine whatever movie you want during the time skip)

- - - - -

It’s currently 5pm, I’ve been out all day the flights were only 2 hours and they were cheap. I don’t know why the others think of this stuff. Maybe I’m just Australian though.

I notice my stomach feels off, but it’s probably because I’m dehydrated and haven’t eaten a proper meal all day. Only a large popcorn and 2 packets of skittles.

I arrive at the grounds just in time and walk in with Sandra. I walk over to my area and get changed into the kit, before walking out onto the field with Lucy.

“You alright mate? You’re pale.” She states.

“I’m good, little tired is all.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me but we walk on.

The session is gruelling, high intensity and does not do anything to help what I’m feeling. Alexia has been pushing me harder than anyone else which is annoying and I low-key want to fall to the ground. That would only result in more laps though.

The 1.5 hour session ends, we have dinner which lasts half an hour than another 45 minutes in the gym. Both of which I am not excited for.

I can’t even think of anything when it happens, I feel bile rise up my throat and I just know that I should’ve eaten a proper meal. I make it into the bathroom in the nick of time, spilling my guts into the bowl. Someone is in here holding my tied back hair but I can’t be bothered to find who.

When I finally stop gagging, I flush the toilet and lean against the wall staring in front of me to find Keira.

“You feel any better or do you want to stay here.” She asks, resting her hand on my cheek. I shrug my shoulders as she sighs.

The door opens again and it’s Lucy.

“Oh, there you guys are. What happened?” Lucy turns to Keira.

“I was walking by the bathrooms and heard someone gagging and here she was throwing up.” She nods her head and I go to stand up.

“NO! No, you are not doing that. What if you throw up again? I’m going to get Alexia. Right now.” Lucy says sternly.

“Nooo, get Ingrid instead? Please Lucy.”

“Fine.” She walks out leaving Keira and I alone again.

“Mind telling me what lead to this moment?” I nod, explaining the staying up all night to not eating any proper food.

“That’ll do it. Can’t believe you just got on a flight to London.”

“It’s not even that long, it’s a great way to spend time. It’s like you saying a 45 minute drive is long. That’s how long it takes for me to get to school when I’m in Australia.” She shakes her head.

“Aussies sense of time is so out of whack I’m telling ya!” The door is opened again as Ingrid and Lucy make their way inside.

Ingrid sighs, “What are we going to do with you huh?” I laugh.

“Come on, let’s get you to the medics and then you can go home. I’ll drive your car and before you say anything we will be telling Alexia.” I nod, knowing there’s no escape.

We get to the medical room and Alexia is already there, talking about her knee with one of the physios. She looks over in question, Ingrid pushes me forward while Keira explains everything to the doctor. Who explains for me to eat a proper meal and drink some actual water. Before going to bed to get actual sleep.

Alexia is fuming, muttering many curse words and dragging me out of there. We get our stuff and give my keys to Mapi who nods at the plan of getting my car back home.

- - - - -

We walk through the door and Alexia guides me to the couch.

“I have had enough of this. We need to set some rules ok? You are 16 in a foreign country, you can’t go around to other countries when you fucking feel like it. I don’t care if you didn’t do anything bad but I can’t have you out of this city without me. Got it? As for the night driving, we’ll set a curfew and I expect you to be back by a certain time and you won’t be able to leave until a certain time. I told your parents I’d watch out for you but you are seriously making it hard for me to live up to that.”

“Sorry Ale.” She shakes her head.

“I’m not doing this with you right now. I’m going to make you a proper meal, you will drink 1 litre of water then you are heading straight to bed. No phone, no xbox, nothing until I deem you can be trusted. Am I clear?” I nod, feeling like I was 12 again.

“You might think this is excessive but I care about you. I want you to be safe, I need you to be safe. So please, make it easier for both of us.” Shes pleading now and it makes me feel bad, tears brim at the edge of my eyes and she sits down next to me.

“Amorcita, don’t cry. Por favor.” She rubs my thigh.

“I’m sorry Ale, I didn’t mean to. The night drives just lessen my anxiety about some things, you know. Like therapy.”

“I know, but you can speak to me about it any time if you feel you’re spiraling. Anyone on the team. Don’t do stupid things to get us to notice. Just talk I’m always here.” I sob into her arms, I can feel all the anger she has fade.

“Thanks, this means so much. Again I’m sorry.” She shakes her head.

“Don’t be, but I would like to know why you travelled to England to watch a movie, don’t you hate England?” This has me laughing.

“I mean… I do but in Spain it’s either gonna be in Spanish or have subtitles and I wanted it in English without.” She laughs softly.

“Of course, now how do you feel about Chicken Burgers for dinner? With potato gems.” I nod my head. She gets up and walks into the Kitchen starting to make the food.

Maybe I can start trying, and maybe I am truly cared about more than I thought. This team 🫶.

A/N: I LOVE SICKFICS I HAD TO. if you see any sickfic requested, i probs requested it lol

[cheriladycl01]

Billion Dollar Baby - Grid x Billionare! Reader x Lewis Hamilton (Rom) Part 2

Plot: Girlie loves Formula One, but she also loved Chaos and Drama so she offers the FIA/ the F1 Teams 300 million to do a race … for her under her rules!

You’d been working tirelessly with the FIA and all the teams, making sure that their cars were the same as the ones currently on track and that the teams still had enough time for their regular tasks within the team.

You’d been between the UK, Monaco, Italy and the US. Helping all the teams prepare, going round to get special one time sponsors involved in the name of charity and you were honesty exhausted.

You decided it was time for a break, and therefore time to call upon one of your holiday homes. You didn’t know whether you wanted to go to Greece or Mauritius. But you knew you just needed some time away.

You were walking around London looking for a new suitcase, your 10 year old Louis Vuitton had finally given up and was no longer able to be used. So you knew you needed to find something different.

“Do you guys like this one?” You asked the security guards that were with you. Your personal assistant was also supposed to be there, but since you were about to go on holiday she also decided to take her annual leave.

Apparently she got a last minute flight to Canada, and you knew she worked extremely hard to make your horrendously busy like a little easier so you knew this would be important for her.

“Mmmm very nice Miss” one smiles and you cock your head to the side with a little laugh.

“No passion, I definitely needed Lysa here” you sigh jokingly making security laugh.

“Miss, where do you wish to go after this? Harrods is close enough” he offers and you nod, knowing it was safely walkable.

As your walking you spot someone across the street from you, and before you can even look to see if there are any cars coming down the one way street you’re crossing the road to that individual.

“Lewis! Lewis! Hi!” You smile running over to him, your group of security chasing after you.

“Y/N? What are you doing in the UK?” He asks looking over you. He hadn’t seen you since the meeting with all the teams and the FIA, you looked more tired. Not that you looked bad tired, Lewis thought it was impossible for you to look bad at all, he’s seen you at your worst and still thought you were gorgeous.

“Just here before I go on holiday for a little bit. Most of my work is done with the teams so I wanted a little break from work and this race that I’ve been organising. I hope you’ll find it fun, and get a chance to see a new light of the sport” you smile calmly and be smiles back at you.

“Where are you going?” He asks, knowing you had a few comfort vacation sports and if he were to guess you’d be going to one of those rather than somewhere new.

“Mauritius” you smile and he grins, you guys always went there together. He was shocked that you hadn’t sold the Villa on after the two of you broke up considering how many summer or winter breaks you’d spent there.

“At the Villa? Or?” He asks.

“Mmmm at the Villa, say you guys have a nice little break now. Do you want to come with me?” You ask out if the blue.

“Oh, erm you want me to come with you?” He asks a bit shocked that you’d offered.

“Yeah for old time sake?” You smile awkwardly and he just coughs with a little laugh.

“Look, I thought about what you said and you were … are it for me too. And if you want to, I’m willing to try again. Only if … that’s something you wanted” you admit and he just stands there with his jaw dropped, the security guards are awkwardly trying to act as if they aren’t actually there.

“Y/N, I thought …” he says and you cock your head in confusion.

“You thought?” You push him to finish what he was about to say.

“You hated me in all honesty. And I thought you’d never give me another chance. I don’t even know if I deserve one with the way I ended things” he sighs.

“We needed things to end when they did Lewis otherwise it was going down a route neither of us would have been happy down. But I think we’ve both had time to grow since and I think part of me always knew if make my way back to you!” You smile at him and a soft grin breaks out on his face.

“Of course I’ll come with you! What are you doing right now?” He asks finally smiling and nodding at your security and saying a small little hello.

“Suitcase shopping the Dior one has officially been decommissioned” you smile and he nods knowing the exact one you were on about considering it was brought to every race, every business trip and every holiday you joined him on or he joined you on.

“Ah yes. The one that the spider from Qatar travelled back to the UK with us in” he laughs at the memory and how you both freaked out seeing the thick bodied brown spider that to you and Lewis thought could be some kind of Tarantula.

“Oh god don’t remind me! That was terrifying! Do you want to come help me look for a new one, we were about to go to Harrods” you offer and you smile at him.

“Yea, I think I’d like that!” He smiles taking your hand.

deuxmoi

Liked by y/user and 37,478 others

deuxmoi Spotted in London last night, y/user and lewishamilton ex partners … is there a rekindling of their relationship that ended in 2021? Or are they just hanging out as exes who bumped into each other. 📸 beckylecky2

View all 238 comments

estiebestie: please omg mum and dad NEED to get back together

lecsainz: omg this wasn’t on my f1 bingo card

landoscurls: y/n ~ best WAG

-> valtteripeaches: she’s been my fav since 2016

avengermaxv1: damn thought that was done and dusted in 2021

Taglist:

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[swordsandholly]

Keep it Casual

NSFW | MDNI

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem.plus size.Reader

cw: injury mention, death mention (in passing - no character death), brief weed smoking

Word count: 3.7k

One-shot/Drabble

Boy loves girl, girl loves boy. They’re not allowed to admit it, though. It’s good, right? All the benefits without any of the commitments. It’s what they both want, right?

Johnny MacTavish is an enigma to you in many ways. You’ve known each other for years - ever since you came over to the UK for Uni. He was in basic training then, out drinking when he approached you. His buddies were brutish and rude, only looking to add a soft American to their list of conquests, but Johnny… he spoke to you differently. Looked into your eyes, listened intently, gave you his full attention and nothing less.

You’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Beyond that, even. You and Johnny are entirely indivisble. Even when he’s gone for weeks, months, at a time, you’re inheretnly interlinked. Whether by phone calls or the matching tattoos you got on your ankles one drunken night, you’re connected.

There aren’t any labels for it. When people ask you default to best friends, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate it. There isn’t a word in the English language for what you have. You’re not partners - you’ve both had plenty of those each, however briefly. Even those always end. You and Johnny can’t be torn apart, though.

You know what the problem is. The reason you both keep it this vague, amorphous thing between you. Labels are frightening. Labels make things real. Labels mean you have to tell other people what you are, that suddenly there are expectations to live up to.

Labels feel like a death sentence in his line of work. Too many lost husbands, partners, lovers.

You lay on your belly in bed, legs kicked up in the air as you engross yourself in a book when the door knob clicks to the side. Johnny has a key to your place, of course, just as you have one to his. You don’t bother to get up. The chain always hangs loose when he’s gone - knowing he’ll come around at any moment. The door would stay wide open if it could, just for him.

You hear a thunk as as he drops his duffle on the ground. He didn’t go home yet, just came straight here. His boots fall on the floor next, then his jacket drops quietly in the hallway as he slowly makes his way to your room - to you.

“Bonnie lass…” Johnny greets, crawling across the bed toward you. He managed to get down to just his standard issue t-shirt and boxer briefs before climbing in. He knows you hate outside clothes on the bed.

“Johnny.” You smile, rolling onto your back as he climbs over you. Your fingers card through his mohawk, tugging gently on the strands curling at the base of his neck. “Need a trim there, bud.”

“Aye.” He chuckles. “Was waitin’ tae see ye. No one does it as good as my girl.”

His girl. Your boy. That’s the closest either of you ever get to tempting fate.

You hum. “How was work?”

Work. That word doesn’t even come close to what Johnny does. You can’t say more - can’t utter the word deployment. Coward.

“Ach no’ tha’ bad this time. Go’ my heid knocked around a bit.”

“So the usual?”

“Oi.” He scoffs in mock offense. “Donnae be rude.”

“I’m never rude.” You snicker, turning over and reaching for the top dresser of your nightstand. “Do you want to roll or me?”

“I think I’ve earned some princess treatment.” Johnny flops back on the bed, a finger hooking in the hem of your cotton panties as you sit up. He always does this when he first gets back - has to have some part of him touching some part of you. Not that you’d ever complain. You need it just as much as him, though you’d die before admitting to it.

Those blue eyes bore into you as you roll. It’s tradition - a celebratory joint when he gets back. Then you’ll binge all the TV shows and movies you saved up while he was gone and order an ungodly amount of take out. Indian. His favorite. Sometimes Johnny will go back to his apartment the next day to get some quiet time, maybe visit his parents, before he has to go back to work on the base but other times he’ll stay with you his whole time back home. Just taking up your space and being so domestic it makes your teeth hurt like too-sweet candy.

You always hope he stays.

“First hit for the guest of honor?” You smile, holding the joint out for him.

“Och, yer a blessing, hen.” His hand is warm as it brushes yours when he takes the joint from you, eyes locked on your own. There’s something intense in his stare that you aren’t used to. It makes you look away, almost shy under his gaze. He coughs suddenly, a harsh burst of smoke puffing from his lips.

You can’t help but laugh at him, “Getting weak lungs, soldier boy?”

“Oh, feck off.” He elbows you gently.

Somehow you’ve already got the giggles. It’s just something about being around him that makes everything feel better - brighter. More lively. Even the colors of your ugly little ashtray (the one you painted terribly when Johnny’s niece insisted the three of you go paint pottery while babysitting) feel so much more clear with him near.

“Oh!” His brows shoot up suddenly, as if he just remembered something direly important. “I got somethin’ fer ye. Be right back.”

You watch him jog down the hall - definietly not staring at his butt, no ma’am - and listen to the sounds of Johnny rooting around through his duffle bag. Your lips quirk up into a smile when he lets out a distant “aha!”

He comes back with a small, velvety box, flopping back into bed beside you and criss-crossing his legs. “There was this little artisan shop in a town we stopped through. The Captain wanted tae get his wife somethin’ an’ I saw this an’ thought of ye.”

The box slips into your hands. It’s small and light. You roll it between your palms a couple times before shaking it with a grin. Before you can make one of your usual silly quips about what might be inside, your eyes meet Johnny’s. They’re on fire, sparkling with anticipation for you to open the little gift. He’s gotten you things before (you actually have a shelf dedicated to his nicknacks from around the world) but this seems… different. There’s a heaviness to his expression that you’re not used to.

You glance between him and the box briefly - opening it slowly. Your eyes turn to saucers as you come face to face with a finely crafted silver necklace. A little four pointed star with a sparkling gem in the middle that looks the same icy blue as Johnny’s eyes. Little flecks of pink and green catch the light as you turn it between your fingers.

“Johnny-“ You gasp, at a total loss for words.

“Ye like it?” He asks with an uncharacteristically nervous pitch to his voice. His palms rub together absently as he glances between you and the necklace in your hand.

“I love it.” You smile softly, heart fluttering as Johnny breaks out in a grin of his own. “Put it on me?”

“Course.” He whispers, pushing your hair to the side and locking the clasp with deft fingers. It hangs perfectly underneath your clavicles, resting between the other jewelry you wear daily.

Those hands linger for a moment, before both slowly brush down over your shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers glide across your skin and leave an electric current in their wake as light kisses trail up your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie.”

You sigh and lean back against his broad chest. “Missed you too.”

Teeth sink into the crook of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. Large, rough hands grab and knead your tits through your thin tank top. He plucks at your nipples - rolling them between his fingers as he sucks deep marks into your neck.

You open your mouth to complain about leaving visible hickies but all that comes out is a breathy moan. You run your hands up his thighs on either side of you, dragging your nails across his skin in the way that always leaves him panting.

One hand travels down, grabbing onto the softness of your belly appreciatively before continuing. His fingers glide over your covered pussy, teasing you to gasp and squirm under him. Rough fingers continue to pluck at your nipple, eventually pushing their way under your tank top for better access. A low hiss escapes Johnny’s lips as your breasts fall free of the camisole.

“Fuck, bonnie. Can I taste ye? Please? Need ye so bad.” Johnny groans in your ear. “Please.”

How could you ever say no to him? He doesn’t even have to ask, really.

He repositions you on your back, tucking a pillow under your hips. Ever the considerate type. His fingers hook in your panties, a low, pleased rumble echoing through his chest as he shucks off the soaked fabric.

No matter what he’s doing, Johnny’s eyes always find yours. He could be across the most crowded room in the world and, imminently, they’ll find yours. They crinkle at the sides with his smile that pulls the scar on his chin.

“So pretty fer me.” He murmurs, lowering himself between your thighs as he bites and kisses up the soft flesh between your legs.

Johnny is a lot of things, and a total much is easily near the top of the list. Maybe number one, even. He presses his face into your cunt - mouthing over your clit and dragging his tongue down between your lips. It’s almost more for him, you think, the way he drags his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pussy. You can’t complain - you would be a fool to with the way he absolutely worships your body.

A harsh suck to your clit as your back arching. Strong arms wrap around your thick thighs to hold you down as he devours you.

“Taste so good, lass. Sweet as fuckin’ candy.” He moans against your cunt.

“Johnny!” You gasp, hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk. A low moan pulls out of you as he licks from your back hole to your clit before stuffing his tongue as deep in your pussy as he can. Chants of obscenities and pleading and oh, god, Johnny please you’re so good fall from your lips.

You know better than to try to hide your sounds. If he could he’d devour them just as much as he already does you - inject them straight in his veins to live there forever. Two fingers push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. Johnny chuckles as you buck into the touch. The fingers curl directly up into that spot inside you as he nips at your clit.

Your climax hits you like a train - stars blooming behind your eyes and your back arching sharply. You’re always so sensitive after he’s been gone. So ready to have him again.

“Thassit, tha’s my good girl.” Johnny kisses up your thigh, working you through your orgasm with his fingers. “Ready fer me, baby? Missed this pretty cunt so bad - thought about her every day.”

You nod excitedly - mind too fuzzy and content to come up with the words to respond. Lazily, Johnny reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom. He knows your home, like you, inside and out. Every nook and cranny might as well be his.

It could be his.

It should be his.

Johnny cups your cheek, kissing you slow and deep. His tongue parting your lips gently before exploring every inch of your mouth. Those rough hands trail down your body with reverence. One going from your cheek, to your sternum, over your belly to sink into the softness of your waist. The other holds tight on your hip as he lines up.

You gasp and moan against each other as he pushes in. The stretch is delicious. Your nails sink into his strong back.

“Practically made fer me, bonnie.” He groans as he moves. It’s slow, languid.

He’s so beautiful. Always has been. No matter how he changes - new hair, new scars, new tattoos - he’s still beautiful. The prettiest man you’ve ever met. You run your fingers through the downey layer of dark hair over his chest - tracing the outlines of his muscles, up over his thick shoulders to cup his cheek.

Your bodies move together easily - a well practiced dance that you’ve perfected over the years.

“Christ.” Johnny gasps into your ear - strong forearms bracket your head, burying you under him. “I lov-“

You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s terrible of you, you’re sure, but there’s nothing those words can communicate that a well timed gasp or a perfectly placed caress can’t say better. His nose knocks against yours, your hands travel all over him, seeking out any purchase they can find.

It turns desperate. A clawing need as you rediscover each other for the millionth time. Wet, open mouth kisses against each others skin and bodies moving perfectly in tandem. The light high from smoking leaves your skin warm and buzzing with electricity. It borders on overstimulating - just barely this side of too much.

“Johnny…” You whine, tilting your head back.

“Aye?” He pants, laving at your clavicle. “Gonnae cum f’me? Cream all over my fuckin’ cock?”

All you can manage is a keen, teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide you face form him. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down to stare up at him.

“Eyes on me, hen. Want - ah - want ye lookin’ at me when I make ye cum.”

It’s too intense. It always is looking into those baby blues. As if they can see right through to the most buried parts of yourself. Johnny shifts your hips up ever so slightly, the new angle bullying his head against your g-spot with each thrust. Your nails claw across his shoulder blades.

It doesn’t take long before you’re careening over the edge with him, bodies tensing against each other. Clenching down around him like a vice while you gasp for air.

“There she is. Tha’s my girl.” Johnny murmurs against your lips, still rocking into you in short, sloppy motions. Just to drag it out a little longer until you whine at the overstimulation.

You let yourself lay back to catch your breath, floating back to earth while Johnny disappears to toss the condom in the trash. He’s back nearly as fast as he left, pulling you against his chest and burying you both under the soft sheets of your bed.

“Shower?” Johnny whispers into your hair, eventually. You nod against his chest, slowly peeling yourselves apart. Your fingers remain tangled all the way to the bathroom.

He whirls you after you turn on the shower, kissing you slow and deep as you wait for the water to warm up. A warm hand splash across your lower back - keeping you close. You’re left breathless when he finally pulls back, pupils blown so wide in the low evening light that you can hardly see the blue of his eyes.

You sigh to yourself as you step into the shower, grateful that you splurged on the apartment with the especially large bathroom. It definitely wasn’t with Johnny in mind. You’d never make your decisions based around such a nebulous relationship.

Not the size of your bathroom - enough to fit both your wide frame and his broad shoulders.

Not the location of your apartment - only a few blocks from his.

Not keeping his favorite snacks stocked at all times just in case he comes home early.

Not referring to your apartment as his home.

“Lean down a bit.” You smile, pouring a glob of shampoo into your hand for him. Johnny’s always been picky about his hair care. You always make sure it’s on hand in your bathroom.

He does the same for you, of course, when he can, but somehow you both always end up at your place instead. Not that you’d ever complain. You like your place. It’s safe. Warm. A cocoon away from all the parts of the world that have scarred you so deeply.

Johnny groans happily as you scratch his scalp, the quality shampoo cleaning far more deeply than any of that standard issue stuff he gets on deployment ever could. You watch the suds slowly drip down over the lines of his back, breath catching as your eyes settle on a nasty, raised patch of skin you hadn’t seen before.

It looks like a chunk got ripped out of his back, right under his ribs.

“Johnny.” You gasp.

“Hm?” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows raising as he realizes what you’re looking at. “Oh tha’? It’s nothin’. Just go’ a bit knocked around, remember?”

You bite your lip, tamping down the rising fear in your gut. “D-does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, lovie.” Johnny turns, giving you that sparkling, million dollar grin. He knows it scares you, shakes you to the core.

You’ve already lost everyone else in your life, having the ever present threat of losing Johnny as well is too much to handle sometimes. It keeps you up at night, when he’s away, imagining all the worst that could happen to him.

How easy it would be for a simple bullet or knife to shatter your world.

That’s why the two of you keep up this little arrangement. This song and dance at arms length. To spare you. Both of you. Either when he doesn’t come back or you break and run.

You won’t run, though. As much as it hurts, the good is too good to give up. You’ll stay through it all, with just enough distance to keep your sanity.

“Ye with me?” Johnny asks gently, slowly pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Long week.” You lie, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a small kiss in the corner of his mouth.

He hums, turning to meet your lips. You let yourself fall into him, fingers running through the hair on his chest, up to the back of his neck. He just feels right under your hands. Perfectly molded to press up against you - hard muscle to balance out the softness of your body. Angles and curves. Push and pull. Sun and moon.

Holy hell, you’ve become a sap.

“Sit.” You point to the chair you drug into the bathroom and Johnny happily plops down - big, fluffy towels tied around your chest and waist respectively. A content smile settles across his face as you slowly work your way across his scalp with the electric razor. You let your fingers to scrape along after you just the way he likes.

When you were young, you watched your mother cut your fathers hair. It seemed so subservient to you. Shameful, almost. You said you’d die before doing that for any man.

You carefully raise each section of his mo-hawk, cutting it down to the exact length Johnny likes to style it. A little on the short side, actually, so that it has time to grow before looking messy. Shearing the sides and taking extra care around his ears. He doesn’t need any more nicks or scars.

Johnny suddenly looks pensive as he watches you in the mirror - carefully taking in each of your movements.

“You’re worrying.” You murmur.

“I-“ He sighs. “It’s nothin’.”

“Johnny.” You level your gaze on his in the mirror, he looks off to the side.

“I’m just- I cannae-“ He sighs. “I miss ye.”

You snort. “I’m right here.”

Johnny shrugs. For once, he stops talking. You hate when he does. It’s the only true hallmark that something is wrong.

“Johnny-“

“Do ye want tae hear a new Ghost joke?” He interrupts. It’s an out. You’ll let him have it.

“Lay it on me.”

“Whit’s the difference between the bird flu and the swine flue?”

“What?”

“One requires tweetment an’ the other requires oinkment.”

A huffy laugh escapes you despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye. Imagine listenin’ tae that in a life or death situation. Could be the last thing I hear!”

You giggle, finishing up with shaping the edges of his hairline. “How is it?”

Johnny stands, leaning close to the mirror and running a hand over his hair. Your eyes lock onto that newly forming scar again. It makes your throat feel tight.

He stretches his arms way over his head with a groan. “Think it’s time f’some proper lazin’ about.”

The rest of the night goes by as they usually do when he gets home. Indian take out, a romcom in the background, another round of fucking. Or two. It’s near eleven when you finally settle into the sheets, Johnny long asleep beside you. Comfortably snoring with that angelic peacefulness you only ever see in his sleep.

Will he look that peaceful if he dies?

The thought makes you want to throw up.

It takes all your mental fortitude to push that train of thought away. Opting to lay beside him, eyes flicking across his features as you attempt to memorize them all. The curve of his strong brow, the arch of his nose, the slight part in his lips as he sleeps. Your thumb traces the scar on his chin while you cup his cheek. As if sensing your current state - and, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re sure he can - a strong arm wraps around you to lock you against his chest. You let your legs tangle, breathing him in and following the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest. Real and tangible under your hands.

You’re just so glad that, at least right now, he’s home.

[theabigailthorn]

Hey I’ve been a fan for a little while now, and I just wanted to say that you’ve been an inspiration for me, a younger transfemme. But I do wanna also ask: what’s it like being a trans woman with her life together? I’m 19 (as of sending), been on hrt for almost 5 months, and have been trans for a year and change. But I’m scared. So, I guess, I wanted to ask: does being trans ever become the norm, my baseline? What’s it like after 2-3 years? And does it get any less confusing or scary?

I think there are a few things going on here.

I don't have my life together as much as it might seem; I just don't show you all the ways it's not. I don't talk publicly about the auditions I don't get, or the things I try and fail at, or the insecurities in my own head that hold me back sometimes, or the handful of decisions I've made that were bad calls and which still keep me up occasionally. I've talked about trauma and mental illness in the past, but I only ever discuss stuff I'm comfortably over - when I'm overwhelmed or in the middle of a crisis I don't post about it. I don't set out to deceive you by presenting myself that way, I just keep my most private stuff private. Everybody has failures and regrets and insecurities: "it's a sign of having lived," as my friend Phoebe told me today. But you see a curated version of me that appears not only more together than the real person, but more together than any real person.

Also, if you're 19 a lot of your life hasn't been in your control until pretty recently and a lot of it still might not be. I'd say it's okay to not feel like you have it all together. You just transitioned, which I think is one of the hardest things a human being can do: you can give yourself credit for that even if you feel like you're not settled into it yet. Congratulations!

As for it becoming the baseline, I mean yeah? Kinda? At least for me. Sometimes I forget. I had a moment today in the gym where I saw a man and I was like "Oh yeah, I used to be one of them, sortof? Weird!" The first year is the hardest, or so they say. I wouldn't say I get less confused or scared now, just scared and confused in different ways. I worry less about getting attacked in the street than I did in my first year, for example. (I'm lucky and privileged in that regard.) But I worry a lot more about other people. I struggle a lot with survivor's guilt, which is something only people who survive get! Anyone who's had a drink with me in the last six months has heard me beat myself up because the night of The Prince premiere in New York was the night of Brianna Taylor's vigil in the UK. That wasn't a deliberate decision - the premiere was booked and paid for months before she was even killed - but I've become a lot more sensitive to those sorts of feelings precisely because I spend less time worrying about myself. I'm more aware now of what my transness means for other people. Like, I made an ironic joke when I came out that I'd become The Transgender Princess of TERF Island, and it's kindof haunted me since - I didn't set out to become "a famous trans person" but it's happened a little bit and it's going to happen a lot more next year. That comes with serious responsibilities and a few mild drawbacks, as well as perks, obviously. So I guess that's a longwinded way of saying I might be a weird person to ask this question because, at least for right now, my transness, my whole self, doesn't just belong to me.

Oh also, some great advice I got from my friends: Paris: "Only change the things that bother you on your good days," and Mattie: "Don't believe anything you think about your life after 9pm."

[moni-logues]

Hiiiii Moniiiiii!!!! :) How are you?

I say a few request the other day and i would like to ask for one if its ok so may I please request a JiminxReader where they are co-workers, maybe a frienemies to lovers? and could you please highlight the fact reader has a mole somewhere special (shoulder, tigh, upper lip idk) that Jimin takes liking and loves kissing? thank youuuu xx

LOOK AT ME!!!! I'm FILLING A REQUEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DID SOME WRITING!!! LOOK, MA, NO HANDS!

Pairing: Jimin x reader (afab)

Genre: co-workers to lovers, slight enemies to friends to lovers

Summary: You were certain, when Jimin started at your company, that you were going to hate him. You had been wrong. Equally sure you were now that you were just friends. Just friends...

Word count: 5.1k

Content: oral (f. receiving), protected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, one very bad stupid joke because i couldn't not, they're both drunk/sobering up; pretend this is actually set somewhere and that place is probably in the UK (hence Jimin Park not Park Jimin)

This Meeting Should've Been an Email

JP: this meeting should’ve been an email 

YN: it should have been an email between the two of them 

YN: i don’t even know what we’re doing here 

JP: i'm online shopping 

YN: 😂 

YN: maybe i'll do the same 

YN: spend all the money they don’t pay me 

JP: atta girl! 

You were trying to keep your face neutral, pretending you were listening to the discussion at hand, paying attention so that, if they directed a question to you, you’d be able to answer. Working from home was preferable to working in the office in a thousand different ways, but you did hate sitting on camera in a meeting that didn’t require you. Acting had never been your strong suit. You bit your lip, then rolled both into your mouth to stop yourself smiling.  

JP: what do you think of this? 

Jimin sent a link to a shirt so expensive, your mouth gaped without permission. Black and sheer, blousy with fewer buttons than sleeves. It was certainly something, but you weren’t sure it qualified as clothing—not for that price. 

“Oh, I’ve just seen your face—is there something wrong?” your manager asked and you started. 

“No, not at all! Sorry!” 

You had no lie or excuse to give, so you hoped he wouldn’t probe. He didn’t. 

YN: why would you spend so much money on so little fabric? 

JP: it’s fucking beautiful, that’s why 

YN: more beautiful than rent? 

YN: or food? 

JP: yes 

* 

You drummed your fingers on the desk, willing yourself to do some work, to at least look like you were doing some work. 

You had got into the office early, as you liked to do, so had secured your favoured desk, in the back corner, where you could surf the internet (decidedly not working) as much as you liked without anyone able to see your screen.  

You had all the right programs open: databases, emails, teams, spreadsheets, and checklists. You just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything with them.  

Jimin had told you, first thing this morning, that he wasn’t going to come in today. You didn’t see the point of being there without him. Who would you go on unnecessary walks with, just to get out of working for ten minutes? Who would convince you that walking the further distance to the good coffee shop was definitely worth it, as were the pastries they sold that the closer one didn’t? Who would distract you for 75% of the day, if not Jimin? 

No one.  

You told yourself to do one task and then you could have a break. You turned back to your monitors and scanned your to-do list. You needed something quick and easy. Then an email came through from your manager. The subject alone made your stomach drop: Team changes!! The second exclamation mark wasn’t right at all. 

“Hi all, 

I’ve got some good news and bad news. 

Bad news: Jimin is leaving us! 

Good news: he’s got a great new position as a manager just down the road! 

We’ll have to have some discussions around resourcing in Ops and I’ll of course feed that back to you and we’ll arrange how we’ll cover Jimin’s tasks in the interim. I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on before his last day, but we’re such a great team, I know we’ll manage! It’ll be a great loss, for sure, and we’ll all be sad to see him go, but I hope you can be happy for him, too.  

See you in the meeting at 2. 

Hugh” 

Anger simmered in your gut before you could be sad. The passive aggression of ‘I know he’ll have a lot to train you guys on’ and the fact that Jimin hadn’t told you. That you knew it would be months before anyone was hired in Jimin’s place and that you would be expected to pick up all the slack, for no credit and no extra pay. That he hadn’t told you. 

YN: you’re LEAVING?!?!?!!???!!?!?!?! 

JP: yep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

YN: cannot believe you made me find out from HUGH 

JP: 😇😇😇 

YN: you’re not allowed to leave me here 

JP: you should quit too!!!! 

You left that one on read and decided to knuckle down to work. You had a lot to do, you decided, and it couldn’t be put off any longer. 

You felt weirder than you had expected to. Unsettled for the rest of the day. Not really able to focus, but your mind wasn’t busy—there was nothing in it. You couldn’t fill it with numbers or comms or monitoring. Couldn’t fill it with office gossip (there wasn’t any). You took yourself on a walk, for fresh air, hoping the breeze would blow away the cobwebs, but that didn’t work either.  

* * * 

“Hi, Jimin!” Chloe called from across the office when Jimin entered, only in his second week of work. 

“Hi!” he called back, walking away from your bank of desks and towards the ones at the other end of the room. 

You rolled your eyes. Pretty boys were the popular ones. Go figure. You had known he would ingratiate himself with that little group the moment you had met: there was something almost simpering about the way he behaved when introduced around the office. As if it was some sort of one-man parade in which he was the star. Arrogant, you decided. Arrogant with no reason to be. 

He had a dance background (even less relevant than your history degree) so it wasn’t as if he had any experience in this field. It was his first office job since graduating; he had graduated at the same time as you and had spent a year working in retail before landing this job. So he didn’t even necessarily have technical or communication skills. He just had a pretty face. And a dancer’s body. 

You couldn’t work out how he became everybody’s best friend within five minutes. Even less when you started hearing people calling across the office for him to help with this problem and that.  

“Jimin, can you show me how to do a purchase order again?” 

“Jimin, what supplier did you use for your banner?” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin-” 

“Jimin!” 

You knew you knew just as much as he did, if not more. You’d been here longer. You just weren’t as... all that. Didn’t have the sparkle or the smirk. Fine, you weren’t glamorous but this job wasn’t supposed to be about style. You got the work done and you did it without fanfare because you weren’t desperate for attention and praise. 

Unlike some people.  

* 

“Guess who got the promotion,” you said on the phone to your best friend. 

“Oh my god, is it you?! Did you get it?!?!?!?!!?” 

“Nope.” 

You ended the word with a hard pop and said no more. Wendy was quiet on the other end for a second. 

“You didn’t?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then who did?” 

“I’ll give you one fucking guess.” 

“Not Jimin.” 

“Of course it was Jimin!” 

You had been all but assured the next open spot that came up. It was virtually guaranteed! Until Jimin swanned in and swiped it from within your claws. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Way.” 

* 

You got the promotion after that but it wasn’t a sweet victory. Forever, you would have to live with the fact that Jimin was promoted ahead of you. Even though he had less experience and had worked there less time. Even though all the managers encouraged you to apply. It left a permanently bitter taste in your mouth.  

Then they had a shuffle of staff.  

And you ended up on a project team with him. 

* 

JP: I’ve finished all the documents for this submission; please let me know what you think! 

You’d have liked to tell him to go fuck himself. You’d have liked to open those documents and tear them to shreds, cover them in red tracked changes, and make him look like a fucking moron. 

But you couldn’t do that because they were good. Perfect, in fact. You wouldn’t have changed a thing.  

YN: look good to me. 

You always gave him a passive-aggressive full-stop. You couldn’t be out and out rude to him, both because it was unprofessional but also because he didn’t deserve it. He was good at this job, it turned out. Didn’t have a head for data, but didn’t need one because his talents elsewhere were just as valuable.  

You had begrudgingly traded some tasks with him when your team was first set-up (you gave him the worst ones, the ones you liked the least because you might have been forced to share but they hadn’t specified what) and you were too proud to admit that he was actually better at them. He had a much better eye for visuals; his external comms samples were always flashier and prettier and neater and more engaging than yours had been.  

He had suggested a slightly different tracking method for your monitoring and you had had to pretend to have wifi troubles and leave the meeting to seethe for a minute. 

He brought in snacks to the office when you had meetings scheduled and had the gall to remember that you didn’t really like chocolate. 

He covered for you when you were ill without complaint and without any mistakes. 

He started sitting next to you in the office so that you could talk about the project more easily.  

He started sending you gifs and memes.  

He started making cute, little jokes over private message when you were in meetings together.  

You started, somehow, somewhen, you didn’t know why, growing fond of Jimin Park. 

* 

And now look where you were.  

You were hurt that he didn’t tell you first. You were surprised. You were more than just work friends now, weren’t you? You had each other’s personal numbers! You spent time together outside of work (sometimes)! Didn’t that deserve a little confidence? He couldn’t have even mentioned that he was looking for work elsewhere?  

* 

“I haven’t forgiven you, you know,” you told him as he arrived at the office, taking the desk next to yours as he now always did.  

“For what?” 

“For leaving! And for not telling me!” 

He laughed and, ordinarily, you’d have laughed at yourself along with him, but you didn’t feel like it today. You didn’t want to be laughed at. You wanted him to take your feelings seriously. You wanted him to apologise. You wanted him to not leave.  

* 

You spoke about it reasonably often, his leaving, his new job. How excited he was. How nervous. How weird it would be to not see each other every day.  

You didn’t speak about how sad you really were that he was going. You didn’t speak about the sting of betrayal you still felt but didn’t want to investigate. You didn’t speak about how his quitting really, truly made you want to quit, too, even though you liked this job, even though you were (had been) happy there.  

* * * 

It came around all too quickly. Jimin’s last day. The office was packed because everyone wanted to see him off. Of course they did. Everyone loved Jimin.  

Including you.  

* 

“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good feeeeelloowwwwwwww! Which nobody can deny!” 

No one had expected the unit director to be the life of the party and it was providing an excellent diversion from the sinking pit in your stomach. With every drink, the end drew nearer.  

It wasn’t as if you wouldn’t see Jimin ever again, but you wouldn’t see him as often. He would make new work friends. You would be replaced. There felt something so final about it all, this evening stretching as long and taut as you could make it.  

So taut it might snap. 

* 

You were the last two in the pub. You used to sneak out early together after work drinks; head back to your place or his and eat chips in front of something you both talked over; took yourself to your exclusive club-house for two where you could gossip about the evening and who got too drunk and who was making eyes at whom.  

But you didn’t want to leave tonight and Jimin was hosting so he couldn’t leave until the last guest did. 

Or until the pub kicked you out after last call. 

A bell rang. 

“Last call!” 

Fuck.  

“Think that’s time, baby!” Jimin cried, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “My last day at work is officially over!” 

You whined, too drunk to stop yourself. You knew you’d had one too many. Two too many. Perhaps the whole bottle of wine too many. But you had to keep drinking if you were staying at the pub, and you wanted to keep drinking so you’d stop feeling so weird and sad about this. You looked up at Jimin and he smiled back down at you.  

God, he was pretty.  

“Don’t go,” you said, lips pouting so hard they barely let the words out.  

Jimin laughed again.  

“Back to my place, then? Your favourite chippy is on the way!” 

“Absolutely!” 

The relief that washed over you was almost strong enough to knock you over. There was still a little more time.  

* 

You squabbled at the chip shop. You could hardly remember why even as you were stepping out of it. It had turned the night just a touch sour. You didn’t want that. But you’d take that over the ending of it.  

* 

“What do you want to watch?” Jimin asked as you flopped, heavily onto his sofa, box of chips in hand. 

You shrugged. 

“Any genre you particularly fancy?” 

“I literally don’t care,” you replied sharply. 

You felt more than saw the look on Jimin’s face and chose to ignore it. He came to sit next to you on the sofa and you felt a little suffocated. He was too close. You could smell him. His shampoo? His laundry detergent? You’d never quite been able to pin down just exactly what it was that made him smell so nice; the opportunities you’d had to get that close to him just hadn’t been enough.  

“Why do you smell so good?” you asked, though it sounded like an accusation.  

Jimin laughed. 

“I smell like a brewery and fryer oil!” 

“No, you don’t! You always smell good!” 

You were starting to hear it, how drunk you sounded, which, on the plus side, meant you were just starting to sober up.  

“Thank you,” he replied, a little more tight-lipped than he might normally have been.  

The conversation, if you could call it that, ended there. You watched the drama he had put on in silence, munching chips, and sipping water, and not talking. You were drunk and tired and had already said too many things you hadn’t meant to. You didn’t know about Jimin.  

You watched one episode and then another and then another and just as Jimin’s TV was asking if you were still even there, Jimin turned it off. 

“I’m calling it,” he said with a wide yawn. “I’m fucking tired.” 

That was your cue to leave. You were also tired. Heavy with alcohol and lack of sleep. Blood viscous like molasses. You didn’t want to go. 

“I don’t want to go.” 

Jimin blinked. His lips twitched and you knew he was laughing at you. This was not the script the two of you usually followed. Then he shrugged, allowing the smirk to cover his mouth.

“Ok, then, stay.” 

“I don’t want you to go. Don’t leave.” 

He chuckled. 

“Why would I leave? I live here!” 

“Work!” you cried, stumbling as you put a tingling, dead foot on the ground, coming to a stand. “Don’t leave work!” 

He groaned your name in a way you hadn’t heard before and it made your stomach flop. 

“Don’t keep saying that. It’s too late; I’m going!” 

“Don’t.” 

“You going to miss me that badly?” 

You just looked at him. Couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Yes. Yes, you were. Yes, you would. Yes, you missed him already. Missed him so much you wanted to pull him closer. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair. Wanted to- 

Fuck. 

You started, taking a small step back. 

You wanted him. 

To kiss him. To touch him. To see him. To know him. Not to be his work friend. Not to be his friend. To be his. His. 

It hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or throw up. Maybe both. You weren’t sure how much of it was down to the alcohol and how much to the emotional slap in the face you’d just given yourself.  

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Jimin said, his eyes wide and cute, his smile a little rueful. “So much.” 

You felt something. Something charged. The hairs on your neck pricked. 

“How much?” you asked, voice escaping you in a whisper.  

“So much that it makes me not want to go.” 

You felt your eyes drawn to his, had no choice but to look him in his sweet face, his dark, swirling eyes glinting in the low lamplight. You couldn’t tear them away. Couldn’t move. Felt suspended in this second that stretched and stretched and stretched until it couldn’t stretch anymore. 

“Ji-” 

His name wasn’t out of your mouth before his lips were on it. Soft. Plush. Sweet with wine. His tongue swiped at your lower lip and you were eager to let him in, to taste him, to satisfy the hunger that had reared its ugly head, jaw gaping, teeth dripping, that must have been lying in wait, biding its time, hiding itself even from you.  

There was no denying it now.  

You didn’t talk as Jimin pulled you closer. Didn’t speak as he pulled your tucked-in T-shirt from the waistband of your jeans to slip his hands underneath. Didn’t make a sound when his fingers deftly picked at the clasp of your bra, instantly springing free, to allow his hands beneath that, too.  

Could only just stop yourself moaning when his lips met the sensitive skin on your neck at the same moment as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t make a sound. The silence was so loud and you didn’t want to disturb it, even though what he was doing to you felt so good. Felt so unreal. You didn’t want the noise to puncture it, this bubble, this fantasy, this something that was happening that had been so unexpected even though it, now, felt like it had been a long time coming.  

Then Jimin moaned. Removed his lips from your skin and opened his mouth, letting sound spill from it freely, almost wantonly, as he pulled you even closer. Close enough to feel him against you which set your knees trembling.  

He looked at you, a little hesitation in his eyes, the hem of your top in his hands. You still couldn’t speak, just nodded, put your hands over his and pulled upwards. Watched in stunned silence when he unbuttoned his own shirt, let it fall to the floor.  

It occurred to you then that you had never seen this Jimin before. Not just the kissing and the erection and the arousal pooling in your underwear. You hadn’t even seen him topless. Had never seen the fine trail of hair that dipped beneath his waistband. Had never known he had a tattoo across his ribs.  

Never mind. 

You’d have scoffed if you’d had half a mind about you. Never mind.  

You were minding all this very, very much.  

You reached out to touch him, pressing the pads of your fingers to his chest lightly, testing to make sure he was real. He was. Soft and smooth and rippling with goosebumps under your fingers.  

“Fuck,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.  

“Yes, let’s,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

You laughed, then laughed some more, shocked at your own surprise.  

Fuck! 

Fuck!! 

Jimin’s mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. His hands, too, flying over your body, gripping here, pinching there, slipping inside your jeans, flicking the button open and dragging down the zip. You retaliated, pushing his undone trousers to the floor, pushing your hand into his boxers, encircling his hot, hard cock with your fingers. The wobbly whine that trembled out of him made your core clench. 

“Jimin,” you said, breathlessly, calling his attention to your face. 

He held your gaze there for a second, a second or two or three—his hand groping at your backside, yours around his shaft—and then you didn’t need to say anymore. He was grabbing at your jeans and your underwear, pushing them down your legs, pushing you onto the sofa, kissing at your face and your jaw and your neck, all the way down, to your breasts to your navel to the crease of your hips and further.  

You couldn’t have been silent, even if you’d still wanted to be. The wet muscle of his tongue laved over you, all over you, exploring, familiarising, teasing until you were grabbing at his hair, nails scraping his scalp. 

“Jimin!” 

You wanted to shout, to demand, but you only gasped, only whined, your breath taken from you as his lips closed around your clit. Still, it seemed he’d got the message.  

You writhed beneath him as he sucked, as his fingers slipped easily inside you, curling against you insistently while his tongue flicked over your swollen bud, as his lips sucked, as you bucked and twisted and spasmed beneath him. You could have said it was too much, this was too much, but it was Jimin, and suddenly ‘too much’ seemed impossible. You’d have died under him. You’d have let him go forever. As long as he liked. Though you were twitching and squirming and your legs clamped around his head, he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop until you were screaming from one orgasm to another, gushing over his hand, being lapped up into his mouth. Until you were seeing stars. Until your breath barely came in, went panting out in sharp staccato gasps. Until he pulled back, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and shiny, and sat back on his heels.  

“Fuck,” he said and his voice was tight, hoarse, sounded strained.  

Strained like his boxers, still covering him if only barely. He palmed at them, eyelids fluttering, head tipping back.  

“Fuck,” he said again as he brought his face back down to you, as he scattered kisses across your torso. “I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.” 

The words didn’t register, didn’t hit, because his lips were still moving against you, his hands brushing up your sides and over your breasts, cupping them up to his mouth so he could lick over your pebbled nipples, suck them into his mouth one at a time. You were dazed. 

But not done. 

“Jimin, please.”  

“Please what?” he returned, teeth grazing lightly over the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet against your shivering skin.  

“Please fuck me. Please.” 

He grinned, the glitter in his eyes turning wicked.  

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long, too.” 

He abandoned you, briefly, supine on the sofa, as he at last shucked off his underwear and fumbled in his wallet for the condom that was closest to hand.  

He knelt back over you and you felt him at your entrance, one hand holding him there and the other pulling at your thigh, positioning you where he wanted you, how he wanted you. 

He could have you however. As long as he had you.  

“Ready?” he asked, as if he had to. As if you weren’t already tipping your hips trying to capture him, as if your walls weren’t fluttering already, as if you hadn’t made a great mess of his sofa cushions.  

“Yes.” 

You groaned in unison as he slowly pushed into you. You hadn’t expected him to feel this big, stretching you as you squeezed him, as he continued to push until he was fully seated, settled inside you, all the way in.  

He lowered himself onto his elbows, nudged your nose with his, kissed you. Slow and deep, his body unmoving. You wondered what was stopping him, tilted your hips a little, wrapped your legs around him, clenched tight until he shuddered with a gasped laugh. 

“If you don’t want me to come like, immediately, you’re going to have to stop that.” 

You laughed back, in disbelief, still not really experiencing this as the Real Deal, still convinced this might be a dream. That Jimin was fucking you—was not fucking you right now because he needed a second to gather himself, a second to keep it together so he could fuck you.  

You relaxed yourself as much as you could, stroked his hair, flicked his earlobe with your tongue and bit down lightly on the soft flesh. Let your mouth explore where it could reach.  

“Jimin,” you whined, when he still hadn’t moved. “Please.”  

He didn’t reply; his face was tucked into your neck and you could feel his heavy breathing there. You were two seconds from begging again when he finally moved. He dragged backwards, slowly, and shot forward, fast and hard. Then he did it again. And again. His hips moved fluidly; his arms caged you in securely; his lips sucked soft against your skin.  

He had worried it would be quick, but you were sure time was slowing down. It was stretching itself over this moment so that it lasted forever, so that each time Jimin slammed his hips against yours, it took an age; every kiss lasted an hour; every gasp became a long, drawn-out sigh. This wasn’t quick; it was eternal. It was elemental. 

It brought you into your body in a way that made you feel more than human. That made you feel animal. That made you feel pure and unshackled and unburdened. That made you feel free. Free because all you had to pursue was pleasure. All you had to concern yourself with was your body and his and the way they came together. There was no time, no loss, no rush, no ending, nothing to spoil the sanctity of this coupling.  

It wasn’t always like this. You’d been around the block enough to know that this could have ended differently. On another night, you might have been lying on someone else’s sofa, waiting for it to end because you were simply bored now, because they had been all talk and no trousers, because they weren’t doing it right and you couldn’t be bothered to correct them.  

Jimin didn’t need correcting. He was, as ever, a fucking overachiever. His girth pushed against your g-spot with every thrust and his length made each drag deep and lasting. You wondered if there was anything he couldn’t do. 

Then he pushed himself up onto one hand and used his free hand to push low on your abdomen as he continued to piston against you. The gasp it stole from you was choked and you felt your legs twitch, tighten, pull close as the rest of your body collapsed inward, too. He reached his thumb down, pressed it against your clit and let the snap of his hips move you, just slightly, just enough that it was teasing again, that you could feel him in a way that suddenly was not quite enough. Was maddening. 

“Jimin,” you keened, sweat dripping down your spine as your back arched from the sofa. 

“Say it again.” 

“Jimin.” 

“Again.” 

“Fuck, Jimin.” 

He growled, deep in his throat, and your hips jerked as he pressed his thumb harder against you, swirled it in circles, rough and quick until you were coming again, gasping, squirming, clawing at his arms, your back threatening to snap in two. He kept his teeth clenched as he fucked you through it, as he pushed through the tight spasms of your cunt, as he fought to last until the end, until your body flopped, spent and lead-heavy into the cushions. 

Only then did he let go, did he give a final few thrusts, did he moan loud and long as he came.  

He flopped beside you on the sofa and you lay there, breathing heavily in a silence that felt light. You felt his lips press at your clavicle, his fingers then tracing the same spot. Then his lips again. 

“What?” you asked. 

“You’ve got a little mole here,” he murmured, still directing most of his attention towards it. “I haven’t noticed before... I like it.”  

You hummed, satisfied, heart secretly thrilling. You let him kiss you, back and across the straight line of collar bone, flicking his tongue over your mole. What dedicated attention you hadn’t had for such a long time.  

You could feel your eyelids droop, felt as though maybe you should clear some things up before you passed out; you weren’t sure you’d make it that far. Then Jimin spoke, cutting through that drunken, post-coital haze. 

“Never shit where you eat.” 

“What?” 

He looked at you. 

“Never shit where you eat. I don’t fuck coworkers.” 

Reality came crashing in on you like a tsunami. 

You were coworkers. No, you had been coworkers. You weren’t anymore, because Jimin was leaving. Had left. Had worked his last day, celebrated in the pub, and then fucked you into the sofa. Had fucked his former coworker. You.  

“So you’re saying, all this time...?” 

He shrugged. 

“Not necessarily all this time. But yeah... You?” 

You shrugged back. 

“Literally wasn’t aware of it until tonight. Until you were trying to get me to leave.” 

He laughed breathlessly. 

“I wasn’t trying to get you to leave. I was trying to get you into bed.” 

“Oh.” 

A beat. 

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?” 

He laughed again, full-throated this time. 

“We fucked, didn’t we?” 

“On the sofa.” 

He swatted your arm playfully. 

“Technicality. I still say it counts.” 

“That’s the sort of carelessness and lack of attention to detail that’ll get you fired, y’know?” 

“Oh, you’re firing me?” 

“Perhaps I am.” 

“Wow, fired on my first day. My parents will be so disappointed in me.” 

“First day?” 

You looked up at Jimin, heart racing wildly. None of this had been expected; none of this was sinking in. Did a first day necessarily imply a second? A third? More?  

“First of many... If you want.” 

You did want. You nodded.  

“Great,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips to yours. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss my probation.” 

“A meeting? Nah, this could be an email.” 

[sofs16]

spill your guts!

charles x singer!reader

fc: olivia rodrigo 🫀

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, taylorswift, and 13,493,191 others

yn two days and guts is yours to have💞🪄💌💟

view all 188,694 comments

yn.updated cant wait! 💜💜💜

ariana_2000 whore

⤷ theynroom stfu

⤷ ariana_2000 she literally gets a new boyfriend every month and writes an album about them 😂

september 6, 2023

ynvroom

liked by charlesss__16, and 1,191 others ynvroom youre joking. YOURE ACTUALLY JOE KING. view all 68 comments

charles.updated what’s happening?

⤷ ynvroom YN PERFORMJNG AT FERRARI GALA WHERE CHARLES IS 😭😭😭😭😭 MY PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIP

september 7, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, carlossainz55, and 4,559,606 others

charles_leclerc Beautiful night at the @ ferrari Gala in New York! Congratulations on the amazing performance @yn 😉❤️

view all 87,585 comments

yn Thank you!!!💜💜💜

[liked by charles_leclerc]

september 7, 2023

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 7,272,282 others

yn grazie for having me @ ferrari! the people here got to a hear the album a day early haha🪄 (didn’t get a photo with my favorite drivers but got a photo of them in a non stalker way..)

view all 436,474 comments

chhacha CHARLES🤺STAY AWAY FROM HER🤺

charles_leclerc Oh no, next time! I would have loved to take a photo with you! [ COMMENT DELETED ! ]

charles_leclerc Oh no, maybe next time:) We would have loved to meet you!

⤷ yn definitely! hope to maybe see you guys at japan gp;)

september 7, 2023

━ charles_leclerc has sent you a dm!

Charles Leclerc

You are going to the Japan GP?

yn

Yes!!! Failed to get paddock tix though:(

Charles Leclerc

If you would like, I have extra tickets😄

yn

ooo no thank you, i wouldn’t want to be a hassle😭

Charles Leclerc

It’s no hassle at all! No one will be using them anyways.

yn

are you 100% sure?

Charles Leclerc

1000% sure, is this a yes?

seen 4 minutes ago

Charles Leclerc

hello?

yn

Sorry i was jumping around my living room.. YES!

Charles Leclerc

Haha anytime! I did not know you were that interested in F1

yn

truth be told, i’ve been watching it for over a decade like i remember you in f3 2015😭

Charles Leclerc

Oh no🤦‍♂️

yn

it’s okay, just an inchident 😁

Charles Leclerc

No one will let me live this down, yes?

yn

Yes 💌

delivered 20s ago

yn

listen, i really enjoyed talking to you but sadly i have to cut it short since i have this listening party for the album. thank you sooooo much for the paddock tickets and ill see you in a week:))

Charles Leclerc

I will be (re) listening to the album! See you:)

[ yn reacted with ❤️‍🩹]

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 10,697,697 others

yn 😭guts😭is😭out😭

view all 2,282,696 comments

charles_leclerc INSANE! 💜❤️

[liked by yn]

⤷charles1616 oh my god?

⤷ chachaferrari CHARLES USING A PURPLE HEART FOR HER IM SHAKING

taylorswift Amazing, showstopping, splendid, and all that! [liked by yn] carlossainz55 Want to write a song about chilis 🌶️ next time?

⤷ yn done. francisca.cgomez you’re hot.

⤷ yn wait 🤭🤭🤭🤭

september 8, 2023

yn

tokyo, japan

liked by charles_leclerc, and 7,239,448 others yn 🇯🇵

• “get him back!” broke biggest streaming song in the world in one day (22 MILLION?????)

• guts broke biggest streaming album in the uk ???

• top 10 in billboards is all guts ??? how is life real??? thank you everyone ❤️❤️💜

view all 2,383,595 comments

ynvroom did she just try to sneak in a f1 garage pic. L4NDOS she’s hot in the last slide and knows it

scuderiaferrari ❤️💜

charles_leclerc Congrats! 🍾

⤷ yn champagne is for podium, sharl

⤷ charles_leclerc My bad…

⤷f3rarri55 so we’re never getting champagne? september 15, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, and 4,383,292 others

charles_leclerc P2! 🍾Thank you! We did the best we could today❤️

view all 821,119 comments

yn LETS GOOOOOO!!!! 🍾🍾🍾🍾

[ liked by charles_leclerc]

september 18, 2023

charles.yn

liked by 3,282 others

charles.yn FUCKING BAWLING THE WAY HE LIT UP TALKIJG ABT HER

view all 1,111 comments

chynaep THEM TEXTING??? HELLO?? mcarlando HIM INVITING HER IM GIGGGLINGGGG

september 18, 2023

pierregasly

[ slides 1 and 9 of 9 ]

liked by charles_leclerc, yn, and 2,118,282 others

pierregasly Japan dumppp

view all 1,149,383 comments

yncharll NOT PIERRE EXPOSING YN AND CHARLES 😭

[ pierregasly deleted the 3rd slide! ]

september 26, 2023

yn

monte carlo, monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, and 6,282, 383 others

yn beautiful place

view all 1,393,101 comments

chhgasly oh she’s confirmed wag.

yndata not this being her first post non promo post in 2 months😭

⤷ chayn.updates after the 4 “yn seen in paddock/ferrari garage” mentions 😭

conangray i wonder what’s interesting in monaco

carlossainz55 Whose camera is that? Its nice

[COMMENT DELETED!]

carlossainz55 What camera is that? It’s nice november 29, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, and 5,118,119 others

charles_leclerc Back home!

view all 632,382 comments

november 30, 2023

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 10,696,697 others

yn YNDUMPSTERS ITS BEEN A WHILE BUT CHARLES FUCKING ACCDEITANLY STAINED MY TS CARDIGAN WHILE DOING CAR THINGS AND I NEARLY CRIED. now that i think of it im happy because it’s stained with him and i love him tho🤷🏻‍♀️ im freezing someone get me a sauna

view all 12,282,595 comments

charles_leclerc Though most likely unintentional to post here, this is the sweetest and most chaotic thing someone has ever said about me. I love you too

charlesyn111 STOP “it’s stained with him” LEAVE ME BE

pierregasly Who might be in this dump account…

⤷ landonorris YOU’RE IN IT?

⤷ carlossainz55 Been in there for 3 months papaya…

december 23, 2023

yncutie

liked by yn, and 5,796 others

yncutie ITS FUCKING HAPPENING. SHE FOLLOWED CHARLES. SHE ONLY FOLLOWS CHARLES. view all 1,189 commented

december 24, 2023

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 19,595,282 others

yn well.

i kinda fucked up how we were supposed to share our love with the world but now that it’s out there, charles and only charles has my heart, forever.

i wrote a song when i was 15 about having a dream guy and losing him because life isn’t always so kind. though charles showed me that isn’t always true. to the man who makes me feel like the only girl in the world, you are the 1.

“the 1” out now on all platforms 💜💌🏩❗️

view all 2,272,292 comments

charles_leclerc Proudest of you, Amour! Je t’aime💜

maxverstappen1 du du du du du Max Verstappen is better / kidding.

⤷ yn ngl… yeah.

ynsline “if my wishes came true, it wouldve been u” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

december 24, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yn, and 7,363,722 others

charles_leclerc Spilling my guts, I love my girl! 💜

Happt anniversary @yn 😘 view all 3,226,112 comments

yncharles 3 years and charles is still WHIPPED!

yn mwahhhhh loveu babe

⤷ landonorris Ew

⤷ yn me when i see u

⤷ landonorris wow

⤷ yn jk loveu lando no rizz

carlossainz55 Why does she not age. ⤷ charles_leclerc My pretty girl 💜

november 30, 2025

charles_leclerc instagram story :

[badnewswhatsleft]

scanned the little patrick interview from kerrang winter 2023<3

transcript under cut:

Patrick Stump’s mum is a methodical accountant who likes to plan ahead and think things through. She would bestow this organisational wisdom upon her son when he was growing up. When his band Fall Out Boy got signed, however, thereby kick-starting one of the most exciting trajectories of the past 20 years, Mrs Stump quickly realised there were limits to what she could assist him with.

“She said to me, ‘I can’t help you anymore - you’re beyond my area of expertise,’” Patrick recalls with a laugh.

In the years since, there has been no end of through-the-looking-glass moments for Fall Out Boy, a litany of incredible achievements highlighted by the ever-growing shows the Chicago four-piece - completed by bassist Pete Wentz, guitarist Joe Trohman and drummer Andy Hurley - have played. It’s an upscaling Patrick admits he still can’t fully process.

“I’m probably never going to get used to it, and I think I’m at peace with that,” he admits, taking time out backstage at Hamburg’s Barclays Arena on the band’s epic So Much For (Tour) Dust jaunt, which recently visited the UK.

Thankfully, Fall Out Boy will be back on these shores next summer, having been announced as headliners for Download Festival 2024, alongside Queens Of The Stone Age and Avenged Sevenfold. The news has given Patrick cause to reflect upon the pivotal shows and tours that have made FOB the band they are today, with a self-deprecating appraisal of the good times and the bad, the tiny gigs and the Hella Mega ones.

“A lot of my life makes sense to me, where I understand the various points of what happened and why, but there are moments with the shows we’ve played that make no sense at all,” Patrick reflects. “You go to arenas and they have pictures in the hallway of all the big artists that have played there, then they’ll have pictures of us, which sticks out to me!”

THE BAND’S FIRST-EVER SHOW AT DEPAUL UNIVERSITY CAFETERIA, 2001 “We were playing with some pretty cool math-rock and emo bands. When we got out there, we were horrible - I mean really terrible - and there were about three or four people there. I can’t remember what our band name was at the time - it wasn’t Fall Out Boy, and we were tossing some names around. I remember suggesting one of the names we had in mind to the drummer in one of the other bands and him telling me it sucked. We had a guitar player who I’d only met the week before and I’ve never seen since. I hope he’s doing good things. I heard he became a bike messenger. I cannot imagine a humbler beginning for a first show!”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG WITH ANDY HURLEY, 2003 “I think it was with Andy’s other band, The Kill Pill. Andy played in both bands that night. It was a bigger show for us, opening for [Florida melodic hardcore band] As Friends Rust, and we didn’t have a guitar player, so I was playing guitar. It was weird because we were playing some newer songs, which stood out, so it felt like we’d started to actualise the band. I’m a drummer originally, so I was picky about drummers. But when we played with Andy, it was the first time that it felt right. I remember saying to a friend of mine who was there at the time that we were still a bad band then, and she said, ‘You guys couldn’t see it, but even then, it felt like the beginning of something.’”

THE FIRST UK TOUR, 2004 “One thing I remember was going to a Mexican restaurant, ordering tacos, and being unable to describe the things that arrived at the table - and not in a good way. That first UK tour was with Mest, and it was surreal. I think that might have been the first time I’d ever left the States, so going to another country felt like a big deal. When I got there, I realised the UK is similar in a lot of ways - particularly thanks to our shared musical history. One difference was that the venues all felt so much more punk rock than those in the States, with an unhinged basement vibe, which surprised me but was also thrilling.”

HEADLINING DECAYDANCE FEST AT THE HAMMERSMITH APOLLO, 2007 “I look back on some moments and realise they were bigger than I noticed at the time. The other bands on that bill - Panic! At The Disco, Gym Class Heroes, The Academy Is…, Cobra Starship - were all bands we’d played with a lot before that and were friends with, so at the time I thought, ‘Every show we do is Decaydance Fest!’ Then that moment in time was gone and I soon realised that it was crazy that we were able to get all those people together to do that show. You don’t necessarily realise you’re part of a thing when you’re part of a thing, so when I think back now, I’m amazed.”

THE LAST GIG BEFORE GOING ON HIATUS AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, 2009 “It was such a strange show. I had checked out at the time, and was busy thinking about solo stuff, but really I just wanted to make lots of music. One of the things that was crippling was making a record and then going on the road for two years to promote the record. For me, making records is what’s important, so the grind of having to make them so slowly was killing me. I was therefore in a bad space with the band. I think we were out with +44, and I remember Mark [Hoppus] shaving Pete’s head onstage. Pete had the famous haircut and that was the end of it. It was kind of a joke to do that, but it ended up proving to be fairly symbolic, as it really was the end to that whole moment.”

FALL OUT BOY’S FIRST GIG BACK AT SUBTERRANEAN, CHICAGO, 2013 “The whole thing happened so fast and so suddenly! We had a meeting in New York. The four of us met at our manager’s apartment and we talked about maybe getting together and seeing what happened. It was tense, actually, as we hadn’t talked to each other in a long time and there were all these old grievances - but there was also this sense that we were older and wiser. We put together some songs, and one of them was My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up). On the morning of the show, we appeared on a radio show and the whole station felt excited about the song. It felt like the beginning of a rollercoaster. That night, when we played Light Em Up, a song people could only have heard hours ago, the room exploded!”

CO-HEADLINING THE MONUMENTOUR WITH PARAMORE, 2014 “That was one of my favourite tours! Andy and I would do a drum-off, so we got to play together, which was a full-circle thing for me, as I had never got to play drums in front of people with the band before then - so that was fun! I remember thinking on that tour that we were really getting somewhere as a band. Our first show, we were a pretty bad band. For a while in the early days, we wrote better than we played, and we thought better than we wrote. But as time passed things really came together. That tour was a point where we felt that we were really getting somewhere. Plus, the audiences were great on that tour - incredibly excited and giving.”

HEADLINING WRIGLEY FIELD BASEBALL STADIUM IN CHICAGO, 2018 “When I was a kid, the height of my ambition was to play the [1,100-capacity] Metro in Chicago. I never thought in a million years that we’d get to play Wrigley Field - I didn’t even know that bands played there. It’s not a venue, it’s where the Cubs play. I’m still in disbelief that we’ve now played it three times! That doesn’t make any sense to me. The first time we did it was terrifying, but also familiar. We used to have an apartment in Roscoe Village, which is walking distance from Wrigley Field. I remember Pete and I writing [2003 single] Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy together, then we went jogging around Wrigley, and a group of drunk Cubs fans shouted ‘Fucking losers!’ at us. Being inside that structure years later, singing that song, was therefore so surreal.”

HAVING A FREDDIE MERCURY EXPERIENCE HEADLINING READING & LEEDS FESTIVAL, 2018 “I think about that regularly. I’m not a natural performer. I used to act, so I could act as a character, but I couldn’t really be me and sing onstage - that never used to be comfortable for me. I have this very specific memory of This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race. There was this part where I sling my guitar to the stage and I’m just singing and having the crowd sing with me. The way they responded at that point made me suddenly think, ‘Oh, I can do this!’ I remember running towards the audience with the microphone and the life that came back at me just blew me away. When you have an audience like that, you’re Freddie fucking Mercury! I think about that on an almost daily basis when we’re on tour. That song has a whole different life now because of my experiences at Reading & Leeds.”

PLAYING THE HELLA MEGA TOUR WITH GREEN DAY AND WEEZER, 2022 “I couldn’t have been more obsessed with a band than I was with Weezer in 1998-’99, when I was in high school. Then, years later, they’re your buddies and you’re playing with them and they’re playing some of your favourite songs ever. That is so strange. One of my musical origin stories was in fifth grade, when this kid in the middle of class beckoned me over. We snuck under a table, and he puts headphones on me and he plays Dookie. I was like, ‘What is this?!’ On that tour, Billie Joe Armstrong said I was a really good singer. I’m still recovering from that.”

[unknownarmageddon]

Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights. 

    Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves. 

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

      The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone. 

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze. 

     The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

      There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time. 

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back. 

        The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile. 

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again. 

    He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck. 

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets. 

“Killer.” 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped. 

    He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows. 

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.” 

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him. 

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied. 

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.” 

     Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him. 

    “Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head. 

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

     Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him. 

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice. 

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause. 

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot. 

“Exactly.” 

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.” 

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.  

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?” 

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

       Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do. 

      Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks. 

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him. 

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

      Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

     His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it. 

     But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station. 

      Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too. 

        He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there. 

        When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

           The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood. 

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated. 

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return. 

     The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights. 

     After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first. 

His eyes landed on him. 

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.” 

      Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette. 

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question. 

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.” 

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply. 

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross. 

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything. 

    Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on. 

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

     Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again. 

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

      Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap. 

      Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, andthey were taking the truck. 

      Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm. 

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal. 

     Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose. 

     They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash. 

    In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener. 

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped. 

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

     A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down. 

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,” 

“Right, past here and down that road,”

     They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming.   Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark. 

Killer pointed at the windshield again. 

They were here. 

      What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here. 

   He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed. 

———

       Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

     Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

      He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

       They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup. 

          Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued. 

     But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware. 

      Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought. 

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both. 

    Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought. 

     Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it. 

“This tastes like shit.” 

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned. 

      They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time. 

       Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

     The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night. 

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

     He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.” 

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?” 

    Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them. 

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up. 

    He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward. 

“Dude,” Cross laughed. 

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

    Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine. 

      They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him. 

      Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

       All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious. 

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down. 

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning. 

     In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently. 

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

          Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back. 

       Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”.  He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped. 

   Beside him Killer returned and he felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after. 

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd. 

     His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

      Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace. 

What a sight they must be. 

      A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

      She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was  looking at them. 

     Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well. 

   He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it. 

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

      He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova. 

      He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared. 

 His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

     Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die. 

     Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag. 

       She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared. 

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision. 

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now. 

     The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die. 

       The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger. 

     Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place. 

       At some point Killer’s jacket slipped,  leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds. 

         For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames. 

God,

He couldn’t help it. 

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for. 

       Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

        Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment. 

        Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist. 

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

    There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was. 

It became war.

     Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped. 

      He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive. 

      Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times. 

        Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing. 

          Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow. 

 ��       Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder. 

      Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time. 

Someone grabbed his wrist. 

It was Killer.

     He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard. 

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

       They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

       Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage. 

       Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities. 

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

     They pulled out and ended back on the road. 

      Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

    The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!” 

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.” 

    He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster. 

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose. 

“So’re you.” 

     Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system. 

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it. 

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,” 

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently. 

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

      “You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long. 

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket. 

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was. 

      Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection. 

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped. 

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

      They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party. 

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive. 

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.” 

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’” 

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

      Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static. 

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said. 

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press. 

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab. 

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.” 

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

        After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered. 

        The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired. 

         He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket. 

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there. 

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,” 

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

          After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him. 

            Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head. 

“Already?” Cross asked. 

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment. 

      ‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

      Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand. 

It sounded like it was raining outside. 

     For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left. 

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.” 

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

    He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did. 

“We should do this again sometime.” 

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

[eveningepiphany]

hotel room | H.S

summary: harry & Y/N are friends but it’s a love hate relationship with so much tension you can hardly breathe. this tension isn’t any better when they get stuck in a hotel room together for the night. and it only has one bed.

warnings: SMUT! hand job (f+m receiving), PIV unprotected, sloppy morning sex, teasing, swearing, praise, friends to lovers.

A/N:I have opened my requests! and I’d love to write some from you guys, so send them in here <3

———

“So there’s only… definitely only one room for us?” I say slowly, and the lady behind the counter nods.

“Y/N,” Harry says, “we’ve shared a room before—“

“I’m so sorry the inconvenience— Since the multitude of delayed flights from the storm we’ve had an unexpected influx of last-minute bookings…” her hands are zipping along the keyboard as she is clearly under the pump.

“You’ve been booked under a single room.” She glances up, face turned up apologetically, confirming.

I nod, knowing there’s so many other people needing somewhere to stay right now, there’s no point being picky.

It’s just one night.

Because Harry and I live in the same part of the UK, we usually catch the same planes to and from when we get short breaks from touring with the band.

So of course we flew out for our Australian leg of the tour several hours ago and got stuck at our layover destination, Abu Dhabi.

The storm rolled in quick, putting hour— even day long— delays on flights. So now people are scrambling to book hotels for the next few nights.

Luckily our management got on it as soon as we’d called them about the delay of out flight, but I suppose they only could get us the one room for two.

We get our room key and head up the elevator to the 7th floor.

When we walk into the room there is a single queen bed in the centre of it, and I glance at Harry out the corner of my eye. We are always close to one another being in the band, but never “share a bed” close.

“Don’t stress.” He says.

“I’m not stressed.” I quip.

“Yes you are, don’t try and bullshit me.”

“Harry, we’re adults it’s fine.”

“Hardly adults.” He chuckles.

I scoff at his constant digs, there is a fineline of how much Harry I can tolerate in a day and we are really pushing it.

“Well if you think that then I implore you to take the couch.” I know just by looking at the couch he’d hardly fit on it, and I’m not that much of an asshole to let that happen.

“Oooh, you’re just trying t’get the bed all to yourself? Bloody bed hog.”

I open my bag up, pulling out fresh clothes and my toiletries, “Was just providing you the options. I’m going to shower.”

“Too bad if I wanted one first.” He sighs dramatically, with a little smirk that usually indicates he’s teasing.

“Too bad indeed.” I smile sarcastically at him as I shut the door.

It’s so nice to wash away the gross feeling that sticks to your skin after long flights like we just had.

When I come out of the bathroom he’s laying in the bed, crisp white doona pulled back.

“Dude you’re getting airport germs in the bed.”

He glances up from his phone, eyeing me for a split second— I’m just in sleep shorts and a plain tshirt.

“It’s fine, I’ll just have this side.” He replies, a smile breaking out over his face.

He leaves me no room to respond as he stands up, “im gonna have a shower as well, and then we can order room service, how’s that sound?”

I nod, “I’ll get the menu and have a read through.”

It’s weird how we one minute can’t stop sarcastically niggling and the next we’re back to being normal friends.

I browse through their relatively large menu as the shower runs in the background. If I strain, I can hear Harry gently humming.

I’m happy to see my favourite foods on there… and heaps of deserts.

He comes out shortly after while I’m still reading the menu, and he’s clad in only grey sweatpants, adorning damp hair.

I choose to tear my eyes away from his bare chest, “I’ve figured out what I want to get, have a read through.”

I chucked him the menu and he comes to sit down next to me on the bed.

Im surprised we don’t end up in another debate about the sleeping arrangements, but I think we’re both so exhausted from the flight. The 8 hour plane trip settling deep into our bones.

“They have y’favourite.” He says with a smile playing on his lips.

“Yea, I’m so glad. It’s all I’m craving right now.”

“What are you gonna get?” I lean to look over his shoulder at the menu.

“Maybe I’ll try their tacos?”

“I’m gonna order some of the desert stuff too.”

“Y’gonna be so full.” He laughs.

“It’ll be worth it.” I say, as I stand up to go over to the phone on the desk in the corner of the room.

I ring up and order an unnecessary amount of stuff before giving them our room number and hoping back into bed.

It’s so cozy, and if it weren’t for the food I knew was coming, I’d probably curl up and fall asleep straight away.

We lay together, talking about the plan for the next few days until the food gets delivered with a knock on the door.

I get up to open it, taking the trays of food from the kind waiter.

He groans, “God it smells good.”

We both spread the dishes of food on the bed and quickly start eating.

The TV starts playing reruns of friends, the episode where Ross makes the paste with his leather pants, trying to get them up.

We’re both tearing up with laughter, stuffing our faces with our first proper meal since dinner on the plane over 5 hours ago.

“Holy shit.” He says, and we’re are letting out fits of giggles, as Ross says “—and the lotion and the powder have made a paste…”

“I swear— why did he listen to joey.” I scoff, shoving a bite of food into my mouth.

“No, because the way it just keeps getting worse.” He buries his face into his hands with a pained grin.

We watch a few of the episodes that were playing, sharing the last of the chocolate cookies that I’d ordered.

I stood up to move all the trays our food came on over to the small kitchen bench, leaving them for the morning.

“That was so yum.” I sigh out, content and full.

I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and finish up my night routine, ready to honestly just go to sleep.

I come out with a small smile on my lips, excited to get back into bed where it’s cozy. Slipping back under the crisp white sheets, Harry turns off the TV.

The room is now dark, “fuck… can’t see now— I gotta brush m’teeth as well.”

“Have my phone.” I chuck it in his general direction, and clonk him straight in the side.

“Ouch.” He huffs, grabbing it and turning the flash on.

He pads over to the bathroom while I roll my eyes at how dramatic he is.

He turns the lights on in there, coming back over to give me my phone now that he can see.

I text a few of my immediate family members to let them know we’d settled into our hotel, choosing to leave out the fact we’re sharing a bed.

I mean assuming that’s what the plan is. I highly doubt he wants to sleep on the couch.

Being the only female in a band of boys leads to lots of assumptions throughout my family unit. Especially with Harry.

They mistake our arguments as ‘pent-up sexual frustration’. Which is far from how I like to think of it.

He steps out from the bathroom, and I turn my torch on so he can flick the light off.

He scrapes a hand over his face, looking to me with tired eyes.

The hotel was relatively quiet now, only a few drunken laughs echoing down the hallway as it nears 12am.

He climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers over himself.

I tug my pillow down a bit before turning off my flash.

“Y’tired?” He asks quietly, sounding already kind of groggy.

I hum in agreement, rolling to face him. It’s quiet a few beats.

I can just make out his outline next to me,

I can feel the warmth of his body from where I’m laying. And it feels like I’m being enveloped by it in a strange— yet lovely way.

The thought floats around in my head, images conjuring from the darkness.

I blame this on the 8 hour flight and sleep deprivation.

Usually I can ignore it, but as much as he’s a proper pain in the ass sometimes, I’d have to be visually impaired to say he wasn’t good looking.

And hell he’s laying in the same bed as me without a shirt on.

“Y’staring at me.” He chuckles softly, and I startle a little.

“How can you even see me?” I ask, amused.

“I can’t, can just feel it.”

“As if you can feel it.” I scoff, “I’ll roll over if my eyes being on you makes you too uncomfortable.”

“No, no, wait come back.” He whines as I start to move.

I huff out a laugh, and roll back over to him.

I keep my eyes shut, “better?”

He whispers a yes, and I smile.

I keep that very smile as I drift off, listening to Harry’s slow breathes from beside me, allowing them to lull me to sleep.

———

I can only half remember waking up.

I was warm, heavy, and I felt his body before I saw it.

My eyes had only opened a tiny bit—there was light creeping through the thin curtains, making his unruly hair just visible.

My leg was thrown over his hip, and I was pressed right into his chest. We were fully intertwined, and fuck did it feel nice.

I close my eyes again, I can feel his morning wood. My heart jumps a little in my chest. Maybe I can just roll over— pretend I didn’t feel it, and go back to sleep.

I carefully strain to make the movement, but I instead get pulled closer to him.

He pushes himself against me, a sigh slipping from his nose, and I realise moving may have been a bad idea.

“Fuck…” I hear him mutter against my hair, bucking his hips up again.

“Harry.” I say, voice croaky with sleep. Of course this does nothing.

I have no idea how awake he is, I’m not even fully awake yet. But Jesus, this feels better than it should.

I feel like a horrific person for enjoying the way his clothed-length is pressed into me. But by god I am not strong enough to remove myself from this situation.

“Harry, wake up.” I groaned, squirming a little in his grasp.

He seems to come to it, just enough to realise whatever the fuck is happening in a couple seconds.

“Y/N…? Fuck. what is—“ I feel his body tense underneath me as it hits him, and he probably feels his boner pressed between my legs.

His hand flys up to my thigh that’s resting on his hip, “Holy shit—“

“It’s fine, H.” I whisper, and I’m not really sure why I say that, or what I’m implying by doing so.

Or what it means paired with the fact I haven’t protested to his dick practically grinding against my cunt.

“What do you mean?” He asks, groggily.

“Not sure.” I confess, whimpering a little as he still is hard underneath me. I push into him a bit out of unspoken desire and I hear him swallow.

He doesn’t say anything as he slides his hand up my leg, cupping it on my ass.

I glance up to see his face, his eyes still half-lidded, and his cheeks have a gentle flush to them.

I feel myself getting wetter as he keeps rubbing himself along my thin sleep shorts.

He moans a bit, and I slip my hand between us to palm his cock through his sweatpants.

“This ok? Want me to help you out a bit?”

“God— yes please…” he groans.

I push it underneath his waistband, tugging him out.

He’s heavy and hot in my hand. Glancing down, its bigger than I expected. The tip is flush and red, glistening with the damp beads of precum. Hardly surprising he’s got such a pretty cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ— look at y’little hand wrapped ‘round me.” He swears.

I slowly squeeze the head of it, and that quickly has him bucking into my palm.

His own hand travels between my sleep shorts, “Mind i return the favour?”

I hum in agreement, but he doesn’t do anything, “Gotta hear you say it, tell me what you want.”

I roll my eyes, of course he’s like this in bed, wants to hear how bad I want him.

“What do you want me to say to you Harry? How bad I want your fingers in my wet cunt right now, or how I want you to fuck my clit with your tongue?”

“Want my tongue do you? Because yes that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.” He says, smirking as he dips his hand under my shorts, running his fingers through me.

“No panties… been next to me all night with your pussy so easily accessible. Such a little slut.”

He collects my arousal, carrying it up to my swollen clit. I moan with the action, trying to keep my hand pumping rhythmically.

This proves to be a challenge, as he’s very clearly skilled with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Hardly even touched you.”

“Been grinding your dick into me for a bit, actually.” I hiss as he slips a finger into me.

“Sorry, Baby. Did my hard cock get you all worked up?” He teases, and I hate the fact that he’s right.

I give a particularly hard squeeze and he grunts, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He quickens the pace of his fingers, fucking them in and out of me.

“Hard to hate me when I’m making you feel so good, hm?” He kisses my forehead, curling his fingers in me.

I cry out. Fuck— I was going to come.

“Wait, wait, wait— don’t wanna come yet, please…” I clench my thighs around his hand and it stills.

I look up at him, his green eyes burning with desire.

He doesn’t say anything, just leans his head down and places a wet kiss on my lips.

He keeps his fingers pumping slowly in and out of me as we start to kiss.

He brings me close to coming again a few times, just to tease me, but he keeps his focus on my lips— pulling my bottom one between his and sucking on it.

It’s messy and sloppy, edges of it blurred from the morning haze still over us.

“Harry.” I say into his mouth, legs shaking a little.

“Want you in me.” It comes out of me as an unbridled thought.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, stunned by hearing the words fly out of me so openly.

He pulls his lips away, cock twitching in my hand, “you want…”

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nod, grabbing the hem of my shirt and slipping it off.

He’s enamoured by me, it’s clear in his eyes.

He reaches his hand up, out of my sleep shorts and he cups my breast with it gently.

He moves his mouth down to place gentle kissed over them.

“You’re perfect, yknow that?” He says against my skin, tugging me closer to him as I smile at the flattery.

“I’m on birth control too.” I state.

He glances up, and it appears I’ve shocked him yet again, “you wanna take me raw?”

I haven’t gone without I condom in ages… but I trust him.

“We’re both clean, right? I trust you.”

He smiles, “I’m clean. As long as your sure.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been surer of something.

He pulls my sleep shorts off, and I help shuck his sweats the rest of the way down his legs.

We’re warm between the sheets, and he’s peppering open-mouthed kisses along my neck as he lines himself up with me.

He locks eyes with me as he pushes in, and both of us moan at the feeling.

“Fuck— you’re tight.” He squeezes his hands on my hips.

I am blinded with the pleasure of him filling me up, I can’t even think about how bad an idea this could be.

“Feels so good, H.” I groan, scraping my nails along his chest.

“Can feel you clenching around me.” He reaches a hand down to play with my clit.

He’s gonna make me come embarrassingly quick— especially considering he sort of edged me a bit while we were kissing.

He was thrusting into me, a perfect pace to have me squirming in his arms.

I can tell he’s getting close, my name flying out his mouth paired with vulgar words and moans.

“I- fuck- I’m not gonna be able to drag this out if you keeping squeezing m’cock like that.” He pants.

“I’m close, so just come with me.” I plead, the thought of him finishing with me adding fuel to the fire in the pit of my stomach.

“God H, I’m gonna come— hard.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, keep talking.” He says, his skin slapping into mine, chasing his orgasm.

“You’re so pretty.” I blurt, spewing the first thing that comes to mind as I look at him.

He really is, his hair is tousled from sleep and my hands, his eyes half lidded from pleasure and tattooed chest slightly damp.

He swears, bottoming out and coming hard without warning. His hand circles my clit fast, bringing my crashing down with him.

“Harry!” I cry, burying my head into the crook of his neck as I ride out the waves of pleasure.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He groans, still thrusting into me trying to prolong his orgasms.

The high slowly ebbs away, and he stays in me for a bit. Nothing but the sounds of our laboured breathing filling the room.

I think we don’t know what to say, after something like that happens— when it all comes on instinct and you’re without any clue on what it changes.

Our dynamic, though it was a love-hate kind of thing, it was a consistent one. You knew what to expect. Now that this has happened…

“I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.” He whispers, “and that kind of scares me.”

I lay quietly for a few heartbeats, “just… that was really good. And I’m not 100% prepared for what might happen after this, y’know. To us I guess.”

“Well. To keep it simple, I really like you— and that was some of the best sex I’ve ever had so…” he trails off, unsure where to go with the sentence.

“Ok— so this isn’t gonna ruin our friendship?” I sigh in a bit of relief.

“Of course not,” he pulls back to look at me, and a smile spreads across his face, “after all, we are adults.”

———

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 25/August/2023

(So sorry I forgot to post this last week) So this week I did a bit more fleshing out to the scenes I wanted to go back to before the next step.

One particular scene was good fun! I got to build out an…interesting conversation between a certain character and the villain (I’m calling them full villain now rather than antagonist because, well, they are pretty darn bad, hehe!). The moment gives the player a deeper insight into how the villain thinks—or likes to portray that they think!—and about why it is they’re doing what they’re doing.

It’s really fun getting to explore how these things happening are viewed by different characters!

Some of the other scenes I looked at again are some quite big moments in the romances too. Some things really can push forwards with those, and the scenes are ones I’ve been thinking of for a very, very long time! So I want to make sure they still work with all the new ideas I’ve been adding into the plan—so far they have so that’s a major happy relief!

Next week, I’ll be moving onto the next step and printing out the plan to begin breaking it down into more detail.

My hopes are having the plan so super detailed means that writing will go smoother, and I can get it done a lot quicker. I can already see that the way I’m setting out the chapters and the individual scenes is going to be WAY better to organize in my head as well as on paper!

But the next stage is also where I’ll be thinking of how to add in the storyline I’d been umming and ahhing about that I now really want to do…

A villain romance! :D

This isn’t 100% for sure yet, and it won’t take away from the main romances (which are always my priority) at all as it will only be available in the ‘Friend’ route where the MC isn’t romancing anyone.

It also will be a villain romance. And this baddy is bad. Like, pretty much non-redeemable kind of bad. So obviously…that’ll be personal preference as to whether it’s right for you, hehe!

The only reason I’ve been contemplating it is because this villain only pops up for Book Four, so I don’t have to worry about extra branches and variations for future books, which means it won’t be adding too much workload.

Plus they are just…yeah, I really like them even though they’re awful, lol! And the way they go about interacting with the MC already opens up the easy possibility of a romance.

So some exciting things this week, and I’m really eager to get onto the next stage to put me another step closer to starting writing! :D Hope you all have the most fantastic weekend! It's a bank holiday here on Monday in the UK, so I'll talk to you all again next week!

[nahoney22]

Hi! i love your writing and was wondering if you could do the tbb (or just tech if you dont wanna do all of them) reaction to their gender neutral S/O pulling out their old instrument or color guard equipment from their marching band days and practicing what they remember (i dont even know if star wars has an equivalent to marching band/color guard lol but i picked an old practice flag up for the first time since high school earlier and the thought popped into my head for this request..) feel free to disregard this if it’s not something you wanna write, keep up the amazing work!!

Colour Guard Memories

The Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

How The Bad Batch react to you pulling out your old instrument or colour guard equipment.

warnings: none, gender neutral reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, Batchers admiring/encouraging reader.

authors note: this is a really cute idea and sorry it has took so long to do anon. In the UK we don’t really have marching bands/ colour guards aside from royal parades from what I know so I’ve relied on Google to help me out 😅 enjoy!

Echo

"Think we've got everything?" Echo asks, sealing the final box of your belongings.

As you survey the sea of packed boxes, you're struck by the realisation of just how many possessions you've gathered over the years. It's only now, in the process of moving out of your family home, that the extent of it hits you. After what feels like an eternity of packing and stacking, you're finally done and you couldn’t be any more grateful for Echo's helping hand.

"I hope so," you reply, wiping your brow and straightening up, hands on your hips. "Now, all that's left is to get it onto the ship." The prospect of lugging boxes onto the ship isn't exactly thrilling, but you're itching to kick back and relax.

Echo chuckles and reaches for one of the sealed boxes, but disaster strikes as the bottom gives way, sending its contents tumbling to the floor. "Well, that's just great," he says wryly.

Letting out a sigh, you join him in gathering up the scattered items. Amidst the chaos, something catches your eye: an old, familiar object. "No way!"

Startled by your sudden excitement, Echo turns to you. "What is it?"

"It's my Sabre!" you exclaim, holding up the cherished item for him to see.

He blinks in surprise. "Uh, your lightsaber?"

You playfully roll your eyes at Echo, a mischievous glint in your eyes, as you take the equipment into your hands and wave it at him. "You've known me long enough to know I'm not a Jedi, Echo," you tease, giving the Sabre a quick twirl. "It's from when I used to be be a colour guard for a marching band."

Echo chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "I didn't know you did that."

"Yeah! I loved it. Want to see what I can still do?" you ask, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"The floor's all yours," he says, stepping back to give you space.

You take a moment to steady yourself, feeling the weight of the stainless steel Sabre in your hands. With a deep breath, you begin your routine, the familiar movements flooding back to you. As you twirl the Sabre with practiced precision, you can't help but feel a surge of nostalgia. However, in the midst of your performance, disaster strikes as the Sabre slips from your grip, narrowly missing a nearby window.

"Okay, okay, I'm a little rusty. Give me a second," you laugh sheepishly, quickly retrieving the saber and regaining your composure but Echo was still smiling and impressed throughout.

Determined to redeem yourself, you focus on each movement, executing smooth transitions and intricate spins. With each flourish, you feel a sense of satisfaction, the familiar rhythm of the routine bringing back fond memories. As you finally come to a graceful finish, you can't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you.

Echo applauds, a smile playing on his lips. "That was really impressive. You should've told me you could do that before."

"We all have our hidden talents," you grin, a twinkle in your eye as you admire the old memory in your hand before carefully tucking it back into the box. "Anyway, we should probably get going before I get distracted again."

“Well,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder, “you should perform for me again sometime. If you want to that is.”

There’s a shine in his eyes, genuinely in awe of you and your talent. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

Hunter

Low on credits and desperate for some food to fill your stomachs, you and Hunter venture into a bustling market on a remote planet, hoping to find some opportunity to earn a bit of cash.

"See anything?" Hunter asks, strolling alongside you as you take in the sights and sounds of the market.

"Not really," you reply with a frown. The market is dimly lit, offering little in the way of useful materials, and the locals don't seem particularly welcoming. It's no wonder Hunter insisted on accompanying you.

But then, something does catch your eye. "Hey, that looks like one of my old flags," you remark, pointing to a colorful flag tucked away at the back of a small pop-up stall.

Hunter stops beside you, his interest piqued. "You used to spin those, didn't you?"

You chuckle at his phrasing, yet surprised that he remembers since it was just something you mentioned in passing once. "Yeah, I did. Not sure if I still have the touch, though."

A smirk spreads across Hunter's face as he holds up a finger, indicating for you to wait a moment. A bit embarrassed, you watch as he approaches the seller and strikes up a conversation. After a brief exchange, Hunter returns, flag in hand. "Let's put that theory to the test, shall we?" he suggests with a grin.

"Hunter! Did you just pay for that?" you exclaim incredulously as he shoves the pole into your hand.

"No," he says with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "But they said if you can impress them, you can keep it."

You narrow your eyes at him, a mixture of amusement and disbelief dancing in your gaze. "Fine. But I'm warning you," you declare, stepping into a clearing and scanning the area to ensure there's enough space before attempting to recreate a routine you haven't performed in years. "I'm not as good as I used to be."

Taking a deep breath, you grip the pole firmly and let muscle memory take over as you start spinning the flag with practiced precision. The fabric unfurls in vibrant arcs, catching the sunlight and casting colorful patterns across the ground. With each twirl and flourish, you feel a surge of nostalgia as memories of your days in the colour guard come flooding back.

As you continue your impromptu performance, you can't help but lose yourself in the rhythm of the routine, the flag becoming an extension of your body as you spin and swirl with grace.

Hunter is watching you silently and appears to be actually enamoured by your performance. His eyes are wide in surprise.

When you finally come to a graceful finish, you turn to Hunter with a triumphant smile, the flag held aloft in your hand. "How's that for impressing them?" you ask, a hint of pride in your voice.

“That was… wow.” Is all he says, a proud smile on his face. He takes one look to the seller who just gives a brief nod. “And the flag is yours it seems.”

Hunter comes up beside you once more but you feel a tug on your top, turning to face a young child who was holding out credits to you. Bashfully, you accept and the credits swiftly came flooding in.

“Heh, seems like you still got it.” He nudges your side playfully.

This could be a pretty safe way to earn some extra credits it seems.

Wrecker

"Wrecker, come look at this!" you call out excitedly, beckoning your companion over.

With Wrecker's assistance in tidying up the Marauder and transferring some items to the Remora, you stumble upon an unexpected treasure: an old snare drum tucked away amidst the clutter.

"Woah, what's tha’?" Wrecker asks, intrigued, as he joins you on the floor, his eyes fixed on the instrument in your hands.

"I used to play it in a marching band. Forgot I even had it," you reply with a wistful smile, the memories of your band days flooding back, tinged with nostalgia and a touch of sadness for times gone by.

Wrecker notices the flicker of emotion on your face and decides to lift your spirits. "Well, go on then. Give us a beat," he encourages, nudging the drum closer to you and offering a drumstick.

You smile gratefully, feeling a rush of anticipation as you accept the drumstick from his outstretched hand and pick up the matching one from the ground. "Just so you know," you say with a playful glint in your eye, "it sounds much better in a chorus rather than individually."

With a deep breath, you position the drumsticks in your hands, feeling the familiar weight and texture of the material. Closing your eyes, you let muscle memory guide your movements as you begin to play. The rhythmic tapping of the drum reverberates through the air.

As you lose yourself in the music, your fingers move effortlessly across the drum's surface, producing a lively beat that echoes off the walls of the ship. With each stroke, super fast and then skilfully slow, you feel a sense of liberation.

Wrecker watches in awe, a grin spreading cross his face as he listens to the infectious rhythm you create. For a moment, all worries and cares fade away, replaced by the joy of listening to you play. Flourishing a finish, your cheeks warm to Wrecker applauding enthusiastically.

"Tha’ was amazing!" he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You've still got it."

You grin, feeling a surge of pride at his words. "Thanks, Wrecker," you reply, a sense of contentment washing over you. "Maybe we should start our own band."

“Definitely!”

Tech

"Is this yours?" Omega's voice interrupts your thoughts, drawing your attention to the slim case she's holding. As you approach, a wave of nostalgia washes over you at the sight of the familiar case.

"I haven't seen this for a long time," you smile warmly, taking the case into your hands. Kneeling down, you blow the dust off and flip open the lid, revealing your old clarinet nestled inside.

Omega's eyes widen with curiosity as she peers at the instrument. "Wow, that's cool! Did you play it?"

You nod, a fond smile on your face. "Yeah, I used to. In a colour guard and in parades."

"Can you play something now?" she asks eagerly.

Before you can respond, Omega suddenly calls out, "TECH! COME HERE!"

Tech, engrossed in his data pad, looks up in surprise and heads your way. "What is the nature of my presence this time, Omega?"

Omega launches into an exaggerated explanation of your discovery and her request. "Listen to them play."

Tech adjusts his goggles and looks down at you with curious eyes. "I was not aware you could play any instrument."

"I haven't in a long time," you admit sheepishly, wiping the mouthpiece and adjusting the bridge keys. "But I can give it a try."

With a deep breath, you bring the clarinet to your lips and begin to play a soft, melancholic tune. The notes fill the air, weaving a gentle melody that seems to resonate with the quiet stillness of the surroundings. It was a gentle tune, a stark difference to the ones you played in parades.

As you play, you notice Tech glancing up from his data pad, his expression softening as he listens intently to the music. It's a rare sight to see him so engrossed in something other than his work, and you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that your music has captured his attention.

By the time you finish the piece, Tech is still watching you, a thoughtful look on his face.

Omega bursts into a loud applause meanwhile Tech smiled at you. “I would not mind you playing that whilst I do some repairs... it’s rather relaxing.”

Crosshair

“What are you doing?” Crosshair's voice breaks your concentration mid-performance, and you freeze as your arms flail, causing the wooden rifle to slip from your grasp and clatter onto the grass.

You spin to face the clone, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "I found my old rifle from when I used to perform," you explain quickly, bending down to retrieve the prop. With a flick of your foot, you send it spinning into the air, catching it effortlessly as it falls back down. "Want to see?"

Crosshair eyes the rifle with a hint of intrigue, his skepticism giving way to mild interest. "Perform? Rifles are for shooting. Not messing around with.”

“It’s wood, idiot.” You knock on the equipment before you then shrug, a sheepish grin tugging at your lips. "Anyway, it’s called rifle spinning. I used to do it as part of a routine in a performance group. It's more about coordination and showmanship than anything else. Wanna see?” You ask again.

Crosshair nods slowly, his gaze lingering on the rifle as you twirl it expertly in your hands. He stands back as you shows off your moves and he couldn’t hide the small impressed smirk forming on his lips. "You’re quite impressive I’ll give you that. But don't let it distract you from our mission." The compliment was rare but not one you were going to refuse as you give him a smile of thanks. But, he was right. There were more pressing matters at large.

You chuckle, nodding in agreement as you secure the rifle back in its holster. "Of course not. Just a little trip down memory lane."

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I have always thought that Meghan does not make her own money, does not see any projects throught to completion and isn't launching her own company is because she does not want to split money with Harry in case of a divorce.

I feel she is of the mentality that what's his is hers, but what's hers is just hers. (I took that phrase from somewhere online, but I can't remey where from).

That's the reason she kept her agent and publicist in US when she married in 2018,so he could deal with her company Frim Fram while she was in the UK. It's the reason she wanted to get pain fromthe work she did while royal and wasn't happy with the 3 mil stipend.

And it's the reason all their major money-making projects have been Harry's - Book deal, Invictus, Better Up , or joint - Netflix.

When Harry loses money (the lawsuits) she is mad. But when she loses money (pr, paid mag covers, 40x40 merch, Bench, insane spending for fake Un tour etc) it's just an investment gone wrong and they never talk about it again.

I think Meghan always just wanted to be an influencer, even when that word wasn't a thing. She liked the Tig thing she did and that's all she wants to do. Archwrll is very much modelled along those lines where she updates their stuff like updating a blog.

I know people sayshe isn't very good with follow through but I don't think she is that bad. Their failure has got a lot to do with Harry and him simply not knowing, not being capable of doing, not being very good at carrying projects on his own without a capable team.

The moment their divorce is finalized and the financials have been settled (and locked in) she will start working (hustling) and she will start making money the way she wants to. It will be something stupid and ridiculous, mostly speaking fees, appearances, red carpet merching or some product line. But she will make money.

She is just hedging her bets now and milking the royal money train dry. Whatever she has made so far in the past 7 years is safely locked in some other bank account under some company name that someone else is the front of.

You don't even have to be an evil genius to do that just have some financial acuity and ambition. Ones a hustler, always a hustler.

Ask from August 20th

Some good points here.

I disagree that Meghan has follow-through. Nothing I’ve seen from her since 2015ish shows she has follow-through. She does the bare basic minimum and the team around her finishes everything so she can put her name on it. She did it on The Tig. She did it for Suits. She did to the Hubb Kitchen cookbook. She did it with the royal tours. She did it with the fauxyal tours. She did it with Smartworks. She did it with 40x40. She did it with the UN. She did it with India and Malta and Rwanda charity work. She did it with the USO tour. She did it with the wedding. She did it with Vogue UK.

The only things Meghan did herself was throw everyone under the bus and stab them in the back. And even that’s sometimes questionable.

So she needs the capable team around her too, but capable means something different for Meghan. Where Harry’s “capable team” meant having people who do literally everything for him from picking out his clothes to taking him for munchies to running his own charity programs, Meghan’s “capable team” means having people who do exactly what she wants, when she wants them to, as she wants them to, and to read her mind as to when/how/where she wants things.

And that’s not someone who’s a good boss. That’s a terrible boss, a toxic one, one who has no problem screaming at people and throwing them under the bus, one who’ll underpay her staff and manipulate them into unethical or immoral behavior, work them to the bone, and who demands not just total loyalty, but 24/7 access and commitment. Everyone knows that about Meghan. Everyone sees that about Meghan. (And if one doesn’t see that about her, then one doesn’t have enough experience in the workplace or has never had a toxic boss of their own.)

And because Meghan is that kind of a boss, the only reason she has a capable team around her now is because of Harry. Because it looks really good on people’s resumes to work for the Duke of Sussex because they can leverage that to other big high-faluting jobs with more important people and more important work.

The second Meghan doesn’t have Harry, not only is that team gone, so is the world’s tolerance for Meghan Markle. She can hustle all she wants to get the paychecks she believes she deserves, but she isn’t going to get it. She’s getting no better than what she has now because it’s the same thing she got before Harry. If people weren’t interested in her before Harry, they definitely won’t be interested once her 15 minutes are up and her memoir washes out of the news cycle, and they won’t be interested because she can’t do anything for them. She doesn’t move magazines. She doesn’t sell clothes. She couldn’t sell her own book. She can’t even sell her own jam, dog biscuits, and kids.

The best her hustling post-Harry can get her is probably a spot on The View when her memoir comes out but even that’s not a sure thing because she’ll want them to fawn over her and I guarantee you, someone will be rolling their eyes at her in front of her. My money is on Whoopi.

[jimblejamblewritings]

starlight moonlight sunlight — blurb one

Series Summary: Remus has a choice to make: his new boyfriend Sirius or his recently no longer ex girlfriend, Y/N. But when Y/N's world begins crumbling, Remus wants to be there for her. So he makes a decision... Continue dating his boyfriend behind his girlfriend's back.

Blurb Title: Reconnecting on the Train

Pairing: ex!Remus x reader, Remus x Sirius, eventual poly!Wolfstar x reader

Warnings: none

blurb series navigation here

1. Reconnecting on the Train

You sat up as the train pulled into King’s Cross Station. This school year was going to be good, hopefully. You had already taken your NEWTs last year because what else did you have to do in a safehouse but study? So all you had to do was relax this year. You looked out the window, coming face to face with a very tall, plus size redhead and next to her, an equally tall blonde with a bob. They did charades to try and ask if anyone else was in your compartment or the one right next to yours. You weren’t even finished shaking your head before they booked it.

They breathed out sighs of relief as they plopped down on the seats before disappearing the wall between the two compartments so you were one big room. The train benches were arranged to be in a square formation with an opening for the door. 

The blonde with the spiky bob stuck out a hand. “Marlene McKinnon. 7th year.” 

“Y/N L/N. 7th year also.” 

A gasp echoed out. On the other side of James, Sirius froze up. His hand held on tighter to the taller boy next to him. He brought Remus’ hand to his lips, kissing it gently. How dare you show up here of all places? He was the main one to spend countless nights comforting the man when you left him. He had been the one to help put everything back together again and you were coming back to ruin it. 

You felt the train bench shake a little bit as one of the boys on the bench with golden brown hai— “Remus?” 

“Y/N?” 

James went wide-eyed. “Wait, that Y/N…” 

You both dug through your bags, pulling out polaroids sent years ago. Remus had to be sure. You held them up to each other’s faces for comparison. He looked different in only a year. The two of you were definitely the same people in your photos though. You were confused when his expression hardened at confirming it was you. 

“What are you doing here? You stopped writing. For months.” 

“I’m so sorry, babe.” 

Sirius laughed from behind Remus. “That’s it. I’m sorry?”  

You blinked twice, a bit taken aback by the hostility from his friends. “I’ve been a bit busy.” 

“Busy? So the rest of us just don’t have jack shit in our lives?” 

Fiddling with your hands a bit, you sighed. “Remus, can I talk to you alone?” 

“I’m sorry but until I get answers, you have to understand that it’s a little hard for me to just go anywhere with you.” 

“I’m a refugee. The MACUSA sent every new-maj into hiding because of Voldemort. Our schools grabbed us and our families in the middle of the night. We weren’t allowed to contact anyone outside. My family was rushed here because they got attacked. I’ve been separated from everyone else for their safety.” 

“Y/N, are you okay? Are they okay?” Remus’ face softened. 

His chest tightened as you shook your head. Honestly, you’d been putting on a brave face, telling him as much. You wanted to be a rock and a calming presence for your family during this time. And over the months, you’ve made peace with everything that’s happened. You understand it but you don’t feel like you’ve had a chance to be emotional about it. Remus jumped to his feet and pulled you into a hug when the tears started to fall. He rested his head against yours and rocked you back and forth. 

“I wanted to write to you. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s alright.” 

“I only found out two weeks ago that the UK was taking us in so I just decided to surprise you.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was that bad. Your letters before never…” 

“I know. I tried to keep everything positive for you. I’m sorry if I made you worried.” 

“Stop apologizing. It’s alright. You’re here now. Safe… Y/N, do you want to go to the observation car, calm down a little? No one’s really in there, I promise. I’ll come get you in a moment, okay?” 

You smiled. That’s what you loved about your boyfriend. He was understanding and patient about the lack of letters. You nodded and handed him your stuff. He pointed out the observation car and waited for you to leave his sight before closing the carriage door. 

Remus groaned. “I’m such a shit boyfriend.” 

Sirius adamantly shook his head, offended that he would dare suggest that. “You didn’t know. I can’t believe she still thinks you’d be together after she left without a word.” 

“Sirius.” 

“He’s kind of right,” Regulus spoke up. “If I had disappeared for months, how could I possibly expect my partner to not move on?” 

“She’s just not like that. We’ve talked about her friends’ relationships before.” 

“That seems selfish.” 

A lot of the train agreed.

Peter opened up his can of Fizzing Whizbee. “Just break up with her… again.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why? Do you still love her?” 

“No,” Remus answered without hesitation. “Feelings are long gone.” 

“Then why not?” 

“Y/N is fragile right now. Our relationship is her only stability. I feel like if I break up with her right now, it’ll shatter her.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Sirius said. “I know we haven’t announced ourselves to the school yet but this relationship means something to me. This might sound awful but I don’t care. I don’t care what she’s been through enough to leave you. I had to pick up your heart when she wasn’t there. She can’t just take you from me.” 

“I don’t want to leave you either… Just let me make sure she’s on her feet then we’ll be over. Okay, love?” 

“How long?” 

“When we start the second semester? Is that okay with you?” 

Sirius thought about it for a considerable time. “Fine. Nothing can stop me from kissing you in broom closets, though.” 

Mary put away her crossword puzzles to grab a book instead. “You do know that she’ll want to be our friend, right?” 

Remus nodded. “I’m not saying to not be friends with her. She’ll fit right in here, I know it. I’d like to be friends with her if we can split amicably. Just don’t tell her about Sirius and I, let us break up naturally.” 

“Can do.” 

“Thank you… Love, do you have any rules for me?” 

Sirius thought for a moment. “Can you try not to be intimate with her? Just never initiate it. Kisses are fine, I expect that. You can even flirt. I won’t think anything of it. It’ll be like you and Lily or Mary. But no large gestures. And no calling her love or starshine or sweetheart. Those are my pet names, she’ll have to find her own.”  

The rest of the train ride wasn’t sat in uncomfortable silence but social conversation. You put your headphones back in and pulled out the crochet project you were working on. Your boyfriend looked over at you, tapping your ankle incessantly until you finally looked up and took out your earbuds. 

“Yeah, babe?” 

“Do you want anything from the trolley?” 

“Um, no, I’m good. I’m on a tight budget for now. I’ll just get another water.” You looked down in betrayal when your stomach grumbled.

“Here.” Sirius handed you a to-go bowl filled to the brim with salad. He gave Remus a sandwich filled with basically just meat. A favorite near the full moon. 

“Thank you,” you said with such kindness that he wanted to roll his eyes. You leaned into your boyfriend to exaggerate a whisper. “Your friends are really nice.” 

The train finally stopped at the Hogsmeade Station. You were beginning to buzz with excitement as you sat under the Sorting Hat. Your uniform changed from gray and white to splashes of red and gold as you made your way to a clapping table. A note plopped into your lap halfway through late lunch/early dinner. 

Back to School Party: 1st-4th year in Gryffindor Common Room. 5th-7th in Slytherin. 

When dinner ended, you didn’t want to follow the first years so you went with your train buddies that were in Gryffindor, trusting that you’d eventually find your room.  

“Oh.” 

Marlene and Mary turned to you. “What is it?” 

“My key has the number eleven on it too.” 

The girls ushered you into their, now your, dorm room. The other girls looked at each other as you unpacked in less than fifteen minutes. It was kind of sad and brought them to the reality that while they were worried about Voldemort and war, some people were already living it. 

You sat down on your bed. “So, what do you normally wear for parties?” 

“I don’t know about Ilvermorny but it’s about dressing hot.” 

You looked at your wardrobe. “How long do I have?”

| next blurb here |

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[tocomplainfriend]

Funny thing (not really) I’ve noticed is that Viv has always fetishized m/m relationships. There’s obviously Stolitz, but it goes back way further. There’s Addison from Zoophobia being shipped with a guy who works at his high school, but to mention that Viv has drawn NSFW of them despite Addison canonically being a minor. There’s also Autumn and Rusty, the former whom gets bullied by Rusty cause Rusty is secretly in the closet. Ten years later and she’s still weird about m/m relationships.

TW: fetishizing Queerness

I tried to search a little for Addison's age. In the wiki, that I know Viv did not write it says he is 18, other post say 17- there are people saying the age got changed too? I know almost nothing to zoophobia- if anyone knows about this claim, share your knowledge and importantly evidence of the age thing in specific? I do know about those snake drawings. And also was Viv 19? Have no clue-so I'm not gonna super talk about it without knowledge.

About the Rusty thing, I don't think Viv is a good enough writer (of relationships especially, cause Stolitz mainly) to pull that relationship or story. I don't think she can pull the idea of the closeted bully, purely by the fact that she doesn't understand or acknowledge the problems Stolitz has. If she needs to put down characters to make Stolas seems better and try to justify the power imbalance. I don't think she could write this if she wanted to. This closeted gay bully is such an old trope, too. I think the worst you can do (also as a non-amazing writer) is actually tried to make a romance out of it? Cause a lot of these tropes are more like "HAHA THE BULLY IS GAY HAHAHA", rather than "aww the bully was just sad and gay all along". I don't like it. (also this includes when the bully doesn't bully his romantic interest)

A lot of problems in mlm stuff Vivziepop does is similar to those Yaoi fetishization shit. Where there are also power imbalance. Also, this treatment of the characters like Moxxie? Like he is bi, and with Millie- and his treatment is so shitty. The hole thing of MILLIE PEGS MOXXIE, and that funny cause is less manly of him? Or where the succubus sexually assault them and that is funny??? (that one is not even Blitz being an asshole to him, it's made to act funny). As soon there is something viewed as feminine from him, the show makes fun of him. His feminine appearance in Unhappy campers also leads to make fun of him. Where he is the most vulnerable and insecure is that episode. He is more objectified in a feminine appearance.

Just the entirety of Stolitz is literally a lot of yaoi-sh problems. Also, I do see a lot of red flags in how they wrote Fizz and Asmo'. Because Fizz was insecure af, that he needed the approval of Mammon as an imp. Mammon was using the power that he had over Fizz to use him to get money. He got his approval from Asmo another sin in a higher position of power. (The power imbalance is not the problem vibes). Plus, The Big dominant protector and the sub small uwu cure relationship. Fizz, compared to the first time he appeared, he is so vulnerable and acts so cutesy. Like, the confidence he had during the S1, disappeared so bad. Acting so nice to Glitz and Glam, felt like cutting out all attitude to "uke-fing" him into needing a savior. They make him so powerless

Fizz, a quad amputee, was put in a vulnerable situation related to his trauma and where he lost all his limbs and horns. All to make Blitz "redeem" himself and make them friends again... THAT SUCKS.

Also, there was the fact of how over-sexual all the male mlm characters are, too. Like, Chaz was so much more sexual than Verosika as a succubus.

IT JUST SUCKS.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Styling Mr. Styles.

harry styles were in desperate need of a hair stylist for one direction’s uk leg of tour culminating in 2015.

although he doesn’t do much with his hair before shows, perhaps a bit of gel and hairspray here and there, he needs someone who can cut his hair when he feels it’s necessary and someone who he can just talk to when he needs a bit of space.

and he knows for a fact that hair stylists always talk the most, so he needed to hire one, a hair cut could take place at any given moment and although his hair was long he liked to keep it in check.

so when his good friend lou teasedale recommends (Y/N). harry’s quick in taking the recommendation and hires you.

so the autumn of 2015 was bound to turn out a good one, especially when your surrounded by all your close friends and some even closer.

authors note - this is my first time writing a series as i’ve only ever written just one shots before so this is brand new to me. this mini series will include real life events that have taken place during the 2015 leg of the on the road again tour. harry is 21 in this fic and (Y/N) is 19, so there is a slight age gap.

warnings - explicit language, angst, mentions of domestic abuse, slight innocent reader, mentions of alcohol, social anxiety and panic attacks, badly written smut.

prologue. [published - 06.07.2023]

in which, harry is in desperate need of a hair stylist, so when his good friend recommends you, with a lot of persuasion you decide to take the job. having no idea what the future will have in store for you and for him.

chapter one.

in which, it’s your first day on the job and your best friend decides to drive you up to london so that you have a familiar face when you arrive. that’s where you properly meet everyone and even have some one on one time with a certain curly headed lad.

chapter two.

in which, it’s the first show of the uk leg of tour, and getting to know everyone you’ll be seeing for a prolonged period of time leaves someone in a slightly angry mood, which is an especially bad thing when you’ll be styling his hair in a few minutes.

chapter three.

in which, after an article appears of you being seen at the show surfaces, you panic about certain people seeing it. but due to the circumstances you have to move on quickly and move on to your next tour location. the home of the man your starting to develop a crush for. manchester.

chapter four.

in which, you’ve got a fear of flying that no body knows about, and after some gentle persuasion someone occupise the seat next to you. gesturing a cutie named lux and the wonderful city of glasgow.

chapter five.

in which, you introduce the curly lad to your favourite tv show, and arriving in your next destination he decides to take you on a tour of there set. the day ends with fireworks and a heart full of gratitude. all thanks to him.

chapter six.

in which, you’ve all arrived in the country that makes up 1/4 of the band. the lovely ireland. where nightmares take place, and the truth about your past finally comes to surface. hair gets braided and a mechanical bull lingers in the background.

chapter seven.

in which, getting ready to head to the next tour location begins all cute and fluffy, as if nothing can burst the bubble you and him have created, but an oblivious maid interrupts that bubble, leaving the two of you feeling vulnerable and create a whole other issue that leads to the two of you telling the truth.

chapter eight.

in which, events take a turn for the better as you and him cuddle in his bunk on the tour bus, where you start to feel good and the afternoon ends with saccharine lullabies. leaving both of you to let the feelings you have for each other to linger in the back of your minds.

chapter nine.

in which, another article reached the eyes of one direction fans and family, a flashback occurs in the midst of the chaos your mind is enduring upon yourself and an unrealised song gets sung for the first time, putting you once again in the spotlight.

chapter ten.

in which, waking you up with breakfast in bed, the curly headed lad had a very important question to ask you that will need a very important answer.

epilogue.

in which, it’s the finale chapter of your and his story so there’s one thing to say… welcome to the final show…i hope your wearing your best clothes.