#there's plenty of lesbian to go around

[justblaterando]

How any convo about aemond loosing an eye goes with the crazy people of this fandom

A “he was going to murder him, he deserves it”

B “no he didn’t”

A “he was being rude, he deserve it”

B “being rude doesn’t justify making someone disable”

A “he was going to murder him, he deserves it”

And the cycle continues

[fyeahnix]

Not me thinking about changing Sevika's height to 6'2 over 6'1...

[dbssh]

yr 27 dont u have better things to do than misread my posts

[snekdood]

oh you want to force the label "butch" on to me? well looks like its time to go back to strictly fucking cis men

[toastsnaffler]

ohhhhh my god girl i don't careeeee

[ltleflrt]

Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol

So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.

So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.

Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.

I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.

In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.

(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)

I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.

Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.

This post is for them.

Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."

Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.

Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.

Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.

And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.

AND:

This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.

You're valid. You're one of us too.

And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)

[milkteamoon]

The first and only girl Martin goes out with is openly bisexual.

He doesn't know if she counts, if he's being honest — it wasn't a crush, he knows that, and years down the line, when he thinks back to it, he can't remember them ever having a proper conversation about the whole status of their single-night relationship. He knows she had short hair, and sat in front of him in math class, and needed a date to the fall semi-formal so she'd asked if he was busy that weekend, and he'd said no, and then she'd asked if she could borrow a pen, and he'd said yes. He couldn't remember her name if he tried.

He does remember the pink and blue bracelet on her wrist that she'd worn to the event itself, and then to get ice cream after, where he'd sat on the curb of some old parking lot at the edge of town with her and her friends and her friends' boyfriends and her friends' boyfriends' friends, none of which were his friends, because Martin didn't have many of those. Except maybe the girl whose name he couldn't remember. Though he's not sure if maybe-probably-not-girlfriends count as friends too when you're in high school.

"D'you like it?" she'd asked once she'd noticed him staring, holding up her wrist and not seeming to care as ice cream dribbled down her spoon and fingers.

"It's nice," Martin had said, because he's nothing if not honest. "Did you make it?"

She'd nodded. "It's a bi flag," she'd explained. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh," Martin had said.

"You know what that is, right?" she had asked. "Like, when you like boys and girls?"

"I know," Martin had said, even if it had maybe slipped his memory until she'd brought it up. "That's cool."

And then she'd nodded, and ate her ice cream, and Martin had taken her home with as little a fanfare as he had picked her up earlier that evening. And then winter break had rolled around, and she'd been put in another class the following semester, and then life and bills had finally caught up with him and there wouldn't be another semester after that. He'd never seen her again, so he'd never got a chance to ask. Never got a chance to choke down that knot in his throat when he'd left her house that evening, unable to get the words out.

He doesn't remember her name anymore, but he does remember the jealous ache he'd felt at her certainty.

Martin's first boyfriend is definitely gay.

That's how they meet each other, really — in a gay bar, where Martin has met plenty of other men (testing the waters, he's been telling himself; no harm in a little exploration) and gone home with them, except this one asks for his number afterward, and this one calls him back, and this one actually seems to want to go out for drinks the next week, and the week after that, and before Martin knows it he's quite certain that he's dating this man. It's wonderful, whirlwind of an experience. It's exhilarating.

It's bloody terrifying.

And it's not being with a man that sets his anxiety on edge. Martin...Martin likes men. That's definitely a part of his identity that he's been able to sort out, over the years. Martin likes men, and he likes dating men, and he likes having sex with men, and he'd probably even marry a man, if he had the chance, if that's where one of these loose and languid relationships end up.

It's just—

It's just that—

It's just that Martin always seems to be the odd one out in these groups. It's just that when Martin meets up with his boyfriend's friends at the bar, when they're all laughing and sharing jokes and clinking their drinks together in some toast that Martin had missed the dedication to, they all just...get it somehow. They know who they are. They all have some special word for themselves that fits them like a tailored suit: Jacklyn is a butch lesbian, and Lee is trans, and Tom is a bear, and Jordan is gay and genderqueer and Collin is a drag performer and—

He's a few drinks in, to put it lightly, when he leans over to his definitely-boyfriend and asks him how he knew he was gay.

"How did I know?" he echoes, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. "Easy, I liked men." And then he laughs like Martin has just told a funny joke, and maybe he has and doesn't realize it, so he tries to laugh along. Tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

Martin wishes it were that simple. And when the two of them break up, Martin wishes that he ached just as badly over the relationship too.

Tim and Sasha are bi. Well, no, Tim is bi, and Sasha is—

"Pansexual," Sasha says through a mouthful of reheated spaghetti. She holds a finger up as she chews, swallows, and then adds, "Well, I mean. It's like the same genus, I guess."

"Like a leopard and a cheetah," Tim chimes in, leaning over to put an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand against the side of his face to put some space between them, knocking his glasses askew.

"Leopards and cheetahs are different genuses," she tells him. "You're thinking of leopards and jaguars."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nuh uh nuh uh—"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh—"

And it's—

He likes Tim and Sasha. They're easy to exist around. They don't make him feel like he's not welcome at the end of the lunch table, or like he has to be anything more than simply himself in their presence. Call it bonding over the shared trauma of all being trapped down here together. Tim's jokes about Jon never letting them see the sun are starting to feel less like jokes these days, and more like statements of fact.

Then Tim leans over, seating his chin in his knuckles, and says, "So, Martin, you going to pride this year?"

And then all of those nice, floaty feelings suddenly come crashing out of solution and dropping down into the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Tim's smile falls as he backpedals.

"O-or not!" he says, holding his hands up peaceably. "I mean— geez, sorry, I usually think I'm pretty good at noticing these things, but if you're not—"

"What? Oh, no no, you're fine, I'm definitely—" There's something on the tip of Martin's tongue that he can't put a word to, hasn't been able to put a word to for a long time. "...not straight. Er, I— I like...guys, at least...?"

A smile curls across Tim's face — amused, but not cruel. "Hey, that's at least one thing we've got in common," he says and holds up his fist for a bump. The spark of anxiety hasn't quite fizzled away, but it's pushed far enough down that Martin feels he can humor him.

To his equal relief and horror, Jon strolls into the room not a minute later and sticks himself firmly in the crosshairs of Tim's sights.

"Boss-man," he greets.

"Tim," Jon greets back, neutrally. He strolls over to the kitchenette, digging out a tea bag out of the cabinet.

"Are you going to pride this year?"

Martin chokes on his drink.

"No," Jon says, retrieving a tea bag and filling his mug as if Tim had simply asked him about the weather.

"C'mon," Tim purrs. He reaches over and gives Jon a tug by his belt loops. "You're just gonna sit at home all weekend and leave us to have all the fun?"

"I don't particularly find crowds 'fun,'" Jon retorts, batting away his hand. He picks up his mug. "You'll have to suffer without me."

"How will we ever go on," Tim laments.

"You'll manage," Jon says, then promptly retreats to his office.

Martin simply sits there with his mouth hanging open, only daring to speak once he hears the final click of the door pulled shut. "...Jon...?"

Tim looks over to him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"

"Jon."

"Oh." A smirk tugs at the corner of Tim's lips. "You didn't know?"

"Wh— no!" It's not even that Martin has ever really assumed that Jon is straight. It's just that, out of people in the office to be open about their sexualities, there's Tim and Sasha, and then there's Jon. It's just— it's Jon. "Did he tell you that?"

Tim shoots a look to Sasha. "Well, no," he admits, "but you know how it is, you work with someone long enough and you just sort of...get a vibe, yeah?"

Sasha nods at this assessment. "Plus the fact that he did agree to go on a date with David that one time."

"Oh god, haha! I forgot about that."

"He's gay, right?" Sasha says, looking to Tim.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once," Tim notes, poking his fork into his salad. "Bi, maybe...? I'm going to go with bi."

"Could also be pan," Sasha notes.

Tim thinks on this for a moment. "Mm, no, definitely bi I think. My bi-dey senses are tingling. Sorry Sash," he concludes, earning him a light kick to the shin from Sasha at the pun. He shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth before redirecting his attention back to Martin. "So, Martin. Pride, yay or nay?"

"Uh—" Martin blinks, viscerally aware of himself once more. He's not sure how to put I've never really thought about going into so many words that doesn't make him sound incredibly lame or formerly catholic, so in the end he decides on a redirect. He clears his throat. "I'm...not sure? Haven't really decided."

"That's fine," Tim says with a half shrug. "Though we'll be there, so if you do end up going, just text us and we'll meet up, yeah?"

There's a little plant inside Martin, something green and budding, but never able to bloom — always pruned too early, or watered too late, or bitten off by the frost. But some days, he thinks about opening the curtains and letting in the sun. Some days, he thinks about letting it bloom, finally, fully—

"Yeah," Martin says softly, looking up from his open palms. "Yeah, that'd...that'd be good."

And despite himself, he smiles.

Martin is—

Martin is quite certain he has never been sweatier in his life.

It's a wonderful time. It's bright. It's beautiful. He's seen so many colors and grins and glitter on more people than he can count today. People holding hands and people kissing and people dressed in outfits he can't even begin to describe, genders he can't even begin to put names to, flags he can't even begin to guess the meaning of. His heart feels so big in his chest he could die, pushing on the bars of his rib cage with each resounding thu-thump, and it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

(And so very isolating. So very lonely when he feels like he's not meant to be there, like he wasn't invited, like he's invading this space carved out in neat rows of labels that he can't even straddle properly to get in line. He doesn't— he can't—)

Martin finds a moment of shade just as he feels he's teetering on the edge of heat exhaustion. He stumbles under the awning, smearing the sweat and residual glitter out of his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall. Music hums from the street over, voices carry on the warm summer air. He really needs to find something to drink, so he can appreciate it more instead of focusing on the way his shirt clings to his skin. He really should find Tim and Sasha, before they get off into any trouble.

Someone lets out a huff next to him as they lean back against the wall, and Martin peels open an eye to look.

And then both his eyes snap open at once, double taking at the man standing next to him. He doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on fanning himself with some pamplet he'd snagged along the way, but then his gaze shifts sideways, and the pinched expression smooths out into one of blank bewilderment.

Jon blinks, wide eyed. "Martin."

Okay, well that at least solves the issue of whether or not Martin is supposed to be pretending not to know him or not. He clears his throat, trying to smile. "Jon...h-hi."

It's not even the fact that— okay, well, yes, seeing Jon at a queer event is pretty weird, but seeing Jon outside of work, in jeans no less, is certainly not helping the sensation that Martin might very well be hallucinating this interaction. He looks him up to his thick-lensed glasses, down to his plain sneakers that have seen better days, and even pinches himself for good measure. Jon doesn't move. Martin isn't sure that he himself would be able to move either, even if he wanted to.

Then Jon's brow furrows, and he looks around. "Are Tim and Sasha around...?"

"Oh, n-no, they went off," Martin gestures vaguely in the direction he'd last seen them, "somewhere."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Right."

"...What...are you doing here, exactly?" Martin finally asks in some burst of unsourced courage.

Jon's winces, red-handed. Not that Martin would ever say anything to Tim or Sasha about their boss going to pride without them on his own time — it's honestly none of his business — but he also knows that if the two of them suspect something is up, they'll never let either of them live it down.

Jon sighs, shoulders drooping. "I...an old friend, she— she didn't wish to come alone this year, and apparently I'm the only other queer she knows that doesn't enjoy getting plastered off my arse at these types of events, so—" Jon shrugs lightly.

There's something about the way Jon says it, the only other queer, that leaves a funny, prickling sensation in the center of Martin's chest, and it's not just the heat giving him a rash. It's just...it's nice. It's nice the way he says it, all casual like he's just giving Martin another report to follow up.

Jon pushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, giving Martin a sideways glance up and down. He redirects, "You know, I would have thought you'd be more, er..."

"More...?"

"...Well, dressed up, I suppose?" He gestures to Martin's outfit — a pair of khaki shorts with pockets stuffed to the brim in emergency snacks, a green t-shirt with the local football team logo, an old pair of sneakers he really needs to replace — in a vague enough gesture to slip just under the line of insulting, but still enough to make Martin feel horribly seen. Granted, Jon isn't much better in his plain blue polo, but the fact of Jon being in jeans at all is currently eclipsing the fact that he's a tad underdressed for the event.

But—

But it's not that Martin doesn't want to. It's not that Martin doesn't want to be a part of this moment, this moment, this microcosm in the middle of London of so many people like him. It's something he's always wanted. Something he's always dreamed of, something he'd thought about all the way back in his high school bedroom when he'd had all these feelings knotted up in his chest that he couldn't put a word to, still can't put a word to, doesn't know how to put a word to even though it's right there in front of him if he could just stretch out his fingers—

"I thought about it," he admits with a shrug. Tim and Sasha were each dressed in a blinding shower of color and glitter, and he knows they'd never make him feel out of place. "It's just...there's too many—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "There's too many words, I guess?"

Jon pauses his lazy fanning, looking up at him. "Too many words?" he parrots.

Martin wets his lips. "Like— like— like, everyone has a word for themselves, y'know? They have a flag, they have a group, they have— have people that they can relate to, and then you feel like you find something that almost right, but it's not perfect, and you— you—"

And you don't fit in, Martin doesn't say, because the rushing stream of words has suddenly stopped up in his throat, choking him. And you definitely aren't straight, but you aren't queer like everyone else is. You aren't queer in the right way.

Jon looks at him for a considerable moment, and suddenly Martin is all too aware of his body, his bones, his sweat, the itchy prickling of his skin—

Jon sighs as he gives him a half shrug. "So don't be anything."

The music from the street over lulls into a faint hum.

"What?" Martin says.

"So don't be anything," Jon repeats, enunciating as if he thinks that Martin misheard him. He frowns as he chooses his next words. "I'm not...it's...I..."

Martin waits quietly.

"I..." Jon says, "I guess when I was just starting to— to figure things out, I was certain I was gay. And then I went to uni and I had...a multitude of other things to address, and then for a bit I was...straight? I guess? And that was a whole thing, and then I was bi, and— well, I guess I'm technically still bi, but it's not...not exactly correct—" He frowns, looking up at him. "I guess...it just doesn't really matter to me? You don't...have to be anything."

Martin opens his mouth. He closes it. "But—" he says, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, "but—"

But then I have to be me, he doesn't say, even if the words are trying to push out past his teeth. But then the only thing I can be is me.

"...But that's scary," Martin says without meaning to, only hearing the words as they pass through his own lips. His eyes blow wide as he looks down at Jon (at his boss), and knows the simmering heat flushing down to his chest has nothing to do with the weather.

Jon stares at him for a quiet, considerate. And then he turns his head away and lets out a very undignified snort.

Martin feels his world tip onto its side.

It had to be a snort. It can only be a snort, even if Jon doesn't snort because Jon doesn't laugh, and Jon doesn't laugh because Jon doesn't smile, and Jon doesn't smile because Jon is typically too busy snapping at him over some stupid mistake he's made for the umpteenth time—

Jon looks up at him again, and he's downright grinning. Martin is quite certain he needs to be doused over the head with a bucket of ice water, or pinched hard enough to draw blood, or sent off to the hospital to get his head checked out because what the fuck. What the fuck.

"As my grandmother was so fond of reminding me, 'if it weren't scary, everyone would be doing it,'" Jon says finally, peeling off his glasses to wipe the sweat from the lenses onto his shirt. He places them back on his nose, then pushes himself up. "You should find Tim and Sasha," he says. "And I should find Georgie before I get left here. Again."

"Uh," Martin says, still trying to mentally recover from the fact that Jon smiled at him, and now everything feels like its been knocked into an alternate universe slightly to the left. His head feels weird. His chest feels weird. "Right."

"There's a—" Jon points a thumb behind himself, "a place we can cut through, if you want to—"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, lead— lead the way."

It's not perfect, Martin thinks.

It's not perfect, but it's close. It's close when they step out of the alley back onto that crowded street, when the colors all bleed into a mess of a million different rainbows as far as the eye can see. It's close when they both get sprayed with glitter, Jon scowling and swearing as he tries to get it off himself and sending Martin laughing so hard that his sides ache. It's close even with the heat, even with the noise, even with the shouting because there's laughter in between laughter in between laughter again—

"Would you like a button?" a girl with green hair asks as she sits behind a table of every flag Martin has ever seen and then some. He takes a moment to look over each one carefully. Jon wanders up beside him, looks them through, and carefully selects a pink, purple, and blue one, to which he silently deposits in his pocket.

Martin picks up a plain rainbow one, considers it, and then pins it to the left side of his shirt.

It's not perfect, he thinks, but it's close enough.

[emcapi]

There are plenty of posts that go around focused on hating t*rfs/exclusionists. I wanted to make a post that is about love.

I love you, gay people. I love you, lesbians. I love you, bisexuals. I love you, pansexuals. I love you, asexuals. I love you, aromantics. I love you, people on either or both of those spectrums. I love you, polyamorous people. I love you, queer people.

I love you, transgender people. I love you, transfemmes and transmascs and transneutrals and trans-something elses. I love you, nonbinary people. I love you, genderfluid people. I love you, genderqueer people. I love you, two-spirit people. I love you, intersex people. I love you, people who can’t or don’t want to medically transition. I love you, people who are cis and unapologetically fuck with gender.

I love you, people who are out. I love you, people who are in the closet. I love you, people who are both in different circumstances. I love you, people who are only out about parts of their identity. I love you, people who feel the need to simplify their identity down to something people understand better.

I love you, people who are still figuring it out. I love you, people who are actively putting off figuring it out because you are not in a safe environment to explore that. I love you, people who have changed labels multiple times. I love you, people who have experimented with your gender or sexuality and found it wasn’t for you, but you have a better understanding of yourself from it.

I love you, cishet allies who are actively fighting for our rights, whether it’s on behalf of people you love or because it’s the right thing to do. I love you, supportive cishet parents, partners, and friends.

I love you.

(If you disagree with any of these statements, I kindly ask that you do not reblog this. Thank you.)

[riality-check]

A continuation of this post. Part 3

ao3

As that long-haired guy walks away - his friend onstage called his name, but Steve didn’t catch it - Robin nudges Steve.

“Asshole roadies,” she says, sing-song.

“Get fucked,” Steve says with her.

It’s tradition, that little chant. Every gig, there’s always one venue where someone with far less experience says something. Steve knows he was blunt and probably shouldn’t have said anything with that tone, but after too many times, his patience is exhausted.

He can’t even blame the blunt thing on ASL. If anything, he’s meaner in English.

It makes sense. He knows English a lot better. He and Robin only started taking the ASL classes two years ago, when he really needed it. His left ear had been pretty much gone for a while (fuck you Billy Hargrove for putting ceramic in his scalp), but he sucked it up and started learning when his right ear started going, too.

Honestly, he has no idea what caused that.

Two years of ASL means he and Robin aren’t fluent yet. Not even close. But between that, his residual hearing, and the lip reading he’s relied on for longer, Steve does alright. If he wasn’t at a gig, he’d bring his hearing aids, but that’s a recipe for disaster and broken equipment.

Plus, he’s learned he can’t focus on his job when he hears as well as feels the music.

Robin taps his arm again. You good?

I’m good, he signs back.

They finish setting up before they grab a snack. The venue is pretty tiny, a standing room only place that serves pizza and a few drinks, and that’s it.

The pizza is really good though.

They finish up their slices before they go back to the booth. Robin is particular about not eating around the equipment, and Steve has long given up on fighting her.

Their jobs are pretty easy, in all honesty. The light cues are pre-written, and sound check was an hour ago. All Steve needs to do is hit the cues, and all Robin needs to do is adjust mic levels and turn them on and off as needed.

This leaves plenty of room for a healthy amount of fucking around.

As Robin, always on his right side, starts telling him a story about her friend’s ex’s (who is also her friend, because lesbians are just like that) latest date, Steve watches the crowd file in and nods along.

His mind, however, goes back to that guy. Someone always says something, and it’s always someone new to touring. Steve can just tell. All the rookies do the same thing; they look at the stage with wonder in their eyes. This guy was no different. Just some rookie giving Steve a problem, like always.

Except that this guy was different.

Rookies tended to want to prove themselves. They wanted to show off their fancy knowledge and make it clear that they belonged there along with everyone else who had a career. They wanted to catch Steve off guard, make him thank them for helping him out.

This guy didn’t do that. He was nosy and pushy and pretty and rambled a lot, but he wasn’t trying to be a dick. He was trying to look out for Steve, even if it was none of his business, even if he didn’t know him.

He ended up being a bit dickish, but he wasn’t trying to be. If Steve were a nicer person, he’d think that might count for something.

Steve is trying to be a nicer person, with emphasis on trying.

His watch vibrates, jolting him back to the moment. He lowers the lights, cueing the openers to go on.

The set list, along with Steve’s cues, is in in a binder between him and Robin, lit by a book light with a battery that’ll die at least twice, with their luck.

The first opener is a band Steve has never heard of called “Corroded Coffin.” If they’re any good, he might listen to their music.

Big emphasis on might because he’s not a big fan of metal. Punk has better bass lines, one that Steve likes to feel in his chest.

He hits the cue when they start their opening song, lighting them in reds and purples and-

Oh. Shit.

That guy wasn’t a roadie. He’s part of the opening band. He’s a guitarist.

A really good guitarist.

A really hot guitarist.

Steve is so caught up in stating that he nearly misses the next cue. He doesn’t, though. He’s a professional.

Robin elbows him, and he turns to see her signing. For one hopeful moment, he thinks she’s signing “hungry” and will offer to get them both more of that really good pizza like the wonderful friend she is.

But then she repeats the sign, again and again, and Steve smacks her before hitting the next cue.

“I am not horny!” he whispers, clearly loud enough for Robin to hear through her earplugs because she laughs.

You think he’s hot, she signs.

Steve rolls his eyes.

I’m right! she teases.

Steve faces away from her for the two seconds it takes for her to tug him back.

“Not fair,” she says, and Steve only gets it because it’s light enough to read her lips.

The band has gone through two songs, and the lead singer, a tall Black guy, is saying something to the crowd. Steve hears it just fine with all the mics, but understanding is too much of a struggle to bother.

He doesn’t really care anyway. He likes feeling the music and hearing it with what he has left (his audiologist said it won’t accelerate his hearing loss, so any hearing protection is a waste of money), not listening to whatever the bands have to talk about.

Anything important? he asks Robin.

She shakes her head.

Steve turns back to the stage in time to hit the next cue, casting the band in blue as the guitarist starts playing a really low intro.

Did you hear his name earlier? Steve asks.

Robin says something, but it gets lost in the music and the dim light.

“Hettie?” Steve asks aloud.

Robin shakes her head. Sorry.

She finger spells, messing up once and throwing it out with a wave of her hands.

“Eddie?”

She nods.

Steve hits the next cue and uses the rest of the time to appreciate the view. Eddie really is hot, in his dark jeans and tattered tank top, grin on his face and quick-moving fingers. And Steve has never had a chance to talk to the talent, even if they’re nosy.

But Eddie was nosy because he was worried. It would almost be sweet if it wasn’t so condescending.

He didn’t mean for it to be, the terrible little rational part of Steve’s brain pipes up. And he apologized. Multiple times.

The bigger part of his brain reminds him that it doesn’t matter what Eddie meant it as. Steve effectively tanked any hope when he snapped at him before the show.

Oh God.

He has to do a whole tour with this guy. Who he was a total dick to.

Yikes. At least he has Robin, who is-

Currently staring at him and signing “horny.”

Steve smacks her again, which she laughs at and returns instantly before they focus back on their jobs. They’re professionals, goddammit.

Professionals who are already on less than stellar terms with one of the openers.

He’s so not looking forward to the next few weeks.

Tag list (this is not a regular thing for me but it was manageable this time!): @just-a-tiny-void @weirdandabsurd42 @satan-is-obsessed @honeysucklesinger @coyotepup345 @gayafmermaid @thegingerrapunzel

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Y’all are the best. Seriously. I love y’all. One quick note: if y’all reblog, please include the tag “#if I should stay” (mind the capital i) so people can find the rest of the parts! Thanks so much!!! ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Eddie does end up following Robin because he does not, in fact, have a death wish.

Even if, apparently, he dies in the future. Go figure.

She instructs him to grab his guitar. “Why in the fuck,” he starts, then reconsiders when Robin whips around to stare at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re terrifying?”

Robin shrugs a shoulder. “Not as much as they should.”

She stashes her bike in the back of his van and directs him to the Harrington residence, where Steve’s waiting, arms crossed, wondering smile on his face. “Miracle worker,” he calls, and Robin laughs as she grabs her bike from the back.

“Hate to break it to ya, Dingus, but you’re just not scary.”

“I’m plenty scary. I’ve got a nail bat.”

“Right, because that would beat Nance’s sawed-off in a fight.”

“Hey, it could! You never know! They’ve got different ranges!”

Robin rolls her eyes at Eddie, like she’s asking if he can believe it, which. No. No he can’t.

“Sorry,” he says, regretting everything when they both look at him. “What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Come inside,” Steve says, suddenly all business. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” His eyes find Robin’s. “One of ‘em took Barb last night.”

“Fuck,” Robin whispers.

“Yup. Will’s been missing for two days. Maybe, if we get down there soon enough…”

“Let’s hope so. Which one of the rugrats found El?”

“I think they all did? But Mike’s the one who took her in.” He shakes his head, mouth a grim line. “I saw Dustin today. They’re kids, Robs.”

“So are we,” she reminds him, heaving a tired-sounding sigh. “A buncha kids fighting real-life monsters.”

“Monsters?” Eddie parrots.

Somehow they end up inside while Steve goes to pick up the Party. Who the party is, Eddie doesn’t know. Just like he doesn’t know why he’s in Steve’s Harrington’s house with someone who isn’t Steve Harrington.

“Who’s the Party?” He asks Robin. “And why am I here again? If I die, doesn’t that mean I shouldn’t be here? Should be somewhere far, far away instead?”

“The Party’s a group of kids Steve babysits. They’re the first ones to go through this whole mess. And admittedly, you’re here partially because you can help, and partially for selfish reasons.” She offers him a lopsided grin. “Believe it or not, watching you die was kinda traumatic.”

“Right,” he says slowly. “And you and Steve? How do you know each other? He and Nancy Wheeler are the talk of the town, and if he’s stepping out-”

“He wouldn’t,” she says harshly. “Ever.” She takes a breath. “Two years from now, or a year ago, he and I work together in a mall. Long story short, we get captured and tortured by Russians. High on truth serum, I tell him I’m a lesbian in the bathroom, we help take down the big bad, and boom. Instant platonic soulmates.”

Eddie gapes at her. “What the fuck.”

“Just about,” she nods. “Oh, and the kids love D&D, so you’ll have plenty to talk about. They’re little shits but they’re also kinda great once you get to know them.”

Eddie stares at her. The front door opens, and Steve walks in, followed by a gaggle of preteens and Nancy Wheeler.

“Robs,” Steve says, not slowing his stride as he begins taking the stairs two at a time. “Bathroom. Now.”

Robin grimaces. “Breakdown time,” she murmurs to Eddie, then follows Steve, leaving everyone else staring at each other.

“So,” Eddie says. “I heard you like D&D?”

A dark-haired kid who looks suspiciously like Nancy narrows his eyes. “You play?”

“Play!” Eddie repeats. “I don’t just play, my young friend, I am the greatest Dungeon Master this side of the Mississippi.”

A curly-haired kid begins to grin. “I think we should put that to the test.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @local-writers-corner @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

@paperbackribs @ninjapirateunicorns @bisexualdisastersworld @hiscrimsonangel @lolawonsstuff @xo-r4e @thedragonsaunt @l0st-strawberry

Fic Taglist: @blondlanfear @do-you-want-something-more @little-gae-shit

[olderthannetfic]

I have really mixed feelings about the small proportion of F/F fiction (original or fanfic), because yeah sure, people have their desires, they should write what they want, I get it. It all works out when I hear it from person to person. But somehow the logic only ever applies in one direction? "There are more male protagonists because men only care about male characters! Women also mostly care about male characters, because that's the majority of characters they get!" And then somehow we also yet kvetch when men write female characters (because it's incorrectly or something, nevermind if women are writing male characters correctly). Why don't we expect gay men to feel compelled only by femslash for the same reasons (but gender swapped) as the lesbian slashers/fujoshi? All of those very rational justifications are applied selectively, "for me for not for thee," and it all only leads to "idk I just don't wanna write femslash", for Reasons. Do we get to call them microaggressions yet?

--

No, you don't get to call other people's fantasy life a microaggression.

That is indeed "for me but not for thee" in the sense that you get to want what you want but other people aren't supposed to follow their id.

Do you also police gay men who spend too much time on drag and obsessing over female divas? That's an actual real world behavior that's somewhat equivalent. It frequently goes unchallenged, at least by progressives, because men are allowed to do whatever they want with chick stuff, while women are "stealing" if they dare to stray into dude stuff.

(God, I've seen so much more policing of drag kings being ~problematic~ for acting out stereotypical gender than policing of drag queens for the same. It's nuts!)

Fujoshi are often queer, but it's absurd to think we're mostly lesbians. We tend to be bi or asexual women with gender stuff going on, though there is a mix of everybody, including lesbians. There are also a lot of AFAB non-women who get lumped in with us. On the rare occasions I find a man willing to admit to being a similar demographic, he usually does like gender play in his hobbies and entertainment. It's just that men face even more pressure than women do to fit into tidy categories. Bi women get told we're whores. Bi men are told they don't exist.

Yes, I know plenty of lesbians who write more m/m than f/f, but in the big picture of all of AO3 or all of fanfic or all of media, they aren't the demographic driving these numbers. They're vastly outnumbered by the bi women, the asexual women, and the straight and gnc women.

The men we should be looking at as an equivalent aren't cis gay men but bicurious soy boys and the like.

Do most of us fujoshi object to equivalent men doing an equivalent thing? I've seen it sometimes, and I agree it's hypocritical. I'd like us to afford men the same ability to play and take on identities in their art. I remember enjoying Ranma fandom back in the day and reading quite a lot of f/f that was probably by men. It had some of that same sense of distance and fantasy that I so enjoy in m/m aimed at fujoshi. (I do consume some by-cis-gay, for-cis-gay content, both m/m and f/f, but it's often too literal and too bound up in specific named identities for my taste.)

On average, the people I see complaining most about men producing f/f material are the same people who think that because I have a clit, I should center my life around women exclusively. In other words, people spouting radfem ideology, perhaps on purpose or perhaps without realizing.

I do agree that some of the ways of expressing a lack of desire to write femslash can get pretty douchey. I want us to move away from some of the less accurate ones like "There are no compelling female characters" because of this.

But the reason for all these jerkass explanations is that women and people perceived as women who like m/m are constantly asked to explain ourselves. These aren't usually microaggressions: they're openly hostile. People get defensive and try to answer with important-sounding reasons about identity and pain because society at large won't accept "I like this" as the true explanation.

Pleasure is never enough of a reason for a woman to do something.

[punksocks]

Astro Observations No.19

(Thank you so much for the support everyone! I appreciate you following my blog c:)

*Just based on my experiences, only take what resonates

-Starting a new relationship during Venus in retrograde is guaranteed to teach you a karmic lesson with a probably karmic partner (I’ll never forget mine oml)

-Under developed Venus ruled men/ Men with heavy Venus placements are a nightmare. Underdeveloped ones choose to be chaotic with charming energy. Like f-boys or like vampires. They just tend to run through people and use them for validation. Sometimes they grow out of it and become better. A lot of times they just get too big of an ego and get narcissistic in this energy and are just destructive.

-The house your Juno is in could be an indicator of your soulmate’s placements (ex if your Juno is in Aries your partner may have Juno in first. Or if your Juno is in 5th they may have Leo in Juno. If your Juno is in Libra they may have Juno in 7th.)

-Libra/Taurus/Venus in 1st house people can get away with such criminal behavior lol, people will never blame them or they will always want to see the best in their actions. I feel like Leo Asc/Sun in 1st can get through a lot of actions with confidence but they usually do face blow back at some point if they’re behaving badly.

-Neptune 1st house/Pisces rising will have a more erratic sort of filter applied to them. Like usually they’ll get like subconsciously softened and idealized by others but they’ll also get certain traits like air head or spacey applied to them. Basically getting elevated and infantilized the most imo.

-Having North Node in Pisces can be a murky karmic placement. I’ve found that North Node in Pisces can manifest as anything from spiritual devotion and detachment from others to lifelong addiction and reliance on substances, any path that has heavy Neptunian themes which feels like a roulette since Neptune rules over confusion.

-Mars MC can be a sex symbol placement for any gender, someone known for their body or having a striking presence.

-Venus MC is definitely someone that’s known for being a charmer at best and a player at worst. Still very good with people either way.

-MC in Scorpio can manifest as someone that’s seen as constantly going through transformations and tribulations in their career and public life. Alchemy or catastrophe, always at an extreme.

-Venus can show where you are the most appealing to others (Venus in 1st would be seen as charming and probably having a very pretty face, Venus in 2nd would been seen as luxurious and having many resources and having a pretty body, Venus in 3rd would be a very charming speaker and likely have a voice that draws in others, etc I can make a whole post on this if anyone’s curious)

-Aquarius Venus/Venus in 11th fall in love with someone unconventional, or someone they met in an unconventional way (online dating, penpal programs, stuff like that)

-I find all fixed moons have really intense emotions, they just express it in different ways (yo if you’ve ever just disagreed with an Aquarius moon you know they can get touchy if you’re not on the same page with their logic)

-Aquarius is not a great way to figure out if someone is queer imo. The connotation of being lgbtqia+ being essentially strange/out of the norm is … something already but plenty of queer icons that live with their careers/lives revolving around the queer community have no Aquarius in their charts at all (I was looking at Elvira’s chart after this Matt Baume video on YouTube about how she’s a queer icon that was elevated by the queer community and was a closeted lesbian and she turned out not to have a single Aquarius placement, a Virgo stellium and Leo placements stood out the most to me). Sappho is the asteroid to check out for wlw I’m not sure for mlm but I’m sure Greek mythology has given us a great asteroid for the mascs

-Squares to north node can present “delays” with your destiny (more so having to hone aspects of your personality, having certain experiences beforehand, and coming into your destiny later in life, Joe Biden is an interesting example of this lots of squares and harsh aspects to north node and he ran for president like 7 times before he won, even became Vice President before, so interesting)

- (TW scars, harm) Scorpio can show where you have organic scars/birthmarks (Scorpio in 1st birth marks/freckles just appear on my face) where as Pluto can show where you get scars through experiences (I have Pluto in 2nd and I got burned on the lower third of my body when my dad left me in a hot water bath as a baby :/)

[lunaflowers]

wedding night

pairing: byun baekhyun x virgin!reader word count: 2.3k genre: smut, fluff warnings: missionary sex, piv, cunnilingus, fingering synopsis: (requested) you're a nervous virgin on your wedding night. your husband, baekhyun, tries to make your first time as special as possible.

a/n: i'm not sure if this is good because the whole shy virgin thing isn't really my jam but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless, anon! 💖

☆*: .｡. o💘o .｡.:*☆

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. It was the night of your wedding and you were finally, finally going to lose your virginity to your new husband, Byun Baekhyun. 

You’d known since you were young that you were going to wait until you got married. You weren’t particularly religious, but you were exceedingly, perhaps even foolishly, romantic, and you thought the idea of saving yourself for your eventual husband once you were legally and spiritually bound to him was a beautiful gesture of love and commitment.

Unfortunately, this made your dating life significantly more difficult. Men would cut and run as soon as you would reveal that you had no intention of having sex with them in the near future. They’d accuse you of being frigid or a tease. More than one had accused you of being a lesbian.

When you’d met Baekhyun and he’d asked you on a date almost two years ago now, you’d expected the same treatment from him but you were pleasantly surprised. When you’d told Baekhyun about your choice, he was curious instead of annoyed or judgemental and he asked you questions about why you felt the way you did. It was so refreshing, finally, a man who didn’t treat you like a freak, who accepted your decision as a valid one.

It was strange to think now how at that time you had no idea that you’d met the man you were going to lose it to. Being with him now, in your wedding dress while he stood in front of you in your shared hotel room, all you could feel was your heart pounding.

“Are you okay?” Baekhyun asked, his warm eyes meeting yours.

“I am,” you replied, “Just a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re beautiful,” Baekhyun said, taking you in his arms and kissing you deeply. The two of you had kissed plenty of times before, obviously, but this one felt different. The slight hesitancy he’d had before was gone. You felt something more animalistic in him this time, not having to toe an imaginary line in the sand anymore. He reached around the back of your dress, finding your zipper and unzipping it slowly, letting your strapless gown fall to the floor.

He leaned back to look at your body. You were now in front of him in nothing but the white bridal lingerie you’d bought for this occasion. You’d picked out the lacy set with your best friend, wondering if it was a bit cheesy, if Baekhyun would even find it sexy. The way he looked at you with eyes that wanted to devour you assured you that you’d made the right decision. He kissed you again, lifting you up bridal style and taking you over to the bed, placing you on it gently.

You looked at him as he untied his bowtie and began to unbutton his shirt and take it off. You could feel the heat between your legs already. As nervous as you were, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the fact that your husband was incredibly fucking hot.

Baekhyun got on top of you, kissing you again. “Do you know how hard it’s been these past couple years? Not being able to tear your fucking clothes off? Not being able to touch you like this?” He moved down, kissing your throat and between your breasts, just nuzzling his face there and breathing for a moment. “But I just fell so hard for you. I knew you were worth it.”

You giggled as rested his face on your chest. It felt so comforting but erotic at the same time. “Thank you for waiting,” you said, a little shyly. You hadn’t done this before, you didn’t know the things to say, the sexy things, the naughty things, the dirty words you’re sure the women Baekhyun had been with before you had no trouble finding, no shame in saying.

“Thank you for choosing me,” Baekhyun replied, and you couldn’t help but grin. “Can I take this off?” He asked, gesturing at your bra.

You nodded, thinking that it was sweet of him to ask. You turned over to the side so he could unclasp it. When you laid back down, you instinctively covered your breasts. It felt so odd to be exposed like this. Baekhyun had seen you in bathing suits before, but he’d never seen you topless.

“Don’t hide yourself from me baby,” he said, gently removing your hands from your chest. “I’m your husband now.” He looked at you like he’d just unwrapped the most delicious treat. “I want to love every single part of you.” He dipped his head down and took one of your pert nipples in his mouth, making you moan. The sensation was new and odd but pleasurable nonetheless. As he did that, his hand worked itself down reaching into your panties, finding the wetness between your legs.

“All this for me? Aren’t you generous?” He said, letting go of your nipple and pulling his fingers out of your panties, showing you two glistening digits.

You felt a little embarrassed even though you knew it wasn’t Baekhyun’s intent to shame you. “Well, I’ve been waiting for almost two years. It’s been hard for me too.”

Baekhyun moved to pull your panties down and you let him. He slid them down your legs and off of you, taking in your body the whole time.

“I wanna kiss you here,” he said, spreading your legs apart and running a finger down your slit. “Are you okay with that?”

You nodded, a little embarrassed again, and he dove between your legs with his mouth. He teased your entrance with his tongue, keeping his movements slow and gentle, not wanting to overwhelm you. "How are you feeling?" he asked between kisses, his voice little more than a whisper. "Does this feel good?"

“It does… It tickles a little but in a good way,” you replied.

Baekhyun chuckled softly against your skin, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "I'm glad, baby," he whispered, kissing and licking your cunt, his hands resting lightly on your hips to keep them in place. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he prepared himself before slowly pushing one finger inside you, exploring your depths with gentle strokes. He wanted this to be as comfortable and as painless as possible for you and he knew he needed to open you up a little. 

You moaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, your body responding to his touch. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

You whimpered, “You’re so good at this, Baek.”

Hearing your compliment, Baekhyun's heart swelled with pride and desire. He continued to lap at your folds, his tongue dancing against your sensitive flesh while his finger was still inside you. "I’m a little out of practice," he replied with a soft laugh. "And I'm not done yet." 

Slowly, he added another finger and began to thrust them in and out of you at a gentle pace, matching his movements with his tongue. He groaned as he felt you start to tighten around him again. "You feel so good. You’re responding to me so well," he whispered against your skin, his breath hot as he continued to pleasure you. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be here with you."

You smiled, biting your lip. “I’m the lucky one,” you said, in between moans. Your hips were bucking gently now and Baekhyun knew he was hitting the right spots.

His eyes closed as he tasted your sweet arousal, his body shuddering with pleasure. "Fuck," he groaned. He was hard and his hips jerked forward on the mattress reflexively. He would cum his pants if he wasn’t careful. "You taste amazing." He said, kissing your clit once more before pulling his fingers out of you and kissing his way up your stomach, his tongue tracing the lines of your ribs. "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to make love to you."

“I want it, Baekhyun. I want you inside me, please,” you said, breathlessly. You felt like your desire was overwhelming you and you couldn’t wait any longer for him to be inside you.

"As you wish, my love," your husband replied, his voice soothing. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, positioning himself between your legs, his hard length rubbing against your entrance. As much as you wanted this, wanted him, you felt yourself stiffen in nervous anticipation.

Baekhyun, noticing this, leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips, his hand stroking your cheek. "Relax, okay?" he whispered, "And let me take care of you. I love you.”

You breathed deep and nodded for him to continue.  Slowly, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, waiting there a moment before he pushed inside, inch by slow inch. He groaned as he felt you stretch around him. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and concerned. "Tell me if it hurts."

“It does hurt a little,” you admitted, trying to relax your body more. “But it’s not bad.”

Baekhyun paused, his eyes searching yours for signs of discomfort. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, his voice full of regret. "We don't have to do this if it hurts too much." He pulled back slightly, giving you a moment to adjust. 

“No, I don’t want you to stop, please. It feels good too… Please…” you whined. 

Baekhyun pressed forward again, this time going even slower until he was all the way inside you. He kissed your neck and nibbled lightly on your earlobe, murmuring soothing words to distract you from the sting. "You're doing so well," he praised you, "I'm so proud of you."

You whimpered a little and although he felt bad that he was hurting you, he also knew how much you wanted this. He could feel it in the way your body responded to him. And honestly, he wanted you just as bad. He felt you relaxing slowly and he smiled, rewarding you with more kisses on your face, making you laugh.

He groaned as he felt your walls clenching on his cock. "That's it, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You're so tight and wet for me." He began to move slowly, his hips rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion. 

He kissed your neck and shoulders, trailing soft kisses on your body. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," he murmured, "And I'll stop." But truthfully, he knew you wouldn't ask him to stop. He could feel the way you were arching into his touch, the way your nails dug into his skin. He smiled against your body, feeling the familiar rush of desire course through his veins. "You're mine," he whispered into your ear, "Completely and utterly mine. Only mine."

“Only yours,” you murmured back, breathlessly.

Hearing your words, Baekhyun felt an odd surge of possessive satisfaction course through him. He liked the idea that he was the one and only man you were ever going to have. And that you were the only woman he’d ever have again. "You belong to me now," he said, his voice becoming rough with desire. "Say it again." 

“I’m only yours, Baekhyunnie,” you repeated. 

Baekhyun felt his cock twitch inside you at your words. He gritted his teeth, determined to make this last as long as possible. Not having sex in almost two years had definitely affected his ability to last.  "Fuck," he groaned, "You feel so good."

He reached down and began to play with your clit, earning another drawn out moan from your pretty mouth. He continued working you with his fingers, finding the right rhythm for your body and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your climax. 

“I think I’m gonna…” you breathed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Cum for me then, baby," he whispered, more than a little relieved, because he, too, was close and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold it off. "Show me how much you love me." He increased his pace now, feeling it was safe to do so, thrusting deeper and harder into your tight cunt.

“Baekhyun,” you mewled, feeling your orgasm rush over you. You’d had orgasms before, you weren’t that innocent, but this one was different. You felt this one in your entire body, to the tips of your toes, making them curl.

"That's it. Let go." His hips slammed into yours, driving him deeper still as he felt you tense and shudder around him. He felt you climax, your body writhing beneath him. "You're so sexy,” he said, continuing his pace. “Fuck," he groaned suddenly, "I'm cumming too." He pulled out of you, quickly, his cock erupting in a hot, thick stream across your stomach. "I'm sorry," he said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to cum inside you and I was too far gone and I panicked and pulled out. I’ll get something to clean you up.” He made a move to get up.

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling your husband close. You’d forgotten to tell him you were on the pill now, but it didn’t matter. “Stay with me.”

Baekhyun did as he was told, laying down beside you and wrapping his arms around you. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” you said, honestly. It had been such a long day. “But happy.”

“I’m glad. Did you… enjoy that?” Baekhyun asked, a little awkwardly.

“It was perfect. It was the best I could’ve asked for.”

“Good,” Baekhyun said, kissing you on the lips. “Now try to get some sleep. It’s the beginning of our life together, my darling wife.”

☆*: .｡. o💘o .｡.:*☆

[once-upon-a-thigh]

HER

Summary: You’ve been at college for 3 years. Now it’s time to return home to old friends, and old(er) lovers. PERFECT LITTLE SECRET P3 18+

Pairings: Fem! Reader x Milf! Wanda Maximoff, Fem! Reader x Carol Danvers (brief), Reader x Yelena x Kate (platonic).

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, clothed sex, masturbation, large age gap, swearing, lords name in vain?? Couldn’t find my laptop charger so shitty phone format.

Lips crashed against each other as your bodies desperately ground against the other, aimlessly searching around for any bit of friction among the bedsheets in your dorm that will settle the pulsing of your core.

The hot frenzy was interrupted by the blaring of your ringtone. Ignoring it, you flipped the blonde over with all your strength, grinding down on the crotch of her jeans. The shrill ring didn’t seize however, so pushing yourself up and blowing the hair out of your face with an exasperated sigh, you picked up the device and put it to your ear, shushing the blonde that grabbed at your ass with a frustrated grunt.

“Bout time you picked up.” Drawled the Russian.

Your annoyance almost disappeared at the sound of Yelena’s voice, your friend from high school. You didn’t get to see her often, seeing as you had attended different universities for the last 3 years.

“Well I’m a little preoccupied.” You quirked, breathe still heavy.

“You better not be hooking up with Danvers again.”

You glanced down at the athlete you’re straddling, relieved that she can’t hear the disapproving voice down the line. “So what if I was?” You said through gritted teeth.

“Oh come on Y/N/N!” She exasperated, “she ruined your life!”

The guilt returns as it always did. Did she ruin your life? You still haven’t made up your mind. For a long time you thought so, but with every ignored text and voicemail message to Wanda, you started to convince yourself that maybe the older woman wasn’t the love of your life, that just maybe, Carol did the right thing by telling your parents that day. Still, you can’t help but hold some resentment towards her, hence why despite the fuck-buddy situation you have going on with her, you still refuse to have a full on relationship with the blonde no matter how much she asks.

Yelena took your silence as a sign to change the subject. “Anyway, I’ve called to invite you to a wedding.”

“It’s not yours and Kate’s is it?” You chuckled.

“Ew, as if.” She scoffed. “It’s Nat’s, she’s finally popped the question to Maria.”

“I don’t know Lena, I’m kinda disappointed that your sister’s off the market.” You teased, shuffling when you felt Carol tense under you.

“Fuck off.” You can practically hear her eyes rolling through the phone. “It’s this weekend.”

“This weekend? Christ, they hardly have given me any time to think about it.”

“What can I say? Lesbians.”

You shrugged at her short explanation. To be fair, it’s completely Natasha’s style to plan such an important event with such little time to prepare.

“Listen,” she continues, “I know you don’t like coming back home after everything that happened with your folks, but I miss you, or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway. “I’ll be there.”

If you knew that the invite Yelena presented you with would lead you to having a breakdown in your parents’ drive-way… well actually, you’re not all that surprised. Sure, the long drive to your home town had sent plenty of stressful thoughts and scenarios through your head, but the sight of the red Buick you knew all too well parked in the drive across the road confirmed them all. She was still here. She exists, she’s alive, and she still lives here.

You’re not sure how long you sat in your car just watching, waiting for any sign of movement behind the drawn curtains of the house. Her house.

You weren’t sure really how to feel. Wanda Maximoff dropped you the minute your parents threatened her that fateful night.

She didn’t answer the door no matter how much you knocked, and she didn’t answer the phone no matter how much you called. Still, she never blocked you, and your sent messages still remain on “read.” It sickens you how much hope that word fuelled you with, reminding you of the days you just sat there waiting for her to send a response, a response devoting herself to you and confessing her love all over again.

Stop it. You force your gaze to leave the car as you finally make the move to enter your childhood home. You’re over her.. Right?

The sound of silverware scraping dinner plates was the only sound breaking the thick tension of the dining room. Your parents are happy that you’re back, sure, and you were happy to see them. Still, your relationship with them hasn’t been the same since the exposure of your endeavours with Wanda. You fought hard with them for a while before you eventually up and moved for college, leaving a strained relationship with them behind.

Your time away from home (and a heck load of time in therapy) gave you enough time to process everything that happened, and even gave you the strength to forgive your parents. At the end of the day they were only doing what they believed was right in order to protect you, and you couldn’t help but love them for it now that you’ve matured.

Buzz, buzz

You glanced at your phone. Carol.

Buzz, buzz

“Those your college friends honey?” Your father spoke through a mouthful of potato.

“It’s just Carol” you muttered, turning it on do not disturb for an hour.

“Oh Carol!” Your mother tuned in. “I’m glad you’re still seeing her sweetheart, she’s a lovely girl.”

“Yeah.” You stated through gritted teeth.

“Why aren’t you bringing her to the wedding?”

You wiped your mouth with a napkin, stalling an answer to your mum’s nosiness. “I don’t have a plus one, I’m just going with Lena and Kate.”

“Oh,” you can see her cringe physically cringe, “those two.”

The doorbell rang. Speak of the devils.

“Gotta go!” The chair scraped as you got up from the table hastily, silverware clashing with plates as your knees bumped the table on your way up.

“Y/n!” You ignored the scolding as you sprinted to the door, flinging it open and throwing yourself at the two awaiting bodies.

The three of you clung on to each other, giggling when you caught your elbow on Kate’s chin. And just like that things felt normal, the three of you were just hanging out after school, and you hadn’t met Wanda yet.

“Dude! I just saw your ex milf peering through the window. She’s still hot.” Kate laughed, and silence followed.

“Kate, what the fuck?” Yelena looked at her dumbly, luckily not catching your eyes flickering to the quiet house across the street.

“Shit, sorry Y/n/n.” The tall girl pursed her lips.

“It’s alright.” You let out a half real/half fake chuckle, reaching up to throw an arm over her shoulder and steering her inside, the blonde closely following.

The girls ignored your parents, as they have been doing for the past three years, and followed you straight up to your room. For the next hour you laze around on your bed, gossiping, catching up and discussing Nat’s big day tomorrow.

“And she didn’t invite me to her hen night? Can you believe that?” Yelena is mid-rant about her sister (again) when your phone comes off do not disturb.

Buzz buzz

“I mean I’m so fun! Right? You agree with that right? I’m so fun?”

“You’re so fun!” Kate chimes in, sipping on the bottle of rum you had been passing around.

Buzz buzz

“Jesus, who the fuck is that y/n? I’m trying to be pathetic in peace here.” Yelena paused her rant, picking up your phone before you could grab it yourself.

“Oh, my, god.”

“Yelena-“ she pulls the phone away from you, standing up before you can grab it back and begins reading out the messages whilst pacing back and forth.

“I miss tasting you!” She reads, walking around the room as you follow her, making attempts at getting your phone back.

“Woah!” Kate exclaims, looking at you with a dropped jaw. Her mouth hangs open more little by little as Yelena continues to read the messages coming through.

“Why didn’t you invite me to the wedding, I mean I was right there”

“Y/n, pick up the phone.”

“I miss you.”

“You’re with her again aren’t you?”

“I love you, you know I do.”

“-For fucks sake Y/n, she’s mental!” Yelena is exclaims, concern painting her brow as she looks through the messages.

“Who’s this?” Kate leans over the bed, peering over Yelena’s shoulder to get a look at the phone. “Ugh, ‘Captain’? I thought you were done with her.”

“I’m trying to be!” You exasperate, star-fish collapsing on your bed. “It’s just hard, despite everything I know she’s at least going to be there when I need her, you know?”

“Yeah, cause she left you no other choice.” Yelena scoffed. “She’s getting weird babe, it’s time you drop her. For real.”

“Alright.” You roll your eyes. She was getting pretty needy to be fair.

Buzz

“Oh here we go- oh, fuck.” Sitting up, you see the pair looking at each other in shock.

“What is it?” You take your phone back, but not before Yelena gets a final swipe in. Looking at the screen, you see nothing but needy messages from Carol.

“Nothing,” Lena shrugs, shooting Kate a suspicious look. “Just Danvers being a freak.”

Soon the girls left, leaving you alone in your room. It had gone dark outside now, the moon illuminating the parts of your childhood bedroom that the dim bedside lamp could not reach. Your parents had long gone to bed, and there you stood, standing in front of the window and finally letting yourself take in reality. The curtains of her window were closed, but you could see a smidge of light seeping out of the slight gap in the curtain. It was too far away to see in the gap, but the light was enough. You knew she was there, and just the thought left you absolutely soaked.

It seemed like just yesterday your breath was fogging up that very window, chest pressed against the glass, heaving with every pump of her hips. Suddenly you were hot, so very hot. It had been a while since you thought of her like this- actually, that’s a lie. You thought of her like this a lot. What you hadn’t done in a while, is touched yourself whilst thinking of her like this. You usually had distractions, you had Carol. But this time you were alone, and so with the curtains wide open, you began to strip. You took your clothes off slow and sultry, like you used to knowing she was looking. You closed your eyes and pretended, you pretended it was three years ago and the woman you pine for is watching from the window across the street and you show her what’s hers.

Goosebumps followed every brush of your hands as you shred the clothes from your body, breath getting heavier, pussy getting wetter. Before you knew it you were throwing yourself on to your bed, reaching over for the vibrator that had been long forgotten in your bedside table. You let out a sigh of relief as it came to life with a click of the button, the batteries still work. You teased it over the hard peaks of your nipples as you lowered it to your aching core, gasping when it was finally pressed against your pulsing clit.

Fantasies and memories alike flood through your mind as you rubbed the vibrator against your aching bud with one hand, two fingers from the other entering your hole. There was always one common factor with these thoughts, Wanda. You fucked yourself vigorously as you thought of her, of what she might do to you if she was here. Fuck, you missed her. You came with her name slipping past your lips, and with that you knew you weren’t over her, you never could be.

Feeling relief, and some slight self-judgement over what you had just done, you switched the light off before turning over to sleep. Had you been facing the window, maybe you would have seen the slight twitch of her curtains, and her light switching off soon after yours.

Pulling your pencil knee length dress down as you stood, you clapped as the beautiful newlyweds began to make their way down the aisle “I can’t believe they pulled it off,” you muttered to the sobbing brunette beside you.

“T-that was so beautiful.” Kate managed to comment through sobs.

“Oh for god’s sake Bishop keep it together” Yelena elbowed her on her other side.

Nat and Maria’s ceremony was beautiful. Despite it being planned so last minute, it was well put together. They managed to host the wedding at their friend’s hotel. It was quiet and small, only close family and friends attended the ceremony. Now, more people were slowly migrating through the doors as the reception went full swing.

You were just getting in to the ABBA song playing over the speakers, politely sipping on your martini when you were aggressively turned around by your friends that had been acting weird all evening.

“Hey! Heyyy Y/n” Kate grinned weirdly at you.

“Uh, hi Kate?” You looked between the two of them, getting weirded out by how they were smiling awkwardly and constantly glancing over your shoulder. You turned to see what they were looking at, but was immediately pulled back by Yelena’s hand on your face.

“Y/n we have to tell you something!” Kate suddenly screeched.

“No we don’t!” Lena glared at her.

“Oh come on Yel! We can’t avoid her all night.” She groaned, loosening her purple tie.

The blonde ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Fine! Y/n, Kate has to tell you something.”

“Oh fuck off Yelena!” Rebutted the brunette.

“Fine! I have to tell you something..”

You began to get nervous. “Uh, okay?”

“Last night, when I was looking at Carol’s messages.. another one came through..”

“Okay? And?” You tried to catch her gaze, but her eyes kept darting between you and whatever it was that was happening behind you.

“It was Wanda.” She winced.

…

“What?”

“She wanted to let you know she was coming to the wedding..”

“What?”

“I had no idea she knew Nat or Maria I swear!”

“Why didn’t I see the message?” You questionably muttered, your brain feeling completely frazzled.

“I deleted it.” She physically winced.

“What? Why?” You yelled over the music.

“Because I knew you’d freak out!”

“And THIS is better? Oh my god! I’ve got to go! I’ve gotta get out, KATE HELP ME GET OUT!” You shook the brunette by her shoulders.

“It’s too late Y/n!” She pointed behind you.

Finally you turned around, and your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met the green of hers.

Her name dusted your lips on instinct, a name you found yourself missing saying, missing moaning. She looked different, not bad different, just different. Her hair was longer and brighter, combating the dullness in her orbs. Her jaw and cheekbones are more strongly defined than the supple skin you used to kiss. She was slimmer, she almost looked taller. But she was still Wanda. Your Wanda.

Once you came to you finally realised the two of you had just been stood staring at each other from across the room, both taking the other in. You knew you looked different too, and you found yourself hoping she still saw the girl she once loved in you.

“I should, um..” You didn’t even finish whatever your excuse was going to be before your feet were carrying you towards her. She stayed rooted in place, but didn’t break her stare once.

The walk towards her felt like it was forever, though it was only maybe ten seconds. Ten seconds that you spend trying to come up with something to say. Though when you stop just a foot in front of her, you’ve got nothing.

You stood with your mouth open like a fish out of water before you managed to slip out a shy “Hi-”

“-You are so beautiful.” She said at the same time as your pathetic greeting with a sweet delicacy.

“Oh..” Was all you could get your stupid mouth to say.

She looked at you with the same gentleness she usually did, with soft eyes and a tender smile. “How is it possible for you to be even more beautiful than you were then?”

“Well I guess I grew up.” Finally your brain remembered to form sentences.

“I guess you did.” She glanced at the floor, breaking the stare off you didn’t even realise you were having. “Y/n,” your breath hitched hearing her say your name, “will you walk with me?”

You looked at the hand she was offering to you, unsure one what your next move should be.

“I completely understand if you want to go back to your friends and pretend I was never here,” she said strongly, “but I would really like the opportunity to explain myself to you.”

You’re not sure if this explanation was going to make or break you, but god you know you wanted to hear it. So for the first time in 3 years, you took her hand, and followed.

She led you out the doors and through the busy end of the garden until you came across a still, lonely pond. Forgetting about your nice dress that you did not intend to get dirty tonight, you plonked yourself onto the grass, freezing up when she sat next to you.

You broke the silence. “What are you even doing here?”

Wanda thought for a few seconds before she answered. “When what happened, happened.. I guess your friend told Natasha about everything. A week later Maria shows up at my door, and I’m thinking your parents have actually done it, you know? Told everyone? But she sat me down and she just.. let me talk about you, and she supported me. She helped me through everything and if it wasn’t for her I.. I don’t know. She became my friend when I really needed one. Anyway of course she invited me to her wedding and she was kind enough to warn me you were going to be here. I figured I should probably reach out..”

“Yeah I didn’t exactly get that message.” You laughed, “Yelena panicked and deleted it before I could see it.”

She chuckled, “those friends of yours, I always liked them.”

“I thought they annoyed you.” I teased.

“They were slightly annoying,” she laughed, nodding her head. “But they care for you, and they’ve been good friends to you.”

Bitterness swelled when you recalled one of the main reasons as to why you needed their care in the first place. “Yeah well, god knows I needed it.”

She swallowed, slowly nodding. “I’m sorry.”

You scoffed.

“I am Y/n, you have no idea how much.” She faced you, grabbing your hands in hers. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Any measly contact from her sends you in to a secret euphoria. “I swear you have no idea how much I wanted to reach out to you, how many times I picked up the phone without pressing accept, how many times I stood on the other side of the door without opening it-“

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” You ripped your hands away from here, but she immediately grabbed them back.

“No! I’m just-“ her lip quivered, you could see her eyes getting watery just as yours were. “I’m just trying to tell you that what I said that day, after your parents caught us, I meant it. I have never wanted anyone like I have wanted you, which is why it was so hard to let you go.”

“So why did you?” You asked calmly.

“Because as real as we were your parents were kind of right too. I’m old, Y/n, and you were, are, so young. I have two kids, an ex-husband, I spend my Friday nights baking and my Saturdays at book club! What business did someone like me have being with someone like you?” She cried.

“Because you loved me! You love me.” Salty tears rolled over the corners of your lips, swollen from how much you had been biting them without even realising.

“I did,” she nodded “I do.”

Your wet doe eyes dropped to her red lips as she drew nearer, tilting back at her eyes again which had gone darker in just a second. They were harrowing and loving, as she wondered what the hell she had been doing those years without you.

“Three years without you was everything and nothing all at once.” She spat out passionately before quickly pressing her lips against yours. You immediately kissed back, the thought of pushing her way not even gracing your mind for a millisecond. Subconsciously, you had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

“I never stopped thinking about you.” She whispered between desperate kisses. Oh, how you missed this.

“Me neither.” You replied, grasping at her suit jacket with selfish hands, falling back on to the grass and pulling her half on top of you. You quivered as her ringed fingers explored your matured curves, slowly moving on from soft grazes to rough grips of the flesh of your thighs and ass.

“I fucking love you detka, you’re never leaving me again. You belong with me, understand?” She spoke in to your neck after she kissed her way down your jaw. You whimpered at the pet name, this being the first time you’ve heard it in so long. You could feel your lace getting uncomfortably wet as you soaked in her possessive talk.

She pinched your thigh when you didn’t respond. “Understand?”

“Yes mommy I understand!” You squealed.

She moaned against your mouth at the term, she missed hearing you whimper it, moan it, scream it.

It has been quite some time since you said it too, and just like that you were snapped back in to the space you once were, forever and always hers.

“Touch me, please mommy, touch my pussy.” You begged through a whisper, looping your fingers in the belt loops by her hips, pulling her in to you until you could feel the gyrating of her hips against your thigh.

She groaned, dropping her head to leave open, wet kisses on your exposed cleavage as she got lost in the feeling of her heat grinding against the muscle of your thigh. She slipped a warm hand up the skirt of your dress, not wasting a second before she was pushing your panties aside and gathering your wetness among her fingers.

She withdrew her hand and traced her slick fingers over your bottom lip. “Can anyone other than mommy make you this wet?”

You shook your head rigorously, tongue reaching out to taste yourself. You didn’t get the chance as she was already sticking them in her own mouth, moaning at the taste. “Mm I’ve missed your taste baby, but I can take my time with that later. For now, you need your cute little cunt fucked don’t you?”

You barely had time to respond before you were throwing your head back, moaning out her name as she plunged two long fingers in to you, curling them in a come hither motion with every thrust. You could only imagine the grass stains your dress would be covered in after this, your back rubbed and wriggled against the green blades with every thrust of her wrist. She put all her body in to fucking you, getting herself off on your thigh at the same time.

You grabbed and scratched at every part of the older woman that you could reach as your body grew rigid as it reached its release.

Wanda chuckled darkly against your sweat-shined skin. “Already detka? It’s a good thing we’ve got all night.”

You came hard on her fingers, harder than you have in the last three years. She was right, no one else could possibly make you feel like this. She ground her hips in to you harder, moaning lowly as the friction against her clit brought her to her climax not long after your own. She collapsed on your still body, breathing heavily as she rolled on to her back, pulling you in to her side.

You still couldn’t believe this was real, who knew this is where you’d end up upon returning home. Part of you wished you had come back sooner. A quiet whisper slipped past your lips, but she heard it. “I missed you.”

Pulling you closer, she pressed her puffy lips to your forehead in a firm kiss. “I missed you too darling.” She brushed her nose against yours, gazing in to your eyes. “I was serious you know, I’m not letting you go.”

“I know,” you smiled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

—————————————————

I finally did it! Aaaah! Thank you to whoever stuck around long enough to read the third instalment of Perfect Little Secret, I hope you liked it.

I proof read this in between reps at the gym so you can only imagine how that was, sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Meg 😘

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Charlie: “Whhhew...! That was-”

Vaggie: “A lot?”

Charlie: “-better than expected!”

Vaggie: “No kidding. If I’d known inviting your dad here would get Alastor looking like a wet cat, I’d’ve pushed for it sooner.”

Charlie: “I’m just glad you pushed when you did.” (smooch) “Thank you. I’ve missed him.”

Vaggie: “Looks like he’s really missed you too, babe.”

Charlie: “Mm. Not enough to call, though.”

Vaggie: “Ehh, calling can be scary. Good thing you’re plenty brave.”

Charlie: “Only when you’re holding my hand!”

Vaggie: “Husk would say that’s an act of fucking bravery all on it’s own, letting yourself get grabbed by the small, mean, grumpy lady. Remind me not to help him out at the bar again ever. I think there’s vodka in my hair.”

Charlie: “I’ll try, but you know you’re gonna help anyway.” (second smooch) “Can I get a ‘you’re welcome’?”

Vaggie: (chuckling) “Charlie, I didn’t do anything.”

Charlie: “You do lots.”

Vaggie: “And thank hell Angel Dust isn’t around to hear that…”

Charlie: “I’m serious! You got me to call dad in the first place!”

Vaggie: “I just suggested it, you’re the one who did it, and you two worked things out together like a real father-daughter team.”

Charlie: “And we’re a great team too.”

Vaggie: “Well I’m definitely a pretty big fan of us. Although…. Sir Pentious and Keekee are giving us a run for our money. And the Niffty plus a lock of Lucifer’s hair combo might just have us beat.”

Charlie: “Blegh! She actually got that in the end? I thought her scissors couldn’t even cut it!”

Vaggie: “They didn’t. She used my spear.”

Charlie: “She WHAT-”

Vaggie: “And asked your dad very nicely to please take off his hat so she could trim off a piece without ruining the rest of his hair.”

Charlie: (sigh) “I guess as long as she ASKED…”

Vaggie: “D’you think her whole room is just a shrine to quote unquote bad boys?”

Charlie: “Oh don’t say that. We need to introduce her to some boybands or something.”

Vaggie: “We?”

Charlie: “Yes ‘we’, little miss likes making lesbian covers of the songs normally sung by teenage boys while you’re in the shower and think the sound of running water can in any way drown out your beautiful, heart stopping voice-”

Vaggie: “I- you- You’ve been listening!?”

Charlie: “Eeeev-er-y morning yep! Heheh~”

Vaggie: “Diablo mio… I need a drink.”

Charlie: (giggling) ���To go with the vodka hair?” (nibbles Vaggie’s fringe) “Nom nom nom. Delicious~”

Vaggie: “Scratch that- clearly WE need some SLEEP.”

Charlie: “How can I sleep at all tonight, though? Vaggie- we’re gonna get a meeting with the top angels of creation! We’re gonna be on cloud nine! Literally! In HEAVEN!!”

Vaggie: “And sleep won’t be enough to prepare me for that but you definitely need it.”

Charlie: “It’s impossible! I need to SING!!!!!”

Vaggie: “You need to go shuck off those shoes and get in your ruby slippers while I put in your fav movie so we can get some rest.”

Charlie: “If you put in the Wizard of Oz you know I’m 100% gonna sing anyway right.”

Vaggie: “Yeah, but you’ll be singing in bed so you can keep watching the movie, and that’s good enough for me.”

Charlie: “I love youuuu~”

Vaggie: “Love you too sweetie. Slippers. Bed. Z’s. Now.”

Charlie: (kicks off shoes) “Ta da! There’s no place like home!"

Charlie: (clicks hooves together)

Charlie: "Heheheheh...!”

Vaggie: “I meant on the bed in your pajamas and under the actual covers- vaya, whatever. Scoot. Don’t go running off to Oz without me.”

Charlie: (snuggling vaggie in a hug instead) “I’m never going anywhere without you, Vaggie. Including heaven.”

Vaggie: (awkward laugh) “Great…”

Charlie: “Wanna know whyyyy?”

Vaggie: (smiles) “I make a great hand-holder, apparently.”

Charlie: “Yes. And, you’re home.”

Vaggie: “….yeah? I’m here? This is our room?”

Charlie: (snorting) “Vaggie-”

Vaggie: “In our hotel??”

Charlie: “Vaggie nooo- Anywhere else would be home too, with you there.”

Vaggie: “…..”

Vaggie: (deep breath)

Vaggie: “…... Charlie-”

Charlie: “You gonna press play?”

Vaggie: “-huh? Oh. Yeah.”

Charlie: (snuggling her) “This has been an amazing day. Wish every day could be like this, forever.”

Vaggie: “Yeah.” (hoarse) (curling up as close to charlie as she can) "Me too.”

-101 minutes of Oz later-

Vaggie: "Charlie?"

Charlie: "... nnnoooo..."

Vaggie: "Charlie, c'mon, at least let's get your coat off."

Charlie: "Mmrrr... mi mi mi..."

Vaggie: "You can go 'snork mi mi mi' afterwards. Work with me here, Dorothy- I can't get you settled into Oz without help."

Charlie: "Hmmheheheh... so im Dorothy..?"

Vaggie: "Definitely. You've got the ruby slippers on and everything."

Charlie: "I love that you call my hooves that~ Thats so silly. You're so silly, Vaggie."

Vaggie: "And you're already half asleep. Suspenders next, okay?"

Charlie: "Remove the suspenders... delete the suspenders..."

Vaggie: "Get your horns tangled in the suspenders somehow, wait, hold on-"

Charlie: "SUSPEND the SUSPEDERS!"

Vaggie: "Alright, good enough. That's all the annoying stuff gone anyway. You should be good like that, right?"

Charlie: "Sleeeeeepy. Snuggles?"

Vaggie: "Snuggles right after I change, give me one sec okay."

Charlie: "Mmm."

Charlie: "...vaggie."

Vaggie: "That was half a second."

Charlie: "Vaggiiiiie."

Vaggie: "I'm right over here, stop making grabby hands."

Charlie: "Vaggggiiiiiiiee...!"

Vaggie: (huffs) "Fine, fine..." (snuggles) "Not like my nightie would cover much anyway. But if we end up having to get up in the middle of the night for something exploding again, you're going out first, and I'm stealing your jacket."

Charlie: "You look good in my clothes."

Vaggie: "I look like a ten year old. The sleeves have to be rolled back to the elbow just so I have hands."

Charlie: "I like your hands..."

Vaggie: "Thanks." (kiss) "Go to sleep, Charlie."

Charlie: "Wait- heheheh- wait, Vaggie-"

Vaggie: "What?"

Charlie: "Vaggie, Vaggieeee~!"

Vaggie: "Giggling into my boobs isn't helping me understand what you're saying, babe."

Charlie: "Vaggie. If I'm Dorothy, and youuuu are GAY, then.."

Vaggie: "Little scared to see where this is going, not gonna lie."

Charlie: "Does that make-" (snickers) "Does that make you a girlfriend of Dorothy's?"

Vaggie: "............."

Charlie: "Vaggie~?"

Vaggie: "...Charlie. Please."

Vaggie: "Go the fuck to sleep."

Charlie: "HEH!"

[magicfootballstuff]

Dirty Little Secret - part 5 (leila ouahabi x reader)

Summary: A love story about secrets, flirty messages, football rivalries, and useless lesbians who don’t know how to communicate. And it all starts with one badly timed challenge in the Champions League.

Leila Ouahabi x Arsenal!reader

Part 5/?

Read other parts here.

———

You’ve hardly spoken to Leila since the news broke that she’ll be playing for Manchester City next season, and not at all since the tournament began. You’re completely focused on your goal of winning the Euros, as Leila probably is too, and you immerse yourself in the bubble of the Lionesses camp while trying to block out outside noise. That includes talking to Leila. 

You watch her games though. In between your own matches and the intense training schedule, there’s plenty of downtime and you manage to catch quite a few of the other games on the large screen in the Lionesses’ television room, including the Spanish team’s group games. You act like you’re watching them out of professional curiosity, knowing the likelihood of having to face Spain in the knockout rounds, but you’re as focused on Leila as an individual as you are on the Spanish team as a whole.

Sure enough, after a successful unbeaten group stage, England have to play against Spain in their quarter final match and it might be the hardest game you’ve ever played so far in your career.

It’s not just the physical aspect - one hundred and twenty minutes on a muggy summer evening against a team that has the majority of the possession - but also the mental side. When Spain go ahead, it’s the first goal that England have conceded all tournament, the first time you’ve found yourselves in a losing position, and it takes resilience like you’ve never seen before to pull yourself back not just level, but into the lead.

You almost forget that you’re playing against Leila’s team. She’s on the bench, which you feel conflicted about, having been looking forward to facing her on the pitch again, but at least it removes that possible distraction.

The final whistle blows and thanks to Georgia’s extra time worldie, England are through to the semi-finals.

You walk around the pitch, grinning and hugging your own teammates in celebration, while shaking the hands of the heartbroken Spanish players. Some of them, you know from the Copa de la Reina afterparty, where you were Leila’s guest, and it’s hard to look them in the eye knowing that you’ve just crushed their dreams of progressing further in this tournament.

You walk past Ona Batlle, who you’ve played against many times in the league, and who is being comforted by Rachel. Then Mapi Leon, who you know is one of Leila’s closest friends, lets you pull her in for a brief one-armed hug, but all the time you’re looking for one person.

You spot Leila from across the pitch, still wearing her purple substitute bib, and she must see you too because you end up slowly meandering towards each other as you do the rounds on the pitch.

Leila isn’t quite crying, not like some of her teammates who left everything out on the pitch in one hundred and twenty minutes of gruelling football, but the look in her eyes is one of heartbreak.

You don’t know what to say.

In the end, words aren’t needed. You’re not sure who initiates it, but you end up in each other’s arms. Leila is slightly taller than you and her arms wrap around your shoulders, one hand cradling the back of your head as you lean into her and wrap your own arms around her back. The warmth of her body against yours is comforting and you almost drown out the sound of the jubilant crowd singing Sweet Caroline because suddenly the only thing that matters is Leila.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into Leila’s shoulder.

“Don’t say sorry,” Leila replies. “You’ll make me cry.”

You want to apologise for that too, but you obey Leila and stay quiet instead, still full of adrenaline from the game and knowing that seeing Leila cry will probably set you off too.

You wish you could freeze this moment, to exist just the two of you in each other’s arms, as you did for those short days in Barcelona a few weeks ago. Leila’s body fits against your own in a way that you’ve never fully appreciated before, but you feel like this is where you belong. She’s just a little bit taller than you, her hand cradling the back of your head, and though it should probably be you comforting her now that you’ve knocked her team out of the tournament, the embrace is as much of a comfort to you.

Though you’d like to remain in Leila’s arms forever, you eventually break apart, but with promises that you’ll talk properly as soon as all the formalities are done and you can get a moment of privacy.

You have to wait until after the huddles, when some of the girls are still doing media duties and you’re back in your tracksuit after a shower, but you get a message from Leila on your phone.

Leila Can I see you? Is there somewhere we can go?

Knowing that your time is limited before both teams have to leave the stadium, you reply straight away.

You Meet me outside the changing rooms?

You pull a hoodie over your head and slip your socked feet into your sliders, then leave the England changing room. Leila emerges from the Spanish dressing room within seconds, and you silently lead her in the opposite direction from the media zone, until you find a deserted hallway deep within the underbelly of the stadium. There, you end up on the floor, side by side with your backs against the wall, thighs pressed together and your fingers intertwined with Leila’s in her lap.

You’re reminded of the only other time you and Leila snuck away after a game - after the second Champions League game at the Emirates. Back then, your actions were fuelled by lust and secrecy. Today, you just want Leila’s company for as long as you’re allowed to have it, and you don’t care about getting caught.

“Are you mad?” you ask Leila, as you trace your thumb over the small tattoo on the back of her hand. “That we knocked you out?”

“Some of the girls are angry,” Leila says with a shrug. “Like Aitana - I think her head might explode. But I’m not mad. Just sad. We wanted to win. We really wanted to win for Alexia.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, leaning into Leila’s side and letting your head fall against Leila’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” she tells you, her fingers still absently toying with yours.

“It kind of is,” you point out.

“No,” Leila insists, shaking her head firmly. “We have such good players but you need something extra to win a tournament. It feels like there’s always something missing with us. I can’t describe what it is, but I know your team has it.”

You think you know what Leila means. You’ve played in many different teams over the years - youth teams, professional clubs, national sides - and with that you’ve experienced the full range of success levels. The teams you’ve been a part of that have won titles have all had that special something that Leila refers to, a connection between teammates, the two-way trust between the coach and the players, the special spark that allows you all to push through, even when it’s tough. 

You think that the Lionesses have probably demonstrated that tonight. You’ve played in so many teams that would have crumbled as soon as they went one goal down against one of the best sides in Europe, yet you came from behind to earn your place in the semi final. That’s the mark of a team that has something special.

Spain, for whatever reason, doesn’t have that, despite the obvious talent in their squad. You wonder if Leila is more mad at that than she is at you for knocking them out of the tournament.

“You’re gonna win this whole competition, you know that, right?” Leila tells you.

If there’s one thing that Sarina has brought to this England team it’s belief, but while you know this team is more than capable of winning the Euros, you’re still not sure whether it will actually happen.

“You think so?” you ask Leila.

She nods and says, “I hate it. My heart says anybody but England. But I also want it for you. You deserve it.”

“I know it’s the whole point of sport, that only one team can win, and don’t get me wrong, I love winning. But sometimes I hate it when my dreams have to come at the expense of my friends’ dreams.”

“Is that what we are?” Leila asks, and when you lift your head from her shoulder to look at her, she’s smirking back at you. “Friends?”

She gives your hand a performative squeeze, as if to emphasise the beyond-friendliness of your relationship.

You open your mouth to say something witty in response, then close it again. Because the thing is, you and Leila haven’t actually defined what you are. Football rivals with benefits is probably the most appropriate term, because to be honest, you’re not entirely sure if you know Leila well enough to call yourselves friends yet. 

But with Leila looking at you with curiosity in her eyes, eyebrows half raised as if she’s expecting you to confirm the exact nature of your relationship, you don’t know what to say. You could joke, but that would just be deflecting. You could be honest, and tell her that you don’t know what you want but that you like the way that things have been going. Or you could field the adrenaline still coursing through your body from the match into telling Leila that you’d like to maybe explore making things a little more serious when she moves to England soon.

What if she doesn’t want things to be more serious? What if she’s more than happy with just an occasional hookup? More to the point, are you sure that you want anything more than what’s currently going on between you?

The door at the end of the hallway crashes open before you can even begin to vocalise any of the confusion in your mind, and your head jerks up to see that it’s Mapi who is interrupting you, stopping in her tracks when she sees the two of you sitting together on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

“Shit, my bad,” Mapi says in English, before she switches to Spanish and addresses Leila.

You let your fingers slip out from between Leila’s as they converse and use your hand to play with your hair instead, running your fingertips through the damp strands, until eventually Leila turns back to you and says, “Sorry, I have to go. We’re leaving soon.”

Leila pushes herself to her feet, then offers out a hand to help you to yours. You keep your hand in hers as you follow Mapi down the hallway, only letting it drop when you pass into a more public area where there might be some media. The last thing you need is for pictures of the two of you holding hands to appear on social media before you even get the chance to figure out how to label what Leila is to you.

There are a few more people around, and one of those is your captain Leah, whose frowning face relaxes when she sees you.

“Oh, there you are,” Leah says to you. “I’ve been looking for you. Nobody knew where you were. The bus is leaving soon.”

Leah’s eyes flick curiously between you and the two Spanish players, but if she suspects anything, she doesn’t comment on it.

Mapi leaves you, entering the Spanish dressing room, but Leila stays and you know it’s time to say goodbye. At least this time, with Leila’s move to Manchester imminent, you hope there will be chances to see her again sooner than usual once your own tournament is over.

You migrate towards each other and wrap your arms around Leila as she pulls you against her chest, burying your face against her shoulder. She smells divine, and you try to commit it to memory as you inhale.

“Good luck,” Leila murmurs into your hair, her voice soft enough that only you can hear her. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

“For me or for England?” you can’t help but tease her.

“You,” Leila says, speaking at a normal level again as she pulls out of the embrace. “Fuck England.”

There’s an amused glint in her eyes as she says this, but it quickly vanishes when she realises she’s still standing within earshot of the England captain, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning as Leila raises an apologetic hand in Leah’s direction.

“Sorry,” she says. 

“No need to apologise,” Leah replies diplomatically. “In your position, I’d probably feel that way about us too.”

You think about going in for a goodbye kiss with Leila, but Leah’s presence causes you to hesitate, and before you can make a decision Leila has already said her final goodbye and followed Mapi into the Spanish changing room.

“You alright?” Leah asks, now that it’s just the two of you.

You and Leah know each other incredibly well, playing alongside each other for over a decade, first in the same England youth age groups, then at club level with Arsenal. And while you can tell Leah is curious about the interaction she saw between you and Leila, and that her question isn’t so much asking about your well-being as it is inviting you to open up to her, you also know that she’s not going to push you to tell her anything that you’re not ready to share.

“All good,” you respond.

Leah drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side as you re-enter the now almost empty England changing room.

“You bossed it tonight,” she tells you. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“You too, captain.”

She smiles at you - the whole England captain thing still hasn’t fully sunk in yet, for either of you, and while you can’t quite believe that the skinny girl with the white blonde hair and the gangly legs who you first met over ten years ago is now leading her country to a European Championship semi final, you know that this is something Leah has always been destined for.

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself but you’re still on such a high from the game that you dare to wonder if Leah is the person who will finally lead England to a major trophy.

“Two games left,” Leah tells you, and you know that she’s reminding herself as much as you. “Two games left to change our lives.”

———

“You’ve got a new girlfriend, I see,” Georgia grins at you as you sit down for breakfast the morning after the Spain game.

“What?” you ask, nearly choking on your granola.

“That’s what Twitter thinks, anyway.”

“Show me.”

Georgia flips her phone around and shows you a tweet that reads “new woso couple alert?” accompanied by a couple of pictures of you and Leila embracing on the pitch after the game. You can feel your cheeks start to heat up and you hope they don’t visibly redden, especially as you feel Leah’s eyes on you, the only person around the table who might be able to guess how close to the truth this fan ‘rumour’ actually is.

“Oh, because I consoled a player after a game now I’m dating her?”

You scroll through some of the comments. There’s nothing too outrageous there - some about the length of the hug, some speculating how or even if you and Leila actually know each other, mixed in with a couple of theories that it’s purely professional and that Manchester City will soon be announcing your return to the club where you spent your formative years thanks to “agent Leila”. It’s not new either. You’re no stranger to being shipped with other footballers, it sort of comes with the territory of being semi-famous in a fanbase of mostly queer women, but never has a rumour about your dating life been so close to the truth.

Suddenly, you’re wondering if you were wrong to hug Leila in public after the game. At the time you followed your instinct, wanting to comfort somebody who means a lot to you. But if you’d waited until you were alone to do that, you wouldn’t have strangers on the internet speculating about the nature of a relationship that you can’t even define yourself yet. Leila was hurting, but was being there for her in that moment really worth potentially outing this to everybody before it even has a label?

Stewing over a decision that you made in the heat of the moment and didn’t think twice about, you return Georgia’s phone.

“It’s just the fans though,” Georgia says with a shrug. “They come up with all sorts of crazy theories sometimes.”

“Yeah, there’s some fans that think I’m dating Ella,” Alessia interjects with a laugh.

“Wait, are you not?” Leah asks, managing to keep her expression deadpan for a few seconds, before it cracks open into a grin.

“Alessia wishes she was dating me,” Ella says.

“I do actually,” Alessia replies, reaching out for one of Ella’s hands as she adds, “El, I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you how I really feel…”

“Shut up!” Ella snatches her hand away and rolls her eyes as the rest of the group descends into a fit of laughter.

With the group’s attention now elsewhere, any opportunity you might have had to finally admit to your friends what’s going on between you and Leila has passed.

There’ll be other times. When the tournament is over, maybe then you’ll tell them. But with a semi final coming up and the possibility of a final too, you can’t deal with any distractions, whether those come from outside opinions on social media or your friends teasing you about the developments in your personal life.

You feel Leah’s eyes on you and you suspect she knows the truth, but you’re grateful for her silence.

———

England makes it past Sweden with relative ease and you can hardly believe that you’ve made it this far. The final at Wembley is all that stands between you and your wildest dream, but it also means you have to face up to the dilemma that’s been on your mind since you knocked Spain out in the quarter finals.

Should you invite Leila to watch the final as your guest?

You haven’t actually talked to Leila since the quarter final. You know that she’s probably been busy getting ready to move to England, meanwhile you’ve been caught in the bubble of the Lionesses camp.

But once the excitement of winning the semi final has passed and you’re back to focusing on training for the final, you realise that you want Leila there to support you. Just as you went to see her play in the Champions League and Copa de la Reina finals, you want her in the crowd as you compete for the European Championship trophy.

But you don’t know if she wants to come, especially after it was your team who knocked hers out of the same competition.

Plus, though Twitter moved on from the hypothetical of you and Leila after a matter of hours when something else became more interesting, you’re sure that a sighting of Leila in the crowd at Wembley, in the England friends and family section no less, will be sure to bring those rumours right back to the attention of the fans.

After a day of deliberating, you eventually decide that it’s a risk you’re happy to take, if it means Leila might be in the crowd to watch you play the most important game of your entire career.

You text her on your way to lunch after a conditioning session in the gym two days before the big final.

You Do you want to come to the final? I can get you a ticket…

And then, you add a second message as an afterthought.

You Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear an England shirt 😉

Leila doesn’t reply immediately

Leila Sorry I move to Manchester this week 😔 but good luck!

You’re disappointed, but you knew this was a likely outcome. Besides, it’s probably for the best. If Leila had accepted the offer, not only would you have had to explain everything to your teammates, but you’d probably have ended up introducing Leila to your entire family too, which sounds like way too much for somebody who isn’t even officially your girlfriend.

You No problem! Good luck with the move!

———

Leila was right - this England team does have something special.

It hits you, strangely enough, not when the final whistle blows nor when Leah lifts the trophy and a shower of confetti rains down over you, but when you crash Sarina’s post-final press conference with the rest of the team. It’s so ridiculous, your socked feet slipping against the floor, Mary shimmying her hips as she dances on the tables, two dozen journalists watching on in amused disbelief, but there’s no group of people you’d rather have done the last month and a half with. And the medal around your neck, hanging heavy with the sheer importance of what you’ve just achieved, is a permanent reminder of the best summer of your life.

You return to the dressing room, where an England-branded bucket hat somehow finds its way onto your head, and sit down in your cubby to check your phone. Messages have been flying in since full time - friends, family, even distant acquaintances you haven’t seen in over a decade, all wanting to congratulate you on the win. But there’s only one person you’ve been waiting to hear from, and you feel giddy when you see her name in the list of notifications.

Leila Congrats campeonaaaa! I told you that you were gonna win 😋

She’s accompanied the message with a picture, a selfie in which she’s wearing the England shirt emblazoned with your number that you traded for hers during the Arnold Clark Cup. 

You take a selfie to send back, keeping the ridiculous hat on your head and lifting up your medal to catch it between your teeth. You grin as you snap the photo and send it to Leila.

Almost as soon as you send it, your phone starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime. You’ve ignored a few calls since you won, overwhelmed by the number of people trying to congratulate you already, but when you see Leila’s name, you accept immediately.

“Hey,” you say, when Leila’s face appears on the screen of your phone.

“Nice hat,” she greets you, stifling a laugh.

You raise your eyebrows, then say, “Sexy, huh?”

Leila gives you an incredulous look, before she says, “Show me your medal then.”

The dressing room is already noisy, but somebody turns the speaker up and it’s almost impossible to hear Leila, so you make your way out of the central changing area and towards the showers, where it’s slightly quieter, before lifting the medal so that it’s in the frame of your front-facing camera.

“Does it suit me?” you ask, shooting her a teasing smile.

“I like it,” Leila tells you. “Winning is very sexy.”

You open your mouth to flirt back, but you’re interrupted by a shout from a few metres away. When you glance up, Leah has emerged from round the corner, a half empty bottle of champagne clutched in one of her hands.

“Oi!” she cries out. “Come and dance with us.”

“Two minutes,” you say to Leah.

Leah’s eyes flit between your face and the phone in your hand, and realisation washes over her face, perhaps remembering the interactions she saw between you and Leila after you played against each other last week.

“Oh!” she says, eyes wide. “Take your time!”

“I’ll be there in a second,” you promise Leah, before turning back to your phone.

“Go and celebrate,” Leila urges you. 

“I wish I was celebrating with you,” you admit.

“Sorry,” Leila says with a grimace.

“No!” you interject. “I’m not blaming you for not being here! How did the move go?”

“It was good,” Leila shrugs. “The apartment is nice but I need to go to IKEA to get some furniture.”

“Maybe I can come and visit when you’ve settled in?” you suggest optimistically.

“Okay, but you lose the hat,” Leila tells you, and it’s more of an order than a suggestion.

A thought pops into your brain, probably fuelled the bottle of beer you just downed on top of a shit ton of adrenaline from the match, and you cheekily ask, “What if I’m wearing just the hat?”

“No,” Leila warns you firmly, though she rolls her eyes playfully.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Go,” Leila tells you. “I don’t want to stop you celebrating.”

“Okay,” you say, trying to draw out the goodbye as long as you can. “But I’ll see you soon, right?”

“See you soon, champion.”