#which is the second biggest party in my area

[jjkamochoso]

Pretty as a Picture

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

Fluff

When you’re exploring Marley with Levi and co., you find yourself enthralled with some new technology…

Warnings: cussing

When you and the others left for Marley, you had no idea what you were getting yourselves into. You were terrified that the outside world was going to be a vision of disaster and leave your high expectations completely unmet. However, when the boat began to dock at the port and you got a glimpse of the bustling city, you practically had stars in your eyes.

“Hange! This is so exciting! Look at all the new developments!” you gushed, taking in the foreign sights. They agreed wholeheartedly, rambling about certain things they had read about over the years that were going to be investigated today. Levi wanted to roll his eyes at your over the top excitement, but he had to admit he was very curious about life in Marley as well. As the boat started letting people off, you nervously ran your fingers over your outfit, desperately trying to straighten out the high quality fabric of your disguise.

“Are you trying to impress these people or something? Stop fussing. You look fine,” Levi said, leading the way off the boat without giving you a second glance. You looked at Hange, who just shrugged their shoulders and ran after Levi. You and the Survey Corps captain were in the newer stages of a relationship. You had known him for years, rising up the ranks together, and had shared a close bond for most of that time. Not too long ago, you both realized your relationship held the element of attraction for one another and after an awkward confession from the both of you, your deep companionship turned into a budding romance. It was all new territory for both parties, neither of you having much experience in the dating department, and the two of you were trying to figure out the right balance between your old selves and new title as lovers. You tried not to worry too much; Levi didn’t seem the type to break up with someone. If he chose to be with you in a romantic way after being your friend for so long, you’d most likely be together long after your bodies were consumed by the soil of your shared grave.

You hurried off the boat, your party waiting for you with anxiousness to get the trip started. On solid ground once more, Levi took his usual spot next to you. You smiled internally at the gesture. This relationship would have no hand holding (for the foreseeable future), but his closeness, akin to a guard dog, was better than that. Out of the corner of your eye came a flash and both of your heads whipped around to see what it was.

“Hange!” You pointed to the area from which it came, “What is that?”

“That’s a camera! It makes photographs like the one we saw in Eren’s basement,” they explained.

“So cool,” you breathed out. “What I wouldn’t give to have one.”

You suddenly found yourself being dragged over to the camera, Levi having an iron grip on the extra fabric of your sleeve.

“My partner wants one photograph, please,” he told the man working the contraption.

The man laughed a little, clearly figuring out you weren’t from the area. “One photograph, huh? That’s quite alright.” He turned to address you. “You can sit right here and pose.”

You nodded, slightly nervous but trembling with excitement as Levi handed the man the money.

“I’m going to count to three and when the flash is over, you’ll be good to go.”

You weren’t quite sure exactly what to do with your body as the man started his count but when you saw Levi watching you intently, you relaxed and broke out into the biggest smile. The flash went off and you were told to wait a few minutes for the photograph to be ready.

“Oh! Sir? May I please have one more? I would like one of my boyfriend,” you said, looking at Levi expectantly.

His eyes went wide, shaking his head. “No way. Your memory isn’t that shitty to where you’ll need one of these to remember what I look like, is it?”

You gave him the biggest puppy eyes and poutiest face you could muster. “Please, Levi? For me?”

He sighed, giving the cameraman more money. “Fine. But you have to be in it with me, brat.”

You cheered when he stood next to you, you on the seat once more, and you could tell he was nervous.

“Just relax and look at the circle in front of you. You don’t have to smile or anything if you don’t want, just think of a positive memory or place. That way it’ll look natural.”

As the man did his countdown, Levi frantically tried his best to look comfortable and right before the flash went off, he knew exactly what to do.

During your wait for the photos you heard commotion from the group about “ice cream” so of course you bounded over, Levi trailing behind you. When you got your hands on the treat, you took a big bite of it which was a huge mistake.

“It’s so cold! My teeth! Ouch!” you exclaimed, your mouth open as you tried to fan it out. Levi watched you complain to the teens that they didn’t give you a fair warning that it was freezing, a small smile on his face.

“Tch, give me that. You’re going to drop it,” he said, taking the cone from you. Learning from you the wrong way to eat it, he snuck a taste using just the tip of his tongue. It was cold, sweet, and a total waste of money—but if you liked it, he would gladly bring home the entire cart and the recipe. With plans to meet back up with everybody after you got your photographs, you and Levi headed over to the cameraman.

“That was very kind of you to let me get those taken,” you told him. “And I love that you did one with me. That means a lot, you know.”

“It’s no problem,” he muttered, eyeing every passerby so that they didn’t get any ideas of messing with you. His time in the Underground made it so that he hated being in large groups of people, crooks and crime always lurking about in those environments. He certainly didn’t want you to be swept up in any of it either, so his senses had been on high alert the entire trip. Thankfully that was the case or else right now you’d be splayed on the ground, grievously injured. Not from a criminal, but from some machine called a “car.” You two had to cross the street to get back to the cameraman but in your haste, you had forgotten there were technological advances you weren’t used to roaming around the city. You stepped off the sidewalk, chatting about something called a “balloon,” when a car came careening down the road, going much too fast for a busy pedestrian area. Levi had noticed it in the nick of time, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you out of harm’s way. He couldn’t even find it within himself to yell at the driver, too concerned for your well being.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hurriedly looking you over for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but,” you pointed sadly to the ground where your ice cream lost its life, “my ice cream isn’t.”

That earned a Levi eye roll. “Forget the food. If you keep up this carelessness, the photograph is the only thing I’ll have left of you after this trip.”

You sighed since he was right, as always. “I’m sorry.”

“Just pay attention. I’d hate for you to survive everything we’ve been through just to get taken out by some horse wannabe.”

You burst out laughing, Levi unintentionally lifting the mood. He never thought of himself as an overly funny guy but the way he had you gasping for breath after a hard hitting sarcastic remark would’ve made anyone certain he was a comedian.

The man with the camera handed you the finished products and you excitedly examined your solo one.

“Levi! Look! It’s my face!” You shoved the photograph toward him and he looked it over.

“It is, isn’t it?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement and wonder. He tucked it into his hat for safekeeping (and he kept it on his person every day after that so you were always together; it had miraculously survived the blast from Zeke). When you saw the photograph of the both of you, you were at a loss for words.

“We look so… pretty. Happy. Normal.”

Levi caught a glance and hummed in agreement. He was ecstatic that his actions translated well through the camera. When the flash was about to go off, he had placed his hand on your shoulder.

“What?” you had asked him, turning away from the camera to look at him, thinking he had a question. Instead, you were greeted with steel blue eyes that were gazing lovingly at you, while Levi’s lips were curled into a soft smile. He was the epitome of handsome and you had practically melted, lovesickness etched all over your features and the camera flashed, capturing it forever.

“I’m keeping this one since you have the other one,” you said, tucking it in your chest pocket. “Me and my shitty memory want to make sure we remember this forever.”

You nudged Levi in a teasing manner and he just shook his head. Finding your way back to Hange, you felt a sense of peace wash over you that you didn’t think would be possible in foreign lands, and that was all thanks to Levi. Even if you didn’t always express your love in the most conventional ways, he proved his loyalty and trust in you time and time again. You hoped your photographs would be preserved and serve as proof that the so called island devils weren’t evil after all—they were people, too. People who could laugh and smile.

People who could love.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi fluff #levi ackerman x reader fluff #levi x reader #levi ackerman

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (4/?)

Chapter summary: The night at the club - from your perspective. And we find out whether you came to the opening of Wanda's cafe or not

Chapter word count: 6.3k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Tags: fluff if you squint (did I just say fluff?)

AO3 | Masterlist 

Next Chapter: Five

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez

-

Four

The night at the club - from your perspective

The club Clint chooses for Natasha’s send-off is a drug deal away from being sleazy, despite its popularity. It’s significantly larger too, than the typical nightclubs you’ve been to in the past; there's a mezzanine for VIP members and celebrity guests; three bars are stationed at the corners of the main room, selling beverages based on a price bracket–with the most expensive ones near the steps leading to the VIP area. In here, you find all kinds of party-goers–from preppy high school kids with their daddy’s money and fake IDs to aging business men looking to score a high-end escort or a B-list actress in need of a sponsor for their lavish lifestyle. 

And then there’s you–newly single, unemployed, nearing your 30s and rooming with your best friend. Just with how you’re dressed–a white, velvet sleeveless cowl neck top and skinny jeans–you wonder what other people think of you, what backstory they’ve concocted in their heads. Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than your actual reality.

“How did you find this place?” you ask Clint after he returns with shots of tequila to start the night with.

He glances between you and then Natasha, who finishes her shot in a single gulp the second she snatches it from Clint’s fingers.

“Did you not see how big this place is from outside? It’s hard to miss the biggest nightclub in New York, Y/N.” His breath fans over your face, and all it takes is one whiff to know he’s already had some pre-party drinks in his system. 

“I prefer the dive bars we used to frequent.” you say, grimacing as the tequila burns down your throat. It immediately warms the middle of your chest, leaving you thirstier than before.

Clint raises his eyebrows at you incredulously. “We’re not here to talk and catch-up. We’re here to get trashed because our girl right here,” he playfully puts an arm around Natasha so she’s snug against his side. “Is returning to the front lines.”

“Damn right!” Natasha yells, raising her empty shot glass to no one in particular. She’s deadly as she looks for what she’s capable of–which you know very little about–and yet, astoundingly lightweight when it comes to holding her liquor. It wouldn’t take three more rounds to render her thoroughly incapacitated.

Clint looks so smug, and it doesn’t take a second more for you to realize that he gave Natasha a double. You weakly jab his side with your elbow and then proceed to swipe his credit card from his back pocket, making sure he at least pays for everything tonight.

“Come on,” you say, reaching for Natasha’s hand. “We can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach or you won’t last until midnight.”

Natasha shakes her head with a pout. “Gotta last much, much, much later than that.”

“For sure. But first, let’s–”

“Where are you taking my sister?” A voice behind you asks in a demanding but playful manner. You feel it being said right in your ear, causing goosebumps all over the back of your neck.

Whipping your head around, you find Yelena smiling at you as she staggers a step back to avoid you accidentally kissing her cheek in the process.

There’s tension from the last time you saw each other, and it becomes instantly obvious that it hasn’t gone away the moment you take in her plunge cocktail dress and the rose-colored smirk she has on. You don’t really mean to, but it’s easy to make the conclusion that anyone would easily find her the most attractive person in the room. 

“Little sis,” Natasha exclaims in barely contained excitement, hastily enveloping Yelena in a bear hug. “You came!”

“Hey,” you breathe out, failing to stop your gaze from straying below her collarbone and landing on her proud cleavage. 

“Hey, stranger.” she greets you back, and you catch the mischievous smile on her lips despite having half of her face squashed against Natasha’s shoulder. Yup. She’s definitely noticed.

“See you around, kid. I’ll take care of this one.” Clint says, already pulling Natasha away before she can suffocate Yelena further.

Helplessly, you watch Clint and Natasha disappear into the crowd, anxiety crippling your ability to decide what you’re going to do or where you’re going next.

Yelena lightly taps you on the shoulder to get your attention–which, for all intents and purposes–is already hers to begin with. You just don’t want to be too obvious about it.

“My sweater.” she simply says with an unreadable expression when you turn to address her.

“Sorry?”

“You still have it?”

And then it comes back to you. Your ruined shirt, borrowing’s Yelena sweater, Yelena joking about her first sexual experience, that happened to be with you–

You can always blame the tequila for the way your cheeks flush at the memories. 

Biting your lip, you say, “The truth is I forgot to mail it. With everything that’s happened–”

“It’s okay. Nat just recently told me the stuff you went through the past few months,” Yelena cuts in, and the softness in her gaze gives you a sense of calm. “Do you, maybe, want to drink about it? First round’s on me.” she reluctantly offers.

“Nah,” you dismiss her intentions to pay, as you hold up Clint’s Visa. “All our rounds on this.”

Yelena orders a frozen margarita, while you opt for a more basic choice of gin and tonic. You find yourselves sitting closely together, sharing a couch with random strangers in the most relatively secluded part of the club.

“So, what exactly did Natasha tell you?” you ask, letting your index finger dance along the rim of your glass. 

Yelena takes a sip of her drink and considers how she should relay what she knows. 

In the end, she goes for the unfiltered narrative, given that there’s really no way of making it sound less severe than it is. “That your wife cheated on you with her student.” 

You offer her a wan smile and clink your drinks togethers. “Cheers.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be betrayed like that by the person you–I assume–trust the most.” Yelena says after some time. She’s not used to being the one to give consolation, especially with you. Growing up, you were a steady, ever-reliable presence in her life; her place of solitude throughout the pains of her youth. It’s pathetic how she’s wishing she had gone through the same ordeal if it meant she could give you the comfort and understanding you needed. 

“Me too. I don’t even remember how I was able to survive what came right after taking your sister’s call that day. Did Nat mention that I almost killed the kid? He’s only a little younger than you are.” you say.

“Yeah. It’s fucked up. But it doesn't compare to what she did.” Yelena tells you with a pained expression. “You’re okay now, though. Right?”

“I’m,” You search for the right word that perfectly describes your monotonous routine and lack of a meaningful purpose. But you figure that there’s no need for Yelena–or anyone for that matter–to worry about you. Life’s easier to live without the concern of disappointing people who care about you. “I’m better than I was yesterday.”

Yelena nods empathically, and places a hand on your knee. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Your smile is small, but genuine. Clearing your throat, she quickly puts her hand back over her lap. 

“Y/N?” Yelena starts.

“Yes?”

Yelena, for all her boldness and tenacity, has to put down her glass lest it accidentally slips from her shaking hands. 

“There’s something I want to say, and you can’t talk unless I say so. Understood?” she says as calmly as she can manage.

“Am I free to react?” A smile plucks at the corner of your mouth, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

Yelena has grown into a woman so different from when she was just Natasha’s little sister. She carries an air of sophistication, and from what you can tell, sasses her way out of difficult situations and knows what and how to get what she wants. Which is why it’s refreshing to see her display glimpses of the shy girl who spent her summers burning through classic literature in the public library. 

A husky laugh escapes Yelena’s throat. “As long as it’s a good reaction.” she says.

You playfully roll your eyes at her. 

“But seriously, hear me out,” Yelena breathes steadily through her nose. “First of all, I want to apologize about what happened when you were at my apartment.

“I didn’t know why I brought up losing my virginity to you, and it was terribly awkward–for me especially because the look on your face was…” Yelena trails off, pointedly avoiding your curious eyes. “It’s like you were recalling a bad memory–a memory that’s dear to me. And to be honest, it hurt me a bit.”

“Yelena–”

Yelena shushes you with a finger. “Let me finish. I was hurt, but I understood that I crossed a line that day. I was flirting with you the whole time knowing you were married. In a way, I was no better than–well, your ex-wife.”

Yelena pauses to look at you. She can’t read your expression, but at least you haven’t run away yet. Which is more than a good sign for her to continue.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I could dismiss it as friendly between old friends, but could we even call ourselves that? We were never just friends. We had something that wasn’t official, and then I ran off to the UK before we had a chance to talk about that thing that wasn’t official, and then when I got back, I found out you’re already with someone else.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… that was a shitty move on my part and I’m sorry. But I’d be lying if I said I didn't mean to do any of that. ‘Cause I did want to stir the pot just to see if there’s still something there.”

You wait for her to continue, but eventually Yelena vaguely signals that she’d done speaking. 

You cover your mouth with your hand, thumb scratching lightly at your chin as you thoroughly digest her confession.

“Y/N?” Yelena asks when she feels you’re being silent for too long, fear lacing her voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reply. “I accept your apology. And I do appreciate your candor–for not skirting around that incident like I probably would’ve, for…well, forever.”

Yelena is overwhelmed with relief.

“You were never great at confrontations.” she muses, and your minds both wander to the letter you wrote for her that she had missed, already having boarded the plane when you decided to drop by and hand-deliver it yourself.

“I’m working on it. I know I can’t keep putting things at the back of my head until I eventually forget them and then it’s too late.”

“Or maybe you just think it’s too late, and you use that as an excuse to not even try.” Yelena counters. It’s a fair point and somehow applicable to your shared history together. 

“You know what? I’m just gonna shoot my shot here while I’m feeling brave,” Yelena says, keeping her eyes trained on her almost empty drink.

“Go to dinner with me next Friday.” 

Before you can stop it, Wanda’s languid face in the mornings registers in your brain fleetingly. And then you blink once and the image of her is gone, replaced by Yelena’s hopeful stare. 

“Dinner, as in…” you try to clarify, just in case you’re misreading it.

“As in I’m asking you out,” Yelena confirms, and proudly smiles at how your ears redden at this point. “Or if you’re not ready, say so. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Then I’ll ask you again in a few months.”

“I-I don’t know. Can I sleep on it?” you say, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Take all the time you need. I just thought you should know that I’m an option.”

Your expression turns grim once you question the fact that someone like Yelena wants you.

She senses your internal conflict and asks, “What’s wrong?” 

“How could you want me? I’m damaged goods. You know that, right?”

“Y/N,” Yelena chides, and she looks positively horrified.  “Don’t you ever think you’re half the person you are just because somebody was stupid enough not to know your worth.”

You shrug your shoulders. There’s no point in arguing. Regardless of what other people think, it’s what you see in the mirror these days.

“Okay.” you mumble in reply and casually chug your drink to the last drop.

Yelena’s not convinced, but recognizes that it’s not the right place nor the right time to show you you’re more than just damaged goods. 

“Okay.” she says, then looks over to where people seem to be under the spell of eternal bliss. 

“Wanna dance with me at least? You know–as friends,” Yelena says, and then a second later adds, “For now.”

You don’t answer and merely allow yourself to be pulled towards writhing bodies moving to the beat of the music, like puppets on strings. 

-

You don’t remember the last time you’ve thoroughly enjoyed dancing with someone.

(That’s a lie though, because you do; if twirling your wife and enthusiastically swaying to her poor singing in the kitchen counts.)

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes darts to you and your dance partner, before they shut in reprieve.  

-

A surprisingly sober Natasha appears next to you as you’re getting the next round of drinks. You fan yourself uselessly with your hand after breaking out a sweat on the dancefloor. 

“Hey! Where have you been?” you say.

“Bruce was here. But that’s not important.” Natasha says.

“Are you guys–” you begin to ask about it, but Natasha brazenly cuts you off. 

“Don’t even think about it.” she says, her tone unusually stern, and you whip your head so fast in her direction your vision spins a little.  

“Think about what?” you say.

“Flirting with my sister.” 

“I wasn’t,” you say and Natasha lifts an eyebrow. “I swear.”

Natasha surveys you a while longer with an unreadable expression, and just as you start feeling uncomfortable, she backs off with a small nod.

It only bothers you more. “I-Is that something I’m not allowed to do?” you cautiously ask.

Natasha scratches at her nape. “Technically, you’re single now and you can flirt with whoever you want. But maybe not my sister, okay? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“What are you implying?”

“Look, Y/N, I’m just trying to give you the big sister talk, and I hope you understand why I need to. Especially since Yelena told me not long ago about the R-rated version of your history together.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, already circling around the details of what Yelena might have shared with your best friend. “She what?”

“I wanted to smack you in the face when she told me that you were…” Natasha grimaces, trying not to imagine you in bed with her sister. “... her first.”

“God, Nat. I–” Your tongue feels heavy, and you wish you weren’t half-sober for this. “She–we–”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I found out about it yesterday. I’ve known ever since she came back to New York.”

“I think I’d prefer if you’d still smack me in the face right now. But please consider how tiny I am compared to your usual sparring partners.”

Natasha lets out an airy laugh that gives you a bit of relief. “To be honest, I think I’ve always known that there was something going on between you and her. I was just too stubborn to admit it because I care about you both so much.”

“I care about you too. And Yelena.”

“I believe you,” Natasha says. “But Yelena thinks you hung the moon and stars and all that shit, and you’re–you’re kind of a mess, Y/N. No offense.”

“Do you want me to stay away from her?” you ask. 

“Not really. But as her older sister, I need to remind you to think about it carefully if ever it becomes more than platonic.” she says. “I’m leaving in a few hours, so I need you to promise me not to be reckless. That's all I’m asking.”

Natasha gives and gives and gives, and rarely ever asks for anything. 

And you suppose you owe it to her in some way.

“Promise.”

-

A couple of more shots (and an incident of restraining Natasha from punching the lights out of a guy who randomly grabbed your ass) later, you’re stumbling out of the club, reeking of smoke, sweat and alcohol. 

Your phone dies just before you could confirm a ride, and you blearily stare at it like you’re expecting it to suddenly come alive again by some miracle. Yelena has left earlier, mentioning an early meeting at work, and you can’t find Natasha since Bruce’s surprise appearance. An option is to walk to your apartment, but you can’t seem to move any part of your body with the intense throbbing in your head.

You deliberate your fate for the night, until you feel an odd sensation of being watched. 

Your eyes flit across the street and there she is.

Wanda Maximoff.

-

You get home safely with the help of your ex-wife. Once you reach your room, you don’t bother to brush your teeth or wash your face. You just mechanically strip down to your underwear before diving under the covers.

In your sleep, you dream about Wanda.

Dream Wanda resembles College Wanda, with her dirty blonde hair that falls in waves past her shoulders. She’s cradling your head on her lap, while you look up at her lovingly.

“Wands,” you whisper. “I miss you.”

She scrunches her nose as she smiles down at you. “I’m right here, baby.”

“You’re not.”

“Where did I go then?”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Look for me, then. I only want to be found by you.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” you confess to Dream Wanda, and her brows stitch together into a frown. Then you feel something wet and cold drip on your cheeks. Your eyes flutter open but instead of seeing Wanda, you see Vision’s face covered in blood. 

Your mouth opens in a silent scream. In reality, you’re alone in Natasha’s apartment, thrashing in your bed and mumbling incoherently. 

The next morning, you don’t recall any of it, but you feel its echoes in your heart anyway.

-

You wake up to a text from Natasha, telling her that she’s already at the airport. The message came in at 1:30AM, and was followed by another text six hours later, saying that she has landed safely and that you won’t be hearing from her again in the next ten days at the minimum. A third message came in a second after that, and it simply read, “Look out for my sister. Don’t forget what you promised.” You text back a short “Take care, Nat.”, before tossing your phone somewhere on your unmade bed. 

Trudging towards the kitchen, you think about Yelena. 

There was a time when the blonde used to occupy your thoughts day and night, notwithstanding the thousands of miles you were apart.

But all that changed the day you met Wanda, and she never crossed your mind again except when she’d come up in conversations, and until that time you accidentally almost ran her over in Soho. 

You languidly stir together the milk and cereal in your bowl. It would be a lie to say that seeing Yelena, especially in that dress, didn’t do things to you that a married woman would normally stamp out before they could spread like wildfire. Except, you’re no longer a married woman. And Yelena let you look as much as you wanted–even encouraged it. 

It’s liberating more than anything, not because you’re free from the confines of marriage, but because you didn’t feel guilty having looked.

Is it time? 

You’ve always thought of Yelena as your ‘right person, wrong time’. 

Is it the right time?

-

The weekend passes in a blur of series marathons and Chinese takeouts. Wanda doesn’t text or call, neither does Yelena. You thought you had sufficient time to reconsider Wanda’s invitation, but Monday eventually comes around, bringing about an unexplainable anxiety you can’t curb and can only attribute to intuition. Even if you don’t tell Wanda the reason you won’t come, binge-watching another show instead of doing something meaningful for someone is at a level of pathetic you’re not willing to stoop towards. 

Besides, you said you’d come. Being steadfast in your word is both your strength and your undoing. And so, your intent to follow through with your promise brings you to a corner gardening store, after scouring the internet for ‘grand opening gift ideas’.

None of them suggested this. Though you knew Wanda enough to know better than those online articles.

“And this pretty thing? What does it stand for?” you ask, pointing at flowers of a variety of colors resembling a pompon.

“That’s a Chrysanthemum–or just ‘mums’. Very easy to keep them alive. In Chinese culture, it represents longevity and good luck. But it also simply symbolizes friendship and happiness.” the store keeper says. 

“Perfect,” you say, focusing on ‘longevity and good luck’. “I’ll get… Five of those in a pot.”

“What color would you like, dear?”

Without thinking, you pick Wanda’s favorite color. “The red ones. All of them.” 

The store keeper claps her hands together. “Excellent choice. Just give me a second to prepare them for you.”

A pleased smile works its way to your lips. “Thanks a lot.��

Mums in a pot. That's a good gift right? Not too thoughtful nor impersonal. It would look good displayed anywhere in her shop should Wanda decide to keep it there. Or she can place it at her new home near a window, as it probably needs six hours of sunlight a day. 

Perhaps you should also write instructions for Wanda on how to care for these mums. And will she need some fertilizers too? 

You’re busy putting together a mental list when the store keeper comes out with the final product. 

“Here you go,” she says and hands you over Wanda’s gift in a paper bag. “It’s $95.86.”

You pull out a hundred dollar bill from your wallet. “Keep the change.”

She does a little bow of gratitude and says, “Thank you, dear. She’s going to love it.”

“She?” you sputter, bewildered.

“The recipient’s a lady, I assume. Is it not?”

“It…is.” you hesitantly confirm.

“Good luck, ma’m.” she says with innocent cheer, unmindful of your sudden skepticism.

As you leave the shop feeling less sure of your gift choice, your phone’s ringing tone goes off in your pants. With urgency, you take your phone out of your pocket and find an unknown number calling. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” A husky voice greets you over the receiver.

“Yelena?”

“Hey. I, uh, got your number from Nat,” she says, hearing her heavy sighs in between sentences. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Is something wrong?” you ask, swinging the paper bag back and forth as you meander about the busy alley on your way back home.

“I’m in the middle of a news article that’s due for tomorrow, and I heard that your former boss is Scott Lang?”

“You heard right.”

“I need your banking knowledge to go over some facts in my draft,” she says. “And maybe, get a quick interview with Mr. Lang?”

For a while, you don’t know how to answer. You haven’t been in touch with Scott or any of your colleagues since moving back, and it seems kind of rude to call him up out of the blue for a favor.

“Please?” you hear Yelena beg softly. You knew Yelena. Like Natasha, she almost never asks for help, not unless it’s a matter of life, death or career. 

“Okay,” you finally say. “Where should we meet?”

“I’ll meet you at Nat’s in an hour? It’s where you’ve been staying, right?”

You agree on the time and place, and hurry to catch a bus instead of your original plan to walk the thirty minutes back to the apartment.

It oddly feels good to be part of a Monday’s morning rush once again.

-

You end up spending the whole day helping Yelena and trailing after her to visit various places and meet financial executives just to put together a 1,500-word news article on The Wall Street Journal. 

“You saved me today,” Yelena tells you while you escort her to the lobby. “Let me make it up to you on Friday?” 

It’s tempting, especially after discovering that you both make a great team. You actually had fun running errands with her. 

But you promised Natasha.

“I’ll text you.” you answer with a small smile. 

Once Yelena gets inside her ride, it hits you right away where you’re supposed to be. You check your watch and the time displayed sends you in a panic. 

It’s almost ten. Wanda’s café is only open until nine. You quickly grab your gift for Wanda and hail a cab for Queens.

Your cab screeches to a halt right in front of Second Chances. You make sure to tip big for forcing your driver to beat the speed limit several times on the way. 

You get off the cab, and take in your first impression of Wanda’s café. The facade of the coffee shop is simple: the signage looks obviously hand-drawn, while the black awning underneath it gives it a Parisian vibe; a string of yellow led lights hang above the glass door and the full-length window next to it.

It has Wanda written all over it. And you can’t help the teary smile that creeps its way to your lips. Carrying the potted Chrysanthemum securely under your arm, you walk to the entrance that holds a ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’ sign. The stainless shutter is lowered down just barely, and it’s pitch black inside except for a beam of light coming from the back room.

You raise your fist, about to knock, when suddenly you catch a figure from the corner of your eyes. 

It’s Wanda, and she’s asleep with her arms as her pillow, hunched over the bar table facing the window. Curiously, you move over to stand right across her and push your palm against the translucent barrier. 

She waited for you to show. Your heart betrays you as it thumps wildly in your chest. 

For a moment you just stand there watching. There are still days when you randomly get angry at Wanda all over again. Some days, you bargain and simultaneously undergo depression. And you cycle over these stages in random orders but haven't–not even once–felt like you’re ready to accept all of it. 

Somewhere in the stillness, an ambulance siren could be heard wailing in the distance. Wanda is slow to come to, and even as you realize she’s waking up, you stay frozen in your position.

“Y/N?” you read your name being spoken from her lips. Wanda looks confused in her sleepy state, still deciding if you’re actually there. You beam at her and mouth a ‘hi’ in return. 

Wanda lights up right before your eyes. She hurries to unlock the door to her shop.  

“Sorry I’m late.” you say.

Wanda’s smile only widens, and then she says, “Better late than never.”

You choose to sit at one of the tiny dining tables for two near the open kitchen. There are congratulatory flowers arranged neatly by the counter, making you a bit self-conscious about bringing something similar on a smaller, more insignificant scale.

“How long have you been waiting?” you ask as you survey the interior of the cafe..

“Not long.” Wanda assures you, and then proudly hands you over the menu. Her writing is almost instantly recognizable. 

“Pick anything you want. On the house.” she says, tying back her apron. 

There aren’t many items on the list, but you’re familiar with each of them from Wanda having made them for you over the years. 

“I’ll have a Spanish latte,” you say, eyes still scanning the menu. “Do you have any cookies left?”

“Sorry, they are all sold out.” 

“Wanda, that’s awesome!” You exclaim, placing the menu back on the table.

Wanda endearingly chuckles at your excitement. You’re still a customer, and it’s very unusual for one to cheer when the item they want is unavailable.

“Have you eaten? I can whip something up.” Wanda says, peeking inside the fridge. 

You haven’t eaten since lunch, but you don’t want Wanda to go through the trouble of preparing something off the menu. “It’s fine.” 

“I’m kinda hungry myself,” Wanda chews on her bottom lip. “Does garlic pasta sound good?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Wanda tries to suppress a smirk.

“Sounds amazing.” you mumble, somewhat flustered by the sound you just made. The thought of a warm pasta for dinner, however, is already making you drool.

Wanda grins, buzzing with childlike enthusiasm. “Coming right up!”

Right before she gets to it, Wanda puts on some music and gives you her phone. “Play anything you want.” she says. A classical piano piece starts playing in the background, and it actually matches the mood and the vibe of the room, so you choose to stay on the current playlist.

Wanda already has some minced garlic and left over pasta from earlier, so it’s just a matter of reheating and then mixing the ingredients. In less than ten minutes, she’s bringing out two plates of Aglio e Olio and your order of a hot Spanish latte.

You haven’t realized how starving you are until the aroma of Wanda’s dish reaches your nose. 

“What’s that?” Wanda points to the paper bag sitting beside you after she settles in her seat across you.

“Oh!” you say. “I almost forgot. This is for you. Happy, uh, grand opening day?”

Wanda takes the bag, unintentionally brushing your fingers in the process. Her skin is warm from cooking and smells like the condiments she used to prepare your food.

You quietly eat your food, unable to keep yourself from moaning out your satisfaction. After months of living on takeouts, it’s a very welcome change.

Wanda, on the other hand, peers inside the paper bag, and her smile grows and grows until it reaches her watery eyes. 

“These are gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda comments, taking the pot out of its hiding. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda stands up and walks towards the window near the entrance, the plant and a glass of water in tow. She places the mums in the corner where it will be least bothered by customers, but should receive the most sunlight at the same time. She then proceeds to water it, careful to cover the whole soil and sprinkle some on its delicate petals. 

A smile graces your lips as you watch her tend to the mums. 

It’s hard not to wonder if maybe this could work. Maybe healing can be possible while being friends.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, after you finish your food. You subtly eye Wanda’s plate, which she’s barely touched. 

“Like I said, on the house.” she answers. 

You purse your lips in disapproval but don’t insist; the tip jar is right beside the register and you can slip some twenties later when Wanda’s not looking.

“So, any feedback? Is the latte too sweet?” Wanda asks with a devoted curiosity of a businesswoman. “For the pasta I added an extra ounce of minced garlic from the original recipe, but I’m not sure if it made the flavor too strong. And this table–don’t you think it’s too small? Cause they don’t look standard-sized to me, and I keep telling them–”

“Wanda, slow down,” you gently cut in, bringing the coffee mug to your lips for a taste test. It’s sweet but not achingly so. There’s still a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste, and the richness of the condensed milk counters it, resulting in a very comforting pick-me-up.

“It’s good. I’d say, better than the ones I always got when I was still working.”

“You’re not working anymore?”

You bite your lip at that, not really meaning for that information to slip out of you.

“I took a sabbatical,” you explain, refusing to call yourself jobless in front of your ex-wife, who somehow contrived to achieve greater heights following a divorce and a narrowly missed small town sex scandal.

You quickly try to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t worry about the furniture. As long as they’re comfy.”

“Half of your ass is barely hanging onto your seat, you know?” Wanda points out with a giggle. 

There’s no denying the tinge of jealousy you feel over the fact that Wanda seems to have her shit together more than she cares to admit. But that’s overruled by the natural joy of seeing someone you care about (because you do, you really still do) thrive, no matter how much they hurt you in the past. 

“Are you saying my ass is fat?” you ask, pretending to be offended. 

She laughs harder, resulting in tiny hiccups that never fails to trigger you into a fit as well.

“Honestly though, it barely fits mine as well. But that's all I can afford for now.” Wanda says as she keeps twirling the pasta around her fork without any intention of actually eating.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” you chide, still smiling.

“Do you want some of mine?”

You shake your head no. “Not when you just implied I have a fat ass.”

Wanda snorts, her laughter building up again at your poker face. 

When she recovers this time, you sheepishly smile and take some from her plate and transfer it to yours. 

“I haven’t thanked you for coming.” Wanda mutters in a hoarse voice. You wordlessly fill her empty glass with water.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure until this morning if I was going to.” you say.

Certain muscles on Wanda’s face visibly tighten at that.

“Why is that?” Wanda whispers, staring at her unwanted food, losing again the appetite she lied about in the first place.

You mull about it for a moment. There’s no point in denying that you feel things for Wanda. Abstract feelings that you can’t name, but feel regardless. And it’s still unclear whether they are beneficial or not to you moving forward. Just that, being in communication with Wanda again puts you at ease; brings back a sense of normalcy that you so crave. It could be because you can’t remember a time she wasn’t a part of your life, can’t remember who you were before her. Going cold-turkey only led to some impulsive decisions (not to mention, a cheap and random sex with a stranger who was spoken for).

“Because I want to do what’s right for me, this time. And I’m not sure if this is.”

“This?”

“Being in each other’s lives.” you coolly state, crossing your arms and leaning back on your chair. 

Wanda blinks a couple of times when wetness gathers around her eyes. You drop your head and sigh. It goes without saying that these meetings with Wanda are always volatile. But constantly crying around someone is obviously not an indication of a healthy bond. 

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who can answer your own question, Y/N.” Wanda swipes at the corner of her eyes. 

You hollowly laugh. “I was kinda expecting you’d convince me that this is a good idea.”

“The fact that I invited you here and never stopped trying to contact you says alot without me having to say it.” Wanda reasons evenly.

“And me doing exactly the opposite, must also say a lot. Is that it?” you retort. 

Wanda squints at your hard tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Well, it’s what I’m hearing.” 

An impasse is reached, and Wanda wishes nothing more than to retract her statements and start all over again. 

“Why do I keep fucking this up?” you’re scarcely able to hear Wanda talk, more directly to herself than you.

You release a ragged breath and speak out, “You’re not fucking up anything, Wanda. There’s nothing to fuck up in the first place because we’re not supposed to expect anything from each other anymore, remember?”

Wands nods in understanding. “It just feels like I keep saying the wrong thing.”

You consider her words for a moment. “Maybe it’s because I keep waiting for you to.”

Wanda looks up at you with wide, limpid eyes. “So I am walking on eggshells.” 

“You don’t have to though. You can’t always worry about what will set me off. Let me worry about that.” 

“I’m scared, Y/N,” Wanda whispers. “I’m scared I’ll say one wrong thing and I won’t hear from you again for a long time. I mean, I just… I just found you. Inadvertently, if I may add.”

“I-I get where you’re coming from, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” you say. “But I can’t promise that I won’t disappear when something happens.”

Wanda hums and you lick your lips.

“I have thought about it.” you say, in spite of the delicate timing. 

She looks skeptical. “Thought about…?”

“Us,” you motion between yourself and her. “Being friends.”

“Oh,” Wanda tries not to sound disappointed. The problem is she wants too much too soon. And she needs to work on that or else she ruins her chance with you. “And?”

You’re nothing but truthful when you say, “And I miss the comfort of having you as a friend.” 

“Me too,” Wanda whispers thickly as you both share a meaningful look.

Maybe someday, she can have everything she has lost. 

Just not all at once.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #angst

[yelenasdog]

tell me you’re that somebody ✧ (trevor zegras x fem reader)

genre: smut with plot

summary: trevor hadn’t expected anything to come from his routine tinder round-up of chicks for the first party of the summer at the lake house. but in all fairness, she wasn’t expecting anything when she’d downloaded the app in the first place. they’re both in over their heads.

words: 4k

warnings: alcohol mention, cheesy situation lol, smut, fingering, handjob, public sex (or foreplay? technically? whatever she gets fingered in a hot tub), cursing, reader and trev meet through tinder, use of pet name (baby)

a/n: @eminems-skittles and i texted abt this like a week ago and i haven’t been able to stop thinking abt this so. here! cassie ur my biggest cheerleader i love u 🤍 also the song mentioned later in the fic is “love me” by lil wayne btw and it lightly inspired the fic. so. do w that what u will. happy reading! 

The music was loud at the party, and that combined with the amount of drunk 20 somethings and flashing LED lights coming from inside the house would’ve been enough to make her lose her mind.

Key word: would’ve.

But she didn’t. Not yet, anyway. Because in all the noise and smoke and fucking craziness, she had him. And, despite being in a steamy hot tub, it wasn’t the most romantic situation ever, she’d be the first to admit.

The music blasting sounded like it was some kind of Lil Wayne song from 2013 (actually, was that Drake? No, it’s both of them) and the pair was surrounded by a graveyard of half empty beer bottles and cans from where they resided in the hot tub. (All from the girls who took about four minuscule sips from them to seem cool in front of the famed hockey players. That was only before abandoning them for a Whiteclaw the second they got warm.)

But she didn’t pay much care to the scenery, focusing just on the man in front of her. Or, beneath her, if we’re being technical.

Their relationship was a, shall we say, recent development. As in, when Trevor had rented a lake house with his buddies during the off season, and word of the first party had been spread, he’d taken to his Tinder. He’d been tasked with finding the girls, and even though he’d kind of felt like a pimp, he’d scrolled through anyway, finding chicks near his location, matching and inviting them quickly.

He came across her profile, seeing the bio mentioning she wasn’t expecting much from the app, but that she downloaded it for kicks and giggles. She was probably the hottest he’d seen yet (and would see), and he didn’t hesitate to swipe right. He mentally called dibs on the girl, who’s name was apparently Y/n, and not expecting a match right away, he pocketed his phone. Satisfied with the roster he’d created for the party, he stood up, heading outside where some of the guys were already playing a casual game of pong.

He chuckled to himself at the sight before him, Jamie and Alex half asleep in two of the chairs on the pool deck, Quinn on the same page as he scrolled through his phone. Jack and Cole were the two playing pong, while various other friends, some Trevor knew, some he didn’t, lingered about.

Trevor sat down, yawning. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of tiredness, but failing. Conversation drones on, and he mostly ignores it, zoning out. He was snapped out of his trance by the dinging of his phone, which he quickly retrieved, desperate for anything more interesting than what he was currently subject to.

He wasn’t disappointed at what he saw, the notification that he’d matched with someone bright against his lock screen. He clicked, hoping it was Y/n from earlier. It was, and at this revelation, he immediately opened up a chat, not caring that he probably looked desperate.

“Hi :)” he typed out, pressing send. Basic, he knows, but he figured he’d play it safe. He went back and looked at her profile again, swiping through all of the photos. He reread her bio, seeing that she had only recently moved to the area, loved hockey and a few other sports, and was currently still in school, studying for a doctorate. Fancy.

The photos didn’t quite match what the bio said, in Trevor’s mind. There was one of her in tight leggings and a sports bra posing with what he assumed was her dog, another in the garage of some race team, donned in their colors. Which doesn’t seem too far off, but then he kept scrolling.

A personal favorite (yes, it’s only been 10 minutes, yes, he had a personal favorite) was one of her in a rickety bar. It was taken with flash, and her smile was nearly brighter than said flash. It was dim in the photo aside from purple and blue stage lights, a band in the back in front of a crowd of people. Her hand was in the air, wrapped around a bottle of some sort, her other one slung around the shoulders of a guy wearing a cowboy hat. It was her brother in law, Trevor had learned from the bio.

He scrolled through the various pics multiple times after that, landing on one of her in a skimpy blue bikini, smiling on what appeared to be the bow of a yacht.

It caught the attention of Quinn, who’d been on his way inside. He stopped mid sentence, placing a hand on the back of Trevor’s chair.

“Who the fuck is that?” He questioned, leaning in towards Z’s phone. Trevor looked up at him, rolling his eyes and saying “dude, could you get any closer?” Quinn stepped away, his hand still gripping the edge of the chair.

“My bad. Like I said, who’s that?”

“Who’s who?” Jack asked from where he was still playing pong, curious as to what had piqued his older brother’s interest. Jamie, who’d taken Cole’s spot, turned his head as well, hand dropping from where it was mid air.

“Just an absolute rocket Trevor is trying to keep to himself.” Came the voice of Cole, who’d gone inside to get a water and was now back out, peering over Trevor’s shoulder. Z rolled his eyes again, turning off his phone and setting it on the table, face down.

“Well if she’s a rocket,” Jack started, “then is she coming tonight?”

Trevor shrugged. “We’ll see.” He replied, standing up and stretching. “I’m going to get a coffee. Text me if you want anything, ya fuckin’ idiots.” He added, turning and walking inside.

Up until the moment he was walking through the doors of the Starbucks, his phone was still flooding with orders from various numbers. It was a lot of black coffees and everything bagels, and he wasn’t looking forward to carrying them all to the car.

His woeful thoughts of cream cheese and cold brews were interrupted as he lifted his head, planted in place by what he saw.

“Yeah, I guess I should be thanking you for making me download it, but that’s if it’s actually him. What if it’s some creep, huh? I go to his place thinking it’s fuckin Trevor Zegras and it’s some 60 year old named Barnaby Wilson.” She pauses, listening to whoever was on the other side of the phone. “No, I don’t know what kind of name Barnaby Wilson is, nor do I care about a verification system. I care about becoming a murder victim on a shitty true crime podcast.” Another pause.

Then, just as she’s about to speak, she’s cut off by the barista yelling “Y/n!” far too loud for her liking. “Whatever, I’ll call you back. Yes, I’ll keep you updated! I promise. Okay. Love you, bye.” She rolled her eyes to herself, chuckling as she made the short walk to the counter. She grabbed her order with a “thank you” to the barista, before making her way over to the exit.

The exit where Trevor, like an idiot, was still stupidly standing.

“Hey, dude, you gonna order or what?” Some unenthusiastic teen who manned the register asked, obviously not fazed in the slightest by the NHL superstar in front of him.

“Uh, yeah. Just, looking at the menu.” He turned to where a mini line had formed behind him, apologizing to the older woman who had been standing behind him, waiting. He stepped aside, forcing his legs to carry him over to where she had been about to leave.

“Hey, Y/n!”

She turned, eyes wide as saucers upon hearing her name by someone who wasn’t a barista. When she saw that it was the real Trevor Zegras, not Barnaby Wilson, she just about fainted.

“Trevor? Zegras?” She wanted to facepalm at her reaction, and probably would have if it wasn’t from the bag in one hand and drink in the other.

A cocky smile came across Trevor’s face, starting to feel a little bit like himself again at the recognition, standing a little taller.

“In the flesh.” Okay. Maybe a little bit too himself.

“You get my message?” He asked, and she nodded, a small smile raising the corners of her mouth.

“I did. Haven’t responded yet, though. Wasn’t sure if you were the real deal. Not sure if you were some creep pretending to be Trevor Zegras.”

“Barnaby Wilson.” He added, and she grew red at the realization he heard that conversation. A small laugh left her, as her hand with the bag came up to scratch the back of her neck.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Right.” He added quietly, a smile still cemented onto his face.

“Well”, he started after a moment of quiet. ”I was going to ask you over messages, but since you’re here, I’m having a party later with a couple of buddies. I’d love it if you could make it.”

Her jaw dropped, and she had to play it off as if it was a yawn. Which probably looked stupid the more she thought about it, but who could blame her? In the most typical Wattpad, coffee shop AU meet-cute way possible, she was invited to a party of NHLers, by an NHLer.

She didn’t even give a second thought to her paper that was due in three days, all she needed to do were revisions anyway. She immediately accepted, and after a quick hug initiated by Trevor and plans to exchange numbers and text her the details, they parted.

She got to the car and screamed, before dialing back her best friend who she’d been on the phone with, thanking her endlessly for forcing her to download Tinder.

Trevor, who now was at the back of the line for drinks, texted the group chat to let them know she was definitely coming. Then, he got the notification he had a message on Tinder, seeing it was her responding to his “Hi :)” with a “Hi, not Barnaby.”

That led to where they were now.

When she’d showed up to the party, instructed by Trevor to come wearing a swimsuit, it was like everything stopped.

Much to the dismay of their dates, all of the boys craned their necks to look at the girl who Trevor hadn’t shut up about since that morning, not disappointed in the slightest.

Her denim cutoffs showed off her legs to where they were cut off by a pair of white converse, her white bikini top a slightly lighter shade, not subject to the same daily abuse as the shoes. Trevor had greeted her with a hug, his hand never leaving her back once they parted. He’d made the rounds, introducing her to all his wide eyed friends, before the two of them settled into conversation with Cole about the upcoming Formula 1 season.

Trevor had never given a shit about F1 before. Racing was never really for him. But hearing her ask Cole with such wonder in her voice about what it was like to meet Fernando Alonso, and speak with such conviction about her opinion on the strategy at Ferrari? What they were strategizing, Trevor had no idea, but, fuck, if he didn’t love hearing her talk about it.

The night went on, things got rowdier, and then as they do, they got quieter. She was there for the entirety of it, and at some point, they’d slipped into the hot tub.

It was bubbly and warm, and she’d let out an audible sigh when the water first hit her aching back. The tension from days of sitting hunched up by her laptop as she wrote melted away in the water, and it was divine.

Her and Trevor were joined by Jack and his date for the night. Some brunette named Haleigh. “Like, with a y, but… not… with a y. You know?” She’d added when she introduced herself.

After complaining it was too hot, Haleigh without a Y left the hot tub, going inside to get another Mike’s hard lemonade. Jack sat for a second, his head falling into his hand. He let out a deep, deep sigh of exhaustion, before running the same hand over his face and ruffling it through his hair.

“Jack, come be my pong partner!” She exclaimed, briefly hanging her head out the sliding glass doors, before going back inside.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Jack said, pushing himself up and out of the water. They gave him a sympathetic look, but not that sympathetic, knowing he’d probably be fucking her in give or take about 20 minutes.

It left the two of them mostly alone, in their little bubble at least, only surrounded by a few stragglers. They were either out on the dock, by the bonfire in the backyard, or standing up against the wall, caging in whatever unfortunate girl is the victim of a failed attempt at a fuck, and hasn’t figured out her escape route yet.

But she wasn’t paying any attention to them, and neither was Trevor. His attention was fully on her, where her hand nervously had come up to mess with the charm around her neck. He knew the action itself was fairly innocent, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t let his eyes wander further down.

The way the water droplets were resting upon her slightly burnt skin was downright sinful, some of them still sliding down the expanse of her neck. She looked almost like she did in the picture he liked so much from earlier, all the lights illuminating her in all the best ways. And maybe it was just the alcohol, but Trevor thought she looked angelic.

“Y’know,” he began, his fingertips coming up to play with a strand of her hair, “you’re really fuckin’ pretty.”

She blushed, not that he could tell with all the lights, and looked away, trying to hide the expression that began to tug at her features.

“Thanks. You too.” She tossed back, a breathy laugh leaving both of them. His hand went from the strand of hair to her chin, tilting it up, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“I mean it.”

“Me too.”

It was an immediate response, because she did. She did mean it. He didn’t just look pretty, he looked fucking unreal. But, she didn’t want to say that. Not yet at least. So she settled for pretty.

They held each other’s gazes, and she’s not sure who moved first, but before she knew it, the water around them was rippling. She was suddenly on his lap, his hands on either hip. Her arms were around his neck, and his lips were on hers.

And despite the fact it was fucking amazing, and the fact that his lips were so soft and so perfect, her mind was still running a million miles a minute.

She pulled away, worried that someone would see the two of them. Why was she worried about that? She didn’t know. But she was programmed to worry, it seemed, about anything and everything.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?” Trevor asked, looking up at her with those sweet green eyes.

“Nothing, Trev, it was amazing.”

“Then why’d you stop?” He asked, leaning forward and connecting his lips to her neck, somehow immediately finding her sweet spot. He was relentless, and as she struggled to find words, he hummed against her in question. Her breath hitched at the sensation, and she felt him smile against her, his teeth barely nipping at the sensitive skin. She gasped again, her breath shaky.

“But what if someone sees, Trev?” She managed to get out, hanging her head where Trevor’s shoulder met his neck. He paused his attack on her momentarily, his fingertips smoothing over her thighs, moving up to her waist.

“Look at me, Y/n.” He said, his voice firm but without a hint of animosity or anger. So she lifted her head from her place of hiding, looking him in the eyes.

“Baby, they’re all drunk. They don’t give a fuck. Okay?” He said with a reassuring smile, his question more rhetorical than anything. His hands on her waist started to move her back and forth slightly, feeling where his length was growing through his trunks and her tied bottoms.

Her head fell again, a whine leaving her lips. She continued to move, and Trevor brought his lips up to press a kiss to her temple.

“Just focus on me.” He mumbled, followed by a small “Yeah?” To which she nodded. He smiled again, quickly finding her lips and capturing them with his.

When he asked so nicely, how was she supposed to say no?

It was like the only thing that existed anymore, or had ever existed was Trevor.

He infiltrated every one of her senses, despite the fact they normally would’ve been taken up by the scenery around her. She couldn’t smell the shitty alcohol or the smoke from the bonfire, only the barely lingering scent of the cologne he’d applied before he’d started to welcome guests.

She couldn’t see all of the people around her, just the sight of Trevor, wet curls wildly astray, eyes screwed shut as he helped guide her over his cock.

She couldn’t hear that fucking Lil Wayne (and Drake, and Future, and whoever the fuck else) song, or the boisterous laughter of the hockey players, mixed with that of their dates. (Who’re all laughing just a little too hard.)

She just heard the tiny moans and soft praises that fell from Z’s lips. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Was the latest, followed by a groan that she would’ve been worried someone would hear, if not for how enamored she was.

She couldn’t feel the sickly heat in the humid air, or how the water sloshed up against her burnt back, just the slightest bit too hot. She couldn’t feel where the knot keeping her swimsuit tied together was pressing into her skin, or where the grainy feeling of the bench in the hot tub rubbed against her knees. All she could feel was him, his cock pressing against her, his fingertips digging into her, his lips everywhere at once.

And she most definitely couldn’t taste the remnants of the chocolate croissant she’d had for breakfast, or the taste of the tequila shots she’d done with Jamie and Alex. As his tongue lazily danced with her own, it wasn’t any of that that she recognized.

It was the Pink Whitney shot he’d done when the rest were doing tequila, citing that tequila and his stomach didn’t mix. And it was a strange accompaniment, but it was also the leftover tang of the spearmint gum he’d been chewing earlier in the day, stealing a piece from Quinn, who hadn’t offered any to him in the first place. But the strange combination worked, because it was him.

All of it was so much, so Trevor, that it was driving her crazy, but in the best way possible. So when he moved one of his hands from her waist, down to her clothed sex, she almost lost it.

“Trev-“

“You’re good, baby. I’ve got you.”

He ran his thumb over her slit, before sliding his hand down the front of her bottoms, feeling her bare pussy. He wasted no time, easing his two middle fingers into her, stretching her out. The stretch was delicious, and she fully moaned, trying to find any sense that she could to prop herself up entirely on her knees. She palmed him over his pink swim trunks, and he chased the feeling, needily lifting his hips to meet her hand.

She smiled, before mirroring his actions from only a minute ago, her hand easily finding his hardened dick. She ran her thumb over the tip, before she started to jack him off, the water adding resistance as she moved her hand along his length.

But it was all the same to Trevor as he groaned, his hand still pumping in and out of her. His palm perfectly grazed her clit every time he did, and the two of them built up a rhythm as they went. The water around them was moving in waves now, and true to his word from earlier, everyone around them was too drunk to care that they were basically fucking in the hot tub.

As she started to squirm above him, he added a third finger, his glossed over eyes watching in amazement as her mouth went ajar. She clenched down on him, and he could tell she was nearly there. Her hand moved faster in sync with chasing her own peak, Trevor’s doing the same.

“Trev, I’m- fuck! Trevor, I’m close.” She softly cried, her head once again falling back to his shoulder as she rode his hand. He reached his opposite hand forward, groping at her tit, pulling it out of the small triangle of fabric covering it. She moaned at the sensation, and he bit down hard on his lip.

“I know, baby. I’m almost there, too. Shit, you're gonna be good and make me cum, aren’t you? Fuck, yeah. Yeah, you are, baby. Riding my fingers like that. You’re so perfect. So perfect, fuck.

And somehow, they picked up their paces even more, Trevor’s hand slamming into her, while she moved her hand up and down his shaft at a matching speed.

With a cry of his name, and a broken “fuck” from Z, the two came together. Everything went white, and if before everything surrounding her was Trevor, it was like now the two had become one.

She went lax in his arms as they continued to lazily stroke each other, soft kisses pressed to the corner of her mouth by Zeegs.

“You did so good, baby. So fuckin’ sexy riding my hand like that. No idea what you do to me.”

She smiled, tilting her head. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest.

“I’ve got a semblance of an idea, I think.” She quipped, and he rolled his eyes. She leaned forward again, pausing briefly to admire his features, before leaning forward and connecting their lips in a sweet kiss.

When they pulled away, she nuzzled against him, all of a sudden aware of the space they were in.

“Y’know, you were right, though.”

“About what?” He asked, leaning down. She smiled as she felt his lips on her head.

“Doesn’t seem like anybody noticed.” She giggled, and he let out a “ha!” shaking his head. She was right, he supposed.

Everyone who was inside had either fallen asleep on the couch, or retired to their rooms, Haleigh without a Y and Jack included. The backyard bunch were still all chatting away, and the guys over by the wall seemed to have accepted their losses, as they now were alone, seemingly fighting off sleep as well.

“Guess not.” He replied, looking down at her. She smiled up at him, tilting her head to give him a kiss. He tried to deepen it, but much like before, she pulled away.

“As lovely as your kisses are, and as worth it that it was, I think we’ve contaminated this hot tub.” She joked, beginning to stand. Trevor frowned, his eyebrows furrowing, and his hand not leaving hers.

She raised her eyebrows, as if to say “I wasn’t done”, and so he beckoned for her to continue.

“But, as I was saying, you’re staying here, right?” He nodded. She smiled, shrugging.

“Then you still have a shower and a bed to contaminate too.”

Trevor grinned, standing up and getting out of the hot tub, pulling her out of the water completely. She shrieked and tugged her knees up, her hand coming to grasp at Z’s forearm. He spun her around twice before setting her down, pulling her to his chest. Trevor Zegras had found his match.

“I like the way you think, lady.”

FIN.

hopefully that was good LOL, btw idk if u’ve ever seen shoresey, but this is reminding me too much of that whole “sanguinet got a squeezer from your sweetie of the side of a party island in wasaga beach, buddy.” LMFAOO iykyk. 

anyway hope u enjoyed, rb if u did! love u, go take an electronics break and hydrate and eat some protein. mwah, bye <3

#trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras imagine #nhl x reader #trevor zegras fluff #zegras x reader #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras imagines #trevor zegras x reader smut #trevor zegras x reader fluff #trevor zegras blurb #this isnt rlly a blurb but whatever #frat!trevor zegras x reader #frat boy!trevor x reader #frat boy! Trevor zegras x reader #frat!trevor x reader

[apollos-boyfriend]

what's a festa junina if you don't mind my asking?

i don't mind at all!!!! i love sharing stuff about brazil <3

okay SO. festa junina directly translates to "june party", and are sometimes also referred to as "festas de são juão" (saint john's parties) because we're in brazil and everything has to be related back to religion somehow LMAO. they are festivities that take place in, obv, the entire month of june, although some can last up until like, late august because by god do brazilians love a good party. traditionally, they're held to celebrate the harvest season, rain, and marriage (*cough* which is why it'd be great to celebrate it now with the spiderbit wedding on the horizon *cough*). it's brazil's second-biggest festival, second only to carnival ofc, and has very rural roots in its celebration style due to largely being a harvest/farming based celebration!

so!! festa juninas are typically held in wide open areas and absolutely COVERED in colorful decorations. largely banners, as shown above, but there are also different tents/stalls full of food, games, and other stuff for people to enjoy!! festa junina is kind of heralded as the best time for food/snacks bc it's FULL of sweets and other treats that aren't that common to find en-masse during other times of the year. as shown above, it's also super common for HUGE campfires to be lit (fogueiras) for ppl to dance around and stuff :]

due to being so heavily inspired by/created in rural areas, the standard dress code is very much of a stereotypical rural farmer (called caipira in portuguese!). the standard is for men to adorn straw hats, flannels, and working boots/pants, while women wear their hair in ribboned braids, dot freckles on their faces, and wear rustic dresses on top of it all! the dresses can be EXTREMELY over the top sometimes to the point of camp and i fucking love them so much. genuinely some of my favorite memories are shopping for dresses for festa junina.

as i said, games are a BIG part of it too! a lot of festa juninas are hosted by schools so they need stuff to entertain the kids, but honestly, as a grown adult i still will go to them in a heartbeat. they're largely the typical festival games of ring toss, three-legged races, etc, but i cannot put into words the certain Charm of them. like. by the time festa junina starts it's at least sundown, if not fully night, so all the stands are lit up by the yellow-orange glows of shitty lanterns/fairy lights and. ough. that is my heaven. (fun fact, me and my cousin once won like, a dozen goldfish from one of these. good times.)

and last, but certainly not least, i GOTTA talk about the dancing!!! we call it quadrilha, and it's kind of like square dancing, i guess? it's a very silly and over-the-top dance that's The biggest even of the night. the dance follows the story of a wedding ceremony (rehearsal? i can't recall) which again would be PERFECT for the current events on the smp.

and yeah!! there's a lot of other stuff and they can vary from region to region (i'd love for other brazilians to share things i may have missed :Oc) but overall they're just a HUGE event in brazil and for brazilian communities that really just unite everyone in one huge night (or nights) of partying!!

#muse talk #shortguyswag #I HAD TO REWRITE THIS ENTIRE THIGN BC TUMBLR LOST IT #BUT YEH!!!!! i love festa junina :3 #some of my fondest memories of home r held within the month of june for this very reason #there r so much love in these parties and there is so much love on the qsmp that it is perfect to hold one i think #<- extremely biased

[kieraspsychonautssideblog]

Why Hollis Forsythe is a Deeper Character Than You Realize

So ya'll seem to like my essay on why Loboto's Labyrinth is a good tutorial level for Psychonauts 2. I've wanted to write an essay on the rest of the cast as well, so I decided to start with the second character we head into the mind of: Hollis Forsythe.

We are first introduced to Hollis when she comes to greet the cast after they land at the Motherlobe. I have played this game with my friends and my step-dad, and both parties initially believed Hollis was the mole due to her saying she didn't hear the crew's call for help and her initial dismissal at the idea of a mole being in the Psychonauts.

She is shown to be strict, serious, and maybe has a bit of an ego due to her preference for "Second Head" instead of Lesser Head, and with how she conducts herself after the casino mission. She isn't exactly soft towards interns, particularly Raz, and she can easily be seen as intimidating.

I do think it's rather odd that she would put a psychic intern under the mentorship of a non-psychic employee, but think of the situation she has been put in.

Truman is out of commission, and she has to keep the whole place running, and a mole is possibly running around about to bring back the biggest threat to the Psychonauts ever, their budget is getting tight, and a new intern has plopped into her lap.

I am choosing to believe that Hollis put Raz under the mentorship of Nick Johnsmith as a temporary thing, and would have given him a proper mentor afterward (given that none of the interns are mentoring under Sasha, I believe that Hollis would have given Raz to Sasha if things went differently.)

However, after she gives your mentor, you can ask her about her diploma, and she mentions being an intern at the Neurological Hospital for one year before joining the Psychonauts.

We learn in Hollis's mind that the reason she left was because while she was interning there, she came up with a new method that could save lives, but Dr. Potts had stolen her work and claimed all the credit. Appallled at this, Hollis used Mental Connection to try and mess with Dr. Potts, but ended up breaking him and they had to call in the Psychonauts to help. Truman gave her the position after this.

It is interesting that this hospital internship seems to be so central to Hollis as a character given that it was only for one year. However, it does seem to have affected her character greatly. She is immensely worried about the safety of the children she mentors, after all, and there are several figments of people being hurt or being cared for in both of her minds. Hollis's Classroom, while important to establish Hollis, is not where Hollis's character shines.

That will have to be Hollis's Hot Streak.

In Hollis's Hot Streak, we go through the Pharmacy, the Maternity Ward, and Cardiology to get three gazillion dollars to enter the High Rollers lounge and fight the Lady Luctopus. In each of these areas, we get a good insight into Hollis's thought process.

Side note: the fact that the hub area is a six-sided DIE in the MORGUE...

This game and its pun.

Anyway, in the Maternity Ward, we see that Hollis actually has a very cynical view of babies and those who want them. Most obvious is the rich couple who only want a baby for their own gain. The fact that there's some emotional baggage only accessible through dark thoughts is also something to think about. In this area, when we go to the backroom, we hear Hollis say "Well, of course, the whole system is rigged! But I mean, I'm just one person! What could I do about it?" which reads very heavily like learned helplessness almost. Given that, if you go talk to Hollis in the Motherlobe after your family arrives, she mentions that "all families are terrible", it does imply Hollis might not have a good relationship with her family.

In the Pharmacy, the entire point is to fix the Pillinko Machine so you can win. With Hollis's heart in the wrong place, it's up to us to try and make better connections in order to get to the backrooms. When we're there, Hollis says "Swallowing your feelings sounds bad, but really, who wants to hear about those ugly things anyway?" She's clearly had to repress these emotions for a while.

In Cardiology, you bet on suits of cards in race. However, Hearts has a broken leg. Although Hearts is told to stay off the leg by their doctor, their doctor is also their boss, and if they miss another race, they'll be fired. They are being exploited. Makes me wonder if that's how Hollis felt when Dr. Potts stole her work. In the backrooms, Hollis says "Different race, same runner. I can do this on my own, I don't need anybody's help, I CAN'T need anybody's help." Hollis clearly feels overworked and stressed about the situation but feels as though she cannot ask for help from those around her.

There's still a lot about Hollis's mind that interests me. The mental barriers you have to shoot through blocking your way, the religious imagery that's also in her mind, etc. But overall, I think Hollis is a much deeper character than we're lead to believe, as she doesn't get to do much after the Casino mission. But still, Hollis is really interesting to analyze.

EDIT: I AM COMPLETELY DUMB AND FORGOT TO MENTION: The fact that Hollis associates being a doctor with gambling is also really interesting. Yes this is because of Raz's actions, but the several ways she associates the two is fascinating. You have to wonder how many patients Hollis might have seen die in her time as an intern.

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #hollis forsythe

[storyofmychoices]

Shining Through The Shadows

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist] 

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart, present day Word Count: ~1,200 Rating/Warnings: general, no warnings

Synopsis: Olivia prepares a special eclipse viewing party for her patients.

"Where should I put this?" Bryce questioned as he carried a plastic foldable table beneath his arm into the hospital's healing garden. 

"I was thinking right over here," Olivia gestured. "Near the entrance."

Within seconds, he had it open and set up. 

"Thanks!" Olivia rocked up on her tiptoes, placing a kiss on his cheek, before turning back to the task at hand. 

"Anything else I can help with?" 

"Bring me that bag over there?" She motioned her head toward one of the blankets she had set up as she placed a yellow tablecloth over the table. "Grab that basket too, please." 

"Is this all just glasses?" Bryce dug through the bag. "How many do you have here?"

"100... give or take some more," she offered casually while organizing a display of Capri Sun, Sun Chips, and Moon Pies on the table. 

"I thought you only had 31 kids that could come out?"

"And the nurses and the doctors," Olivia defended. 

"But more than 100? Did you leave any for the other departments?" he teased. 

"Yes!" She stuck her tongue out playfully toward him. "Besides, the children need at least 2 each."

"Dare I ask why?" He handed Olivia the basket, which she placed on the table beside the snacks.

"For their stuffed animals and dolls," she answered as though it were common knowledge. Carefully, she placed the glasses in the basket, smiling as she continued, "Of course, they need protection, too."

"I'm not sure that's true," he laughed. 

"Will you be the one telling them their stuffed friend isn't real so they don't need protection?" 

"Not a chance. Ramsey might, though—we'll have to keep him away," Bryce decided with a chuckle. 

"Woah," the ten-year-old Christopher marveled at how the healing garden had transitioned into a picnic area with snacks and art stations. 

The effervescent seven-year-old Savannah bounced with excitement, pulling on her mom's hand. "There's clay! And paint! And crayons! And snacks! This is the best day ever!"

Her mother smiled down at her. Despite all the medical challenges her daughter had faced, she never let it dull her spirit. "Looks like you had a lot of choices, my little Picasso. Where'd you like to start?

One by one, the children entered the garden with their parents. Nurses and doctors mingled throughout, guiding them through the art choices, each station allowing them to explore the eclipse with different art mediums.

As 2:00 approached, Olivia called all the children back together to start their viewing party. 

"We are very lucky to be able to come out here today and see something really special," Olivia began, her eyes wide with excitement as she spoke with the children. 

"Who has seen a shadow before?"

All of the children raised their hands.

"What is the biggest shadow you've ever seen?"

"My dad's really tall so he has a really long shadow," one child called out.

"The shadow of the playground by my house is big in the afternoon," another shared. 

"You have a shadow right there, Dr. Olivia!" Savannah pointed eagerly to the ground beside her. 

"That's right! We all make shadows. Most things leave behind a shadow," Olivia explained. "My shadow is created because I block sunlight from getting to this area. Did you know there is something that looks kind of small but is actually really big and can make day look like night?" 

The kids looked around, whispering to their parents in surprise. 

"That's what's going to happen today. During a Solar Eclipse, the moon moves in front of the sun and blocks sunlight from reaching Earth." She held up a model to help demonstrate. "When the moon is in front of the sun, its shadow will make some places get really dark. Dark enough to see stars."

"I don't like the dark," Noah whimpered, holding his stuffed Koala a little tighter. 

"You don't have to worry," she gently reassured him. "Just like my shadow only makes part of the area dark, it's the same with the moon,"

"So we won't see stars?" Savannah frowned.

"Not until it's actually nighttime. Sorry, Sav! Where we are, we will only see part of the eclipse." Olivia held up an Oreo, twisting the top off to expose the frosting. "In just a few minutes, the moon—" she held up the half without the frosting, "—and the sun—," she held up the half with the icing, "—are going to cross paths." She moved the "moon" half slowly in front of the "sun" half. "As the moon moves, it covers up more and more sunlight. With our special glasses to help protect our eyes, we will get to see the sun seem to disappear until it's just a sliver. It'll still look bright outside, but if we put on special glasses we can see that it'll really look like this."

The kids marveled in excitement and curiosity, eagerly discussing the event with their parents. 

"Me, nurse Laura, nurse Tim, and Dr. Bryce will be around to give you glasses. You must wear them anytime you look up at the sun, okay? Can you give me a big thumbs up if you can do that for me?" The kids did as requested. "Great!" 

The doctors and nurses moved through the group, passing out glasses to each group.

"Here you go." Bryce knelt near Savannah, offering her a pair of glasses. 

The young girl looked around her blanket, raising one finger at a time as she counted. She held her hand toward him. "We need four, please."

"Four?" Bryce looked around, his brow raising curiously.

"Dr. Olivia said everyone needs glasses," she nodded to agree with her previous statement. "Me, Mommy, Teddy, and my American Girl doll."

"You are absolutely right; that is four!" Bryce shook his head with a smile. "How could I have counted wrong?"

"Maybe you were distracted by Dr. Olivia," she smiled. "She's so nice and pretty."

"She really is, isn't she?" His gaze flickered to Olivia, who was showing another patient how to wear the glasses.

"You should go hold her hand. She would like that," Savannah whispered with a giggle.

"You think?" His eyes widened in consideration.

Savannah nodded excitedly. 

"I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the tip," Bryce winked as he continued on his way.

As the eclipse began and all the children were busy watching in amazement, Bryce slipped his hand into Olivia's as she watched over them. "You are incredible, absolutely incredible." 

"It's nothing." She shook her head, trying to dismiss him. 

"Liv, look at them! All of this, this is you! None of this would be possible without you."

"Anyone could have organized this."

"Maybe, but they didn't. You did!" He took her other hand in his, turning into her. "You made sure these kids got to experience something they wouldn't have without you. You made understanding the science relatable for them. This is something they're never going to forget. You gave them something special to remember."

Her face warmed under his compliments. Her gaze shifted toward the children engaged in viewing the once-in-a-lifetime experience, their parents beside them sharing in the moment. "They deserve this and so much more. They're so strong and so brave." Her eyes threatened to tear up, knowing that for some, they wouldn't have many other big days ahead of them.

"They're so lucky to have you, Liv, and so am I." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "There's no one else I'd want to share this with."

"I feel the same about you," Olivia smiled, wrapping her arms around him. After a moment, the pair turned their attention to the heavens and the celestial event growing in front of them, their hands laced together between them.

A/N: I know I'm late with this. This week has been crazy busy. It's taken all week to finish this. It is not proofread or edited! So please forgive any mistakes.

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela x oc #bryce oph #open heart #playchoices #choices #choices game #olivia hadley #bryce x olivia #brylivia #lovealexhunt #oph bryce #fan fiction #open heart fan fic #april2024 #storyofmychoices #lovealexhunt writes

[filthyjoetini]

Love is in the Air(BnB)

a/n: Here we are guys. The epilogue. The real end. It’s done. Thank you, my loves, again for reading, I honestly never anticipated that this little story of mine would get so big. And the feedback! Ugh! Love it (keep it coming eheh) As always, the biggest thank you goes to @barfightzanddiscolightz​ she’s honestly the MVP here. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. I love you very much.

warnings: mentions of sexual acts, a little bit of drama, panic attack, we are scared for someone’s life but only briefly...fluff!

wordcount: 2.9k

part 1 - Friday night - part 2 - Saturday - part 3 - Sunday - part 4 - Monday - part 5 - Tuesday - part 6 - Wednesday - part 7 - Thursday

Epilogue

As promised, you immediately let him know that you had landed when you disembarked the plane. You opted for a quick WhatsApp message since you didn’t want to call him while walking to the baggage claim area of the airport. Just as you were about to pocket your phone again, it started to ring. It was an incoming FaceTime call from Joe. You had debated to just let it ring, but you were sure this would have started a disastrous chain of events such as him calling the airport and demanding a search party be formed to come look for you. Sighing, you eventually answered the call and were greeted by his huge, infectious smile which you returned with a grin of your own and a slight blush on your cheeks. You stayed on the phone with him until you arrived at the door to your flat. Since you were too tired now and needed to lie down for a bit, you promised to call him again later to show him around your place. After a short protest from Joe, he begrudgingly let you end the call.

Over the past few months, Joe and you had been in contact daily either through WhatsApp or, as you quickly discovered, his favourite mode of digital communication — FaceTime.

At the end of each workday, like clockwork, you would let him know that you were free to talk. Whenever he had been available, he would immediately call you. Sometimes he had sent you a short message that he was in the middle of a meeting, an interview, or whatever else he had scheduled that day. You would talk for hours until one of you had fallen asleep. Usually, it had been you, and Joe would always stay on the call a bit longer to admire your sleeping face. Some evenings it would even get a little steamy and you would have non-conventional phone sex. At first you had found it to be very weird, doing it with your cameras on. The whole “What are you wearing?”- conversation had become redundant and seeing each other totally naked had left nothing to the imagination. After the second time, you had told Joe how uncomfortable you felt doing it through a video call and that you needed a better solution because “phone sex is about listening and imagining”. At first, Joe had laughed at you, but he had noticed rather quickly that you were serious about it. After some trial and error, you had both come up with a way that made you feel better about it and him still be able to see you. It had involved a blindfold on your end.

Sometimes, you had little dinner dates over the phone which consisted of you both cooking the same dish and then eating it together. On your first FaceTime-Dinner-Date, Wesley had walked in, called you both crazy, and completely took over the conversation by stealing Joe’s phone. Joe had tried to pry the phone out of his best mate’s fingers but to no avail. He had quickly given up and ate his dinner alone in the kitchen whilst Wesley chatted away, making you giggle throughout the whole conversation. Wes had even ended the call before handing the phone back to Joe, who instantly called you back again and apologised profusely. You had just kept on giggling and told him it was alright.

Other times, you had both continued watching Stranger Things together and managed to finish the whole series within three weeks of arriving back home. Sometime during the fourth season, you had changed Joe’s contact icon in your phone to a picture of Eddie, causing you to loudly giggle at the screen every time he had called you. After the third call, he had asked you what was going on, so you sent a screenshot of his contact information to him, earning you an eyeroll and groan. You still hadn’t changed it back to a normal picture of him to this day, and you didn’t plan on doing it for a long time. Eddie would stay.

As May had ended, the month of June heralded a lineup of conventions for Joe in the United States. He had almost missed his first appearance in Philadelphia because there had been an issue with his passport. He had been live-informing you through WhatsApp about what was happening and it honestly was the most nerve-wracking ordeal you passively had gone through. You were glad that he had still managed to attend even though it had only been for one out of the three days. That day, he had called you from the backstage area and showed you around, even introducing you to a couple of other guests along with one of his Stranger Things co-stars who had also been in attendance.

A week later he had attended the same convention except this time in Dallas, where he spent three wonderful but very hectic days. He hadn’t really had time to call you during the day but on his last night there, he facetimed you, sporting a happy but very exhausted face. Because of the time difference you had almost been ready to get your day started but you noticed that something had been bothering him. You had asked him if he was alright to which he just shrugged. Your elongated “Jooooooe…” had made him chuckle lightly and he eventually revealed to you that his time in the US would be cut short because he had to start filming Gladiator 2 very soon and therefore couldn’t go the convention in Denver. Joe had told you that he felt like the most horrible person on earth because he hated letting his fans down, but his main job was acting and filming was a priority. You had assured him, that his fans would understand, and he agreed, telling you he just wanted everyone to be happy.

As June had faded away, the beginning of the new month meant that Joe would be shipped off to Malta to commence filming Gladiator 2. You had mentally prepared yourself for his long workdays and sparse interactions. Your daily video calls had been reduced to quick WhatsApp voice messages or even just short text messages that read: “I hope you slept well.” – “I did, I hope you did too.” to “I miss you.” – “I miss you more.” to “Sleep well.” – “You too.”

Every now and then he had sent a picture of himself dressed in Roman Emperor attire or silly selfies with his co-stars. The latter had always brightened your days and you had decided to print them out and make a little scrapbook of his time on set. You couldn’t wait to gift it to him when you got to see him again, which you had hoped would happen sooner rather than later.

Filming had concluded in August and September already had its first foot in the door. You would have been lying if you said that those two months passed by in a flash. It had been the exact opposite. The days had seemed to never end and your work being a total pain in your arse hadn’t helped either. You had longed for the day Joe would finally call you and tell you that filming was over and that you could resume your daily FaceTime calls.

---

As the familiar ringtone pierced through the silence, you were over the moon. You instantly took the call, thrilled to see his very tired yet undeniably handsome face.

“Hey, darling.”

“Oh, finally. Hi, baby!”, you greeted him, almost over-enthusiastically. “I missed your face so much.”

He chuckled softly, scratching his jaw lightly.

“I missed yours too. Babe…listen, I’m about to board the plane. I’ll call you when I’ve landed. OK?”, he explained, and you nodded, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. He giggled softly at your expression and puckered his lips, making a kissy face at you. You returned his gesture before he ended the call.

Flights from Malta to London usually took around three and a half hours, but after you hadn’t heard from Joe in four hours, you were slowly but surely starting to freak out. You checked if the flight number he had texted you had landed — It had. You tried to message him on WhatsApp, but it only showed you one tick, which meant it didn’t go through. You tried to FaceTime him but the message that it was currently unavailable popped up on your screen. Lastly, you tried to call him on the phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

Dropping your phone onto the sofa, your breathing started to become shallow, and you felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. Something very bad happened to Joe, you were sure of it. He would never forget to call or even just text you. He knew how much you worried all the time. He knew how easily things like that triggered you.

Slowly, you sank down onto your sofa, preparing yourself for the panic attack that threatened its way through your body. Your mind became all foggy and your heart was racing so you had to lie down on your back because the lack of oxygen in your blood was causing spots in your vision. Swallowing hard, you tried to even out your breathing with the exercises your therapist had shown you. After about five minutes of slow, deep, and gentle breaths in through your nose and out of your mouth, your panic attack dwindled to silent tears steadily flowing down the sides of your face and onto the cushions of your sofa.

With trembling fingers, you picked up your abandoned phone to check if Joe had in some way gotten back to you. He hadn’t. Your shaky fingers scrolled through your contacts and found Wesley, quickly pressing the call button. He answered after the second ring.

“Hello, love. Long time no see...or hear...or...whatever.”, he greeted you in an overly chipper tone.

“Wes.”, you choked out, “Have you heard from Joe? He should be home by now. Please tell me you’ve seen him!”

“Whoa, what is going on?”, Wesley asked in a surprised tone. “Love, are you alright?”

“No! I’m not alright.”, you sobbed into your phone, getting it all wet with your salty tears. “Joe told me he would call me as soon as he has landed, and he hasn’t.”

“What? Joe’s flight has not landed yet. He’s still in the air. What are you talking about?”, Wesley responded, chuckling lightly.

“No, it has landed. I checked the flight number he gave me.”, you replied, slowly pushing yourself up in a sitting position, growing more irritated by the minute.

“Hold on. Let me check.”, Wesley said, and you heard him shuffling around. When he spoke again, he sounded a bit further away, indicating that he had set his phone on speaker mode. “Alright, I just checked again, and it says that the flight is still en route. That means, it’s still in the air.”

“I know what that means, Wesley.”, you replied in a rather snappy tone whilst wiping away the last of your tears with your free hand. Wesley couldn’t help but laugh at your sudden change of attitude.

“I think you got the wrong flight number there, love.”, he pointed out the obvious and you let out a deep sigh, allowing yourself to fall back onto the sofa.

“Yeah, I guess.”, you mumbled, running your hand down your face.

“Yeah. Also, we both know Joe would never not call you. He’d commit murder and other heinous crimes before deliberately hurting you like that.”

Wesley’s exaggeration elicited a low chuckle from you, and you let out another deep sigh. You were just about to ask him if he could give you the correct flight number when he suddenly spoke again.

“Listen, love. I gotta go. Don’t worry too much. He will call you. I miss you! Bye!”

“Wes! Wai–“

Before you could even form your sentence, Wesley had already ended the call. Groaning, you placed your phone back next to you on the sofa, inwardly scolding yourself for freaking out like this and making a fool of yourself. You just really hoped that Joe’s flight would land soon and that your most anticipated phone call of the day would finally be made to your phone.

You were moping around in your living room for a full five minutes when instead of your phone, your doorbell rang. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself up to your feet and slowly trudged over to your flat’s entrance door, cursing out whoever had decided to disturb you in your current state of distress.

Opening the door, you muttered your well-rehearsed phrase for whatever salesperson was standing in front of it.

“Hey. I’m sorry. I’m not interes–“, you stopped short when you saw who was standing there in front of you. “JOE?!”

“Hey, babe.”, he greeted you with a huge grin on his face. You stared at him in awe. He was standing there, dressed in a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and Adidas “Superstars” on his feet. His hair was in a dishevelled mess and his eyes appeared weary and tired. Behind him stood a huge suitcase and he was holding a small pot with pink peonies in his arm.

You blinked slowly before your face grew irritated. You took a step forward, lifted both of your arms and placed them on his lower arms before pushing hardly, making him lose his footing and stumble backwards a little.

“Whoa! What are you doing?”, Joe asked surprised, managing to regain his balance.

“I…”, you started, sputtering with anger. “How dare you not tell me! How dare you give me the wrong fucking flight number! Wesley knew, didn’t he?! How dare you not call me! I was worried sick, Joseph!”

Joe chuckled lightly and took a step toward you, bending down to put the potted flowers on the floor. When he stood straight again, he extended his arms and engulfed your anger-shaken form in his arms.

“Darling, if I had told you, it would’ve ruined my surprise…so… surprise!”, he explained softly, placing a tender kiss to your temple. When his lips left your skin, you leaned back a little to look up at him. That utter idiot was grinning down at you.

“You’re really here.”, you stated breathlessly, slowly wrapping your arms around his middle, and placing your head on his chest. He was here, in the flesh. You could hear his heart beating in your ear. He was here. Here in the stairwell of your residential building. Here on the doorstep of your flat. He. Was. Here. Letting out a deep breath, you hugged him closer to you.

“I am, yes. And I’m not leaving…for at least a month.”

His revelation made you slowly lean back and look up at him again. Your eyes found his dark caramel ones. His head dipped closer to yours and you slowly pushed yourself up on your toes to close the distance between the two of you. After three long months, your lips finally captured his in a tender kiss again. Both of you let out a sigh of relief and Joe deepened the kiss gradually.

Far too soon, you ran out of breath, releasing his now well kissed lips from yours.

“A month?”, you whispered against his mouth.

“At least, yes.”, he confirmed his previous statement, running his hand up and down your spine.

You nodded and suddenly, tears started to roll down your cheeks and drip off your chin onto Joe’s t-shirt.

“Noooo, baby, why are you crying?”

“I missed you so much.”, you replied, trying to suppress a hiccough. “These are happy tears.”, you clarified instantly, and Joe only nodded, placing another soft peck to your lips.

“I missed you too, so much.”, he hummed and pressed his lips from the corner of your mouth to your cheek in a series of sweet butterfly kisses.

“I’m still angry with you for not telling me that you were coming. You’re an idiot, do you know that? You’re lucky I love you.”

Joe abruptly stalled his actions. It was now his turn to lean back, his eyes searching your face in response to your seemingly casual love confession.

“You love me?”

“Duh!”

“Good, because I love you too.”, he confessed, chuckling softly before planting a big wet kiss to your lips. You rolled your eyes and giggled gently.

“Please come inside now.”, you invited him in, “I don’t want Gertrude to get a stroke from all the PDA we’re treating her to.”

You had been referring to your elderly neighbour who was well known for being the building’s resident spy and gossip spreader. Joe took a step back and bent down to retrieve the potted peonies before he made his way into your flat and spoke again.

“Can I meet Gertrude?”

“No, you can’t.”, you replied chuckling, following him inside, “Wait, babe, your suitcase!”

“Oh, right.”, he quickly turned around, grabbed its handle, and pulled it inside, “Why can’t I meet her?”

“Joe. No… if you go over there and introduce yourself, I’ll make you sleep on my sofa for the entire month.”, you threatened him idly, walking back to your flat’s entrance door just as Joe had entered your flat.

“Fine. I won’t.”, he promised you, bending down once more and placing down the potted plant in your hallway. When he stood up again, he grabbed the suitcase and walked by you - but of course, not without gently slapping your bum and giggling like a little child.

“...very thin ice, Joe.”, you chuckled as you closed the door behind you...

THE END END

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#joseph quinn #Joe Quinn #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x y/n #Joe Quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfiction #rpf #love is in the air(bnb) #my loves

[imonlyhereforthexreaders]

by four and a half lengths (part 2)

Thomas Shelby x reader

length: 2075 words/ 3.5 pages single space

summary: after an initially favorable interaction with the infamous thomas shelby, the reader is blindsided by a seemingly malicious decision only to find out that it may not have been exactly what it seemed.

a/n: hello darlings and dears, here’s part 2 of a series that i’m really enjoying at the moment. as usual dont be afraid to send your love and criticism my way i thrive with the attention. also lmk if you want to be tagged for future parts! as always, be gentle with yourselves.

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Following the conclusion of the final races owners and trainers alike gathered for an informal cocktail hour to celebrate placings. With the Catalpa Downs races being regarded so highly within the racing community it was an achievement to have even had a horse running, so even the biggest losers of the last couple days showed their faces proudly for having qualified and competed. The gathering was held in the large outdoor pavilion just beyond the stabling area in the late afternoon. After giving Damascus his evening feed and double checking he had fresh water you made your way over to the already bustling party. With all races having been won cleanly and without major upsets, spirits were understandably high. You accepted a flute of champagne before spotting just the man you were hoping to see.

  Richard Boyd was an old timer in the racing industry who, although not much of a trainer, was responsible for the importing or breeding of the majority of the most successful race horses in Great Britain. So while the horse of his that you were interested in, Saint Clement, may have placed fourth, he had run three other horses in the same race who had placed first, second and sixth so he was understandably in good spirits as he gestured wildly to another man in the midst of telling a story. When he finally turned from his conversation to spot you he smiled widely and motioned for you to join him.

“How good to see you, Miss (l/N)!” He greeted, with an enthusiastic handshake. Richard was someone who didn’t concern himself with the politics of racing so the issue of your sex didn’t concern him in the least. You had a solid racing record and were known for treating both your horses and your staff with the utmost respect which in turn made Richard a big fan of yours and a big supporter of your career. “I saw Damascus yesterday, he just looks better and better with every race” You smiled proudly at the compliment. Although Damascus had not come from Richard, his breeder was one which Richard frequently worked with. “He’s got a great mentality,” you agreed, “he runs great on the grass as well. His shoulders are so upright that he sinks a bit on sand turf but these grounds have been perfect for him” Richard laughs heartily and gives you an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got a great eye (y/n)” he compliments, running a hand through his greying hair “have you added any new blood to your barn that I should keep an eye out for?” “Actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about” you admitted, “I saw Saint Clement had a sales ribbon in his tail today and was looking to see if I could take him off your hands.” “I actually did have you in mind when this one started training, he’s got the French bloodlines on his dam’s side that I know you like” you nodded in agreement having already researched his pedigree beforehand, “Unfortunately I was approached earlier today and already sold him to another gentleman” You tried and failed to hide your surprise. It wasn’t unusual for offers to be put in at social events such as these on horses that didn’t win, however it was strange that Richard would accept the first offer without waiting to hear from others. This told you whoever had bought the horse had paid a pretty substantial sum. “Can I ask who the buyer was?” you inquired in a hushed tone, knowing that early sales like this are usually kept quiet. Richard in turn leaned in, eyeing around the room suspiciously. “Thomas Shelby” he nearly whispered “I knew he was involved in racing, he ran a horse against yours yesterday, but I wasn’t aware he was trying to expand it” you nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I didn’t really want to sell to him, I don’t want my name associated with whatever shit he gets up to in Birmingham but he made an offer I couldn’t refuse without offending him and that’s something I wanted even less” Richard revealed, taking a step back with a deep breath. “Well if he’s running horses here that at least means he’s running clean races these days” you offered weakly, knowing that while he may be able to fix races in Birmingham, Catalpa Down was a whole different animal. Richard nodded in agreement, mouth pulled into a straight line in thought. “That’s true, sorry I couldn’t make this one work out for you, lass. If I see another one that looks like your type I’ll give you a call. I plan on heading to the states at the end of August to find some to import so I’ll keep an eye out.” 

You thanked him before he got pulled into another conversation with another trainer. Finishing your champagne you make your way to the small bar area, plopping down on a stool. You tried several times to flag down the bartender only to have any man who approached the bar get priority over you. After having already been moderately pissed about losing the opportunity to buy Saint Clement after you had opted to stay an extra day at the races just to watch him run, this was just the icing on the cake.

“What are you trying to order?” asked a familiarly gravelly voice beside you. You turned to find Thomas leaned against the bar beside you. You didn’t even bother hiding your scowl, he was the last person you wanted to be seeing right now. “You bought the horse out from under me” you accused, not caring that you were bitching at someone who in theory could have you disappear off the face of the earth. You opened your mouth to say more but were interrupted, “Can I get you anything sir?” the bartender asked Thomas. If you were angry before you were now fuming. “What would you like, love?” Thomas implored with a smug smirk seeming unbothered by your noticeable rage. You clenched your teeth so hard you could feel the blood pumping in your temples. “Two old-fashioneds” you finally manage with a tight lipped smile. The bartender, sensing the tension, offers a curt nod and runs off to prepare the drinks. “Kind of you to order for me” Thomas quips, leaning further against the bar to see over your cold shoulder. “They’re both for me Mr. Shelby, you can go kick rocks” You snarl, sneaking a glance at him to find even at your rude remark that he only smirked further and raised a curious eyebrow. His indifference was pissing you off but then again so was everything about him so you decided to air your grievances. “I know this is not your wheelhouse Mr. Shelby, I’m fully aware that racehorses are not your largest concern in life but what you did was unprofessional and also quite honestly a stupid move.” He nodded along to your explanation, “And why was it a stupid move?” He inquired, tilting his head with that signature stony expression. You turned to face him fully, “You bought a horse that runs middle of the pack in his current training program. I know you can easily afford any trainer in England and they can probably get that colt to finish consistently in the top three. However, they will not try to train him the way that I will. I know what to do with this horse to make him sweep the competition but you don't, and neither will whatever trainer you hire. Saint Clement could be great but you haven’t got the faintest idea on how to get him there.” You explained, albeit a bit pridefully. The bartender returned with your drinks, placing one in front of both you and Tommy and you made a point of pulling them both in front of you, raising the first to your lips, gauging Thomas’ reaction over the rim of the glass. “That’s why I intend to hire you to train him” Thomas stated matter of factly, expression not changing as you choked a bit on your drink. “Excuse me?” you wheeze out, still coughing the old fashioned out of your lungs. “I own all of the horses that I train, what makes you think I’d suddenly change my business model to work for you” You ask in confusion. All of Thomas’ previous smugness had vanished from his face, he was 100% serious in what he was saying. Although you suppose most people wouldn’t buy a whole horse for a business venture that they were not serious about. “You’d be paid handsomely,” he begins “I own stables in Birmingham so you could bring all of your personal horses to maintain their training while also heading the training of both Saint Clement and Monaghan Boy” You couldn’t hide your surprise at his proposition, you had only met him hours ago and he likely knew nothing of your record other than your horse had beat his. “I don’t race in Birmingham” you stated, which was an honest truth “The races are historically fixed so it’s not well respected within the community. It would reflect poorly on me” You explain tentatively, knowing he was likely involved in the fixing of the races in Birmingham. “That’s no longer the case. Races have not been fixed since I came into management of that issue and also came to the conclusion that the Birmingham races didn’t even begin to tap into the money that there is to be made in this sport. I found that running larger races had a much better payout and those can’t be fixed without losing support of the industry which would cause the profits to plummet” He could see in your face that you didn’t like his reasoning “That being said,” he continued, “I understand that Birmingham now has that reputation so I would support you racing the horses anywhere you think they would be most successful. They would only be trained in Birmingham, and it would be at a private training facility of which you would have influence over management.” “I’d still have to live in Birmingham,” you pointed out “I hope I don’t offend you by saying it’s not exactly a safe of pleasant place to live” “There’s a cottage on the property where you could reside, it has enough room for yourself, your husband and any kids to-” “No husband,” you interrupted quickly, he offered only a raise of the eyebrow “no kid either” you mentally slapped yourself for blurting that out so quickly as it definitely was not the point of the conversation. “Right,” Thomas said slowly “regardless, if you were not a fan of the cottage we could also work out a stipend for renting elsewhere, there are places in the city that are safer and cleaner than others. I could also have security implemented if it was a concern of yours.” You had nearly forgotten who you were talking to. This wasn’t just any wealthy businessman trying to tap into a new market. This was a gangster who controlled organized crime and bribed policemen on the regular. “I’m worried about the reputation of your... business will impact my reputation as a professional who has made it this far in her career by only running clean races” you admitted “I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be respected in this industry, I’m not prepared to sacrifice that by getting involved in whatever you and your folks are up to in Birmingham” Something that looks like sympathy flashed across his face briefly, you imagined it wasn’t often he dangled a good opportunity in front of someone only to have them hesitate on the principle of honor. “I understand your concern, however I fully intend to only run races cleanly and any involvement in this industry has been a personal venture which is not associated with my family business” you nodded, trying your best to take comfort in his reassurance. Knocking back your old fashioned you stood up from your barstool, “I’ll consider it” you stated, pushing the second old-fashioned towards Thomas. “I thought you said I could kick rocks?” He said with a hint of a smile. “You’re still welcome to do so, but you’re turning out to not be as bad as I thought” you admit with an honest smile before heading in the direction of your lodging. You had much to think about and not much time to do so.

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taglist: @shelbyteller

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #reader insert

[drdemonprince]

my thoughts and values align with yours re: STIs and risk AND i keep coming up against resistance to the recent discussions as a high-risk person still living almost entirely isolated amidst the ongoing pandemic. and when i take a second to breathe and think, i realize these are not conflicting at all. the friction isn't that i view illness morally or that i think we should avoid all risk. it's that the majority of folks without question take precautions to reduce STI exposure but the majority of people no longer consider doing the so minorly inconvenient precautions to reduce the spread of covid, which i would argue is much riskier than STIs at this point. and it's so exhausting because then i have to, based on my risk analysis of covid, take way more precautions because no one else is looking out for me. community care and harm reduction are my biggest driving values and i grieve how absent they are around me. i just wanted to share in case others are feeling similarly while reading this discussion. you rock and i so hope i get to engage in a beautiful public kinky scene some day.

Hey, thanks so much for sharing and walking us through your thought process.

What I might add is that individual people might not seemingly put much effort into COVID mitigation anymore because they have next to zero institutional support in doing so. Many of my disabled friends have to work in areas with a high risk of COVID exposure: waiting tables, stocking grocery store shelves, working as home health aids or phlebotomists, or teaching in schools. Some of them are high risk themselves, but because they have no choice but to work in areas where their life is put on the line, they have very high stress decompression needs and feel already resigned to their disposability in society, and so they do also go out to bars with their friends or hold parties or visit clubs.

I also know people who are able to socially distance quite strictly, test regularly, are vaccinated and boosted, but who intentionally make plans to visit cruising spaces or gay orgies very rarely so that they can remain relatively safe COVID wise but also not kill themselves out of despair (I'm not being hyperbolic here, that's exactly what some people have told me are the competing risks they face when they balance COVID exposure against isolation. And I know that many high risk populations face these same severe negative mental health outcomes too -- in fact, I know high risk people who choose to go out in public at times in order to remain sane, but who have to sit with the fact that it could be a mortal danger to do so).

I also think about how the queer community came together in the fight against AIDS to make condoms available, to educate one another about safer sex practices or harm reductionist practices, to engage in sex together in risk mitigating ways (such as gloved fisting) and how they pushed for the government to make drug treatment available to them. I see a lot of queer and disabled advocacy groups doing similar work today to spread accurate data on COVID as best they can, promote masking, organize solely outdoor events, encourage vaccination, and remind people of the stakes.

And I see such a massive gap between the ways in which risk mitigation was made possible through such community efforts, and how catastrophically the government fails us regarding COVID. We are not given free tests anymore. Vaccines aren't free anymore either. It is no longer a state of emergency. Many of us have been forced back into in-person work at our jobs. Our unemployment benefits have been cut. Student loan payments are roaring back into action. Disability benefits and medicare's expansion is rolling back. We no longer have accurate testing and tracing data. Masks are no longer required.

If a person wants to behave responsibly regarding COVID, how are they even supposed to? They can wear a mask in public and not experience in-person community to the extend they might like or need. But they can't actually prevent themselves from getting or spreading the virus because they've been forced back to work. I understand many people do not even take these small steps to reduce harm and that it is dismaying and outrageous. And I think you have ever right to feel outraged by it. But I also think individual behavior flows from social support and institutional pressure, and nearly all of that is heading in the wrong direction right now.

And I think about how collective the push for better government interventions regarding AIDS was, and how much the push regarding COVID instead is focused on targeting individual people for the actions they've made within a very unsupportive context. It was not beneficial to view individuals who had bareback sex or shot heroin as the origin of HIV, and I don't think it's helpful to understand COVID as a phenomenon of individuals failing to mask now.

Granted, it took HIV activism YEARS to get to the point of ACT UP. And we're not so many years deep into COVID yet comparatively. Personally when I look at all these facts in context I see a population that largely did take COVID seriously for a time, but who, due to a mix of institutional failure, mass misinformation, risk resignation, and despair, no longer do so in their behavior.

I don't believe in moralizing emotions and I think from your perspective you're affected by all these factors PLUS the massive risk of developing Long Covid symptoms or worse. And I know you know and live all this shit already so forgive me for preaching to the choir. But I do want to gently push back against the idea that most people don't care about COVID the way they care about STI's. I believe our discourse on both has been horrifically poisoned by individualism, capitalism, and institutional failure.

Some articles I have written on the subject:

[snelbz]

‘Til Death Do Us Part {Chapter Sixteen}

Elorcan. Rockstar Modern AU.

@snelbzx @theladyofdeath collab

‘Til Death Do Us Part Masterlist

This chapter is 18+.

Lorcan —

It’s been about a week since the party from hell and since I caught Elide watching me in the shower. I was worried things would get weird between us, either from the aforementioned party or from the fact that I may have caught her watching me, but she caught me jacking off.

Which is ridiculous, because before I got married, I hadn’t regularly masturbated since high school. It had never been a problem that needed to be taken care of, but now it’s a daily thing. Sometimes more, considering how much dry humping Elide I do on the couch. Those days and the days following are usually twice. I’m surprised my fucking hand isn’t raw.

I haven’t actively tried to get her to have sex with me in a while. Sure, we make out pretty often, but I figure I’m liable to get in her good graces by stopping before she asks me to, rather than pushing it every time.

Something that got brought up the night of the party hasn’t sat well with me since we talked about it. My wife and I never got to have a first date. There’s a lot of firsts we didn’t get. Some we never will, some we’ll still share at some point. But a first date is something I want us to remedy as soon as possible.

Like tonight for instance.

I called Aelin the night before and asked for her help, which she was more than happy to give. She had come by an hour before and picked Elide up for a spa day, so I now have about four hours or so to prep a night that she won’t forget.

I’m in a little boutique downtown that looks like a place I shouldn’t be allowed into. The workers don’t seem to mind. They’re actually being helpful, although I don’t know if it’s because I’m rich or because I’m famous. Maybe it’s both. Either way, I don’t give a damn because it’s all for Elide. 

So far, the pretty, young saleswoman has helped me choose a necklace and earrings set along with a pair of shoes that I know are Elide’s size, thanks to Aelin. It’s all silver, and I’m not sure what dress I should choose.

I can honestly say I’ve never gone dress shopping before and I want Elide to like it.

It’s my first gift to her, tonight. I want it to be perfect.

Gods, I sound like a fucking hallmark movie, but I can’t stop.

I try to remain shameless as I sort through a rack of dresses but I must seem frustrated because the saleswoman comes up to me with a smile.

“What is your wife like?” She asks. “Maybe I can help.”

“Short,” I say, thinking of how perfect she is. “Black hair, with a body you wouldn’t believe. The biggest ti—” I stop myself, clearing my throat. Elide would be proud. “She’s…gifted in the cleavage area.”

The young saleswoman chuckles. “I see. And does she usually dress pretty conservatively or does she like to show off those gifts?”

I think about it for a second. “Somewhere in the middle, I guess.”

She nods, politely. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring out a few options?”

I nod and take a seat in a white chair that I’m scared I’ll get dirty, even though I’m perfectly clean. 

I wait about five minutes and check my phone. All I have is a picture of Elide in her fluffy spa robe with a text that reads This is the softest thing I’ve ever had on my body. I’m never taking it off.

I chuckle and text back, shit you’re cute before stuffing my phone back into my pocket and looking up to find the saleswoman reappearing with two different dresses.

One is black. It’s form fitting. It’s nice. But my eyes go to the red one and I don’t even have to think about it before I’m at the counter and they’re ringing everything up. Fourteen hundred dollars later and I’m out the door.

I don’t remember the last time I got a haircut, but since she’s going to be looking her best, so should I. Rowan’s hair was longer than mine about a year ago, but he chopped it off for some charity thing Aelin talked him into. They ended up raising over two hundred thousand dollars for kids in foster care, so I guess it was worth it, but I’m not ready to cut my hair off, good cause or no. I stop in to see his barber for a trim and then after a couple more errands, I’m on the way home.

When I get home, I put the wine I got for Elide in the fridge and the flowers in a vase. She’ll be home in less than an hour, so I take a shower, making sure to take my time and make everything…presentable.

Just because I’m not expecting to get any tonight doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be prepared.

My shower takes longer than I expected, especially since I tried to make sure my hair didn’t look like shit, and I’m standing in the bathroom with nothing but a pair of black slacks on when I hear the front door open.

Not exactly how I planned to greet her, but it works.

“Lor?”

Her voice carries up the stairs and I can’t help but smile at the shortened version of my name she’s taken to using. People have called me that my entire life, Rowan more than anyone, but from her it almost seems more intimate. I like it. It means she’s getting more comfortable with me, just like I am with her.

“Bedroom,” I call, slipping one arm into a shirt sleeve. I pull it on, but don’t have it buttoned by the time I hear Elide enter our room. There’s a gasp and I can’t help the self satisfied smirk as I know she’s seen her gifts I laid out on the bed. I leave the bathroom, fully intending to make some joke about women taking too long at the spa, but then I see her.

She looks absolutely gorgeous. Seductive. Sinful. I don’t have the words to describe how amazing she looks, and I write songs for a living. I won’t pretend to know a single thing about makeup, but her eyes are dark and sexy, with just a hint of sparkle. Her lips are the color of red wine and I want to get drunk off her kiss. I was right, she’d been looking at her gifts, but when she noticed my attention, she turned to me and I swear that when she blushes and looks down, her eyelashes are so long that they actually brush her cheeks.

I murmur, “Holy shit,” and she tucks a strand of her curled, dark hair behind her ear. Approaching her, I cup her cheeks. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Her cheeks go even more red. So does her chest which, of course, is right where my eyes go.

She catches me, raising a dark eyebrow. I have no defense, so I smile and lean down, pausing just before my lips are in hers. “Am I allowed to kiss you or will it mess up your lipstick?”

“It’s supposed to be kissproof,” she breathes as one of her hands wraps around my wrist, “if you’d like to test it out.”

Hell yeah, I do.

I kiss her softly, but it’s not a quick kiss. I kiss Elide differently than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. I take my time and I make it mean something. When I pull back, her lipstick is perfect, just like the rest of her.

“So,” she says, seeming to catch her breath, “are you going to tell me what all of this is about?”

She gestures to herself then the bed, a sweet smile on her painted lips.

“I thought it was about time I take you out on our first date,” I say, bringing the back of her hand to my mouth. “Considering you deserve the best, I wanted you to feel a little pampered before I take you out for a night on the town.” I nod towards the bed. “Found you a few things I thought you might like this morning.” 

She turns to the bed and looks a little closer at the outfit I had chosen for her. When she doesn’t say anything, I get worried.

“Don’t feel pressured,” I say, hurriedly. “If you want to wear something else, that’s okay, too.” Another second passes and I suddenly feel stupid. “If you don’t like it, it’s really fine—”

“I love it,” she breathes, and when she turns to me her eyes are shining, blurred. I frown and reach out to her. “But you didn’t have to do this. This stuff is so beautiful, but it looks so expensive.”

I lace our fingers together. “It wasn’t that bad. And I wanted to.”

She laughs quietly as she shakes her head. “The dress alone probably costs more than I paid for rent for a month—”

“Hey,” I murmur, and pull her closer to me. She comes willingly. “Don’t worry about the money. It’s a gift.”

I see that stubborn glint in her eye. “But it’s too much—”

“I’m not backing down on this,” I interrupt. “It can sit in your damn closet for all I care, I’m not taking it back. But, selfishly, I do wanna see you in that dress.”

Her eyes soften as she glances back at the outfit before turning back to me. A hand wanders up to my cheek then she’s up on her toes, her mouth finding mine. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, and kiss her again.

“But no more expensive gifts,” she says, eyes narrowed. She’s smiling. I love it.

“Deal,” I laugh, neglecting to tell her that the price of our dinner is going to blow her mind.

Or that the rest of the night is just a drop in the bucket that is my bank account. She’s never actually asked how much my net worth is and I know she could just Google it if she wanted, but I like that she really doesn’t seem to give a shit that I have money.

A pretty large percentage of groupies were also gold-diggers, so it became pretty easy to pick them out, and Elide couldn’t be farther from the type.

We finish getting ready, which only takes about five minutes since all Elide needs to do is change clothes and I finish getting dressed.

I make it downstairs before her, and as I get the full effect of her in that dress, I’m frozen in place. It’s as perfect as I thought it would be, hugging her curves in all the right places, without showing too much off.

How the hell did I get so lucky?

How did I ever think I didn’t want her?

I was an idiot when I said she wasn’t my type. My type is whatever she is and I don’t ever want anything else.

She clears her throat as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, a clutch in her hands. “What do you think?”

I think I want to rip that dress off of you and bend you over the couch.

I don’t think she’d hate that response, not with how she’s been looking at me lately, but I put a lot of thought into this night, and ending it here would be worth it, but disappointing. So instead, I take her hand and brush my lips along her fingers. “You look amazing.”

That adorable blush blooms in her cheeks again and I tug her into the kitchen.

“I would’ve given you these when I picked you up, but we live together,” I say, gesturing to the vibrant bouquet of flowers. Aelin said she wasn’t sure if Elide had a favorite flower, so I told the florist she had free reign to create the most beautiful arrangement possible.

She looks at them for a minute with a small smile before turning to me. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” I say in all honesty.

I’m thinking that blush will be appearing for a majority of our date. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

We take the camaro to the restaurant. I refuse to tell her where we’re going even though she keeps asking. I like surprising her. 

We pull up to The Stags Steakhouse and her mouth drops open. I put the car in park to get out and let the valet park it but Elide doesn’t move.

“We’re eating here?” She asks, eyes wide. “Lor—”

I hold up a hand. “It’s not too much and it’s delicious.”

I feel her relax as she nods and reaches for her door handle. 

“No, no,” I say quickly. She freezes and I get out and quickly round the car to open her door. One of her brows is raised as if she doesn’t quite believe that I can be a gentleman. I can be a fucking gentleman. After handing my keys to the attendant, I hold out my hand and she takes it. As they pull my car away, we walk inside. 

The place is pristine. It’s one of the highest rated restaurants in Terrasen and the most prestigious in Orynth. I’ve only been here once, when we were celebrating our last album going platinum, but I don’t remember much from that night. I was drunk as hell. Now, I’m completely sober and taking in every moment with my smoking hot wife on my arm. 

I give the host my name and we’re seated at a table under a giant crystal chandelier. 

“Get whatever you want,” I say, and order a bottle of wine for our table. 

She opens the menu, looks through a few seconds, and pauses. After turning the page, her eyes flick to mine. “There’s no prices.”

“No, there aren’t,” I say, drinking from my glass of iced water. “But I promise, you’ll like whatever you choose.”

She’s leaning across the table so I meet her halfway. “This is one of those places where a steak costs forty bucks, isn’t it?”

Her conspiratorial whisper makes me laugh. “Try sixty or more, but yeah, it is.”

Those dark eyes nearly big out of her head. “Lorcan, that’s insane.”

“No,” I say, reaching across the table to take her hand. “For one night, can I please convince you to stop worrying about money?”

She shakes her head. “That’s a lot easier said than done.”

“I know, but please.” I squeeze her fingers. “For one night.”

She sighs, her eyes softening. “Okay. I’ll try.”

She does try but not very hard. At first, she orders a cup of soup and a side salad, but unfortunately for her I order two steaks with two sides each then claim I’m only hungry for one and she should eat the other.

She does.

I can tell she loves it, can tell that she’s practically in heaven with every bite, but when she’s done she simply says, “That was pretty good.”

I laugh. I laugh a lot at the things that she says. Half the time she’s not even trying to be funny, she’s just so damn adorable that I can’t help it.

Once we’re done with our meals, I refill her wine glass with the little bit that’s left in the bottle. She’s finally comfortable, finally relaxed. I don’t know if it’s because of the wine or because of my calming presence, but I hope it’s the latter, although I assume it’s more of the former.

I can’t stop looking at her.

She’s fucking gorgeous. 

She must be able to tell my thoughts because that scarlet tint across her cheeks and chest returns.

“I hope that you’re having a good time,” I say, quietly, her hand in mine once again. I brush my thumb over the back of her hand and her fingers tighten around mine.

“I am,” she promises. “Tonight…” she shakes her head. “I’ve never felt so cherished.”

I smile. I like that word. Cherished. That’s how I want to make her feel, always. Cherished. Wanted. Taken care of.

“Good,” I say, and she pulls her hand back to reach for another sip of wine. Her eyes never leave mine. In the process, she knocks over her glass and spills the red liquid onto her lap, creating a small, dark blotch on the skirt of her dress. She gasps, nearly jumping out of her chair. 

“It’s alright.” I laugh, but she won’t look at me. I can tell she’s embarrassed but no one around us has even noticed. I take my napkin and scoot my chair around the table, pressing it to her thigh, absorbing the liquid. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

She says nothing and when I look up, she’s frowning. My smile falters and she takes the napkin out of my hand, tossing it on the table.

“El, it’s just wine,” I whisper, and she gives me a fake smile and nods.

She’s quiet for the next few minutes as I pay and we wait for the valet. It isn’t until we’re driving home, only a few miles away from the house, that she finally says anything again. She reaches across the space between us and takes my hand. “I really did have a good time, Lor. That place was so beautiful and absolutely delicious. Thank you for taking me there.”

I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry I overreacted at the end,” she says, quietly.

I look over at her, forgetting that I’m the one driving. “You didn’t overreact.”

“Yes, I did,” she says, and when she blushes this time, I feel it’s out of embarrassment, not because I’m charming. “You were right, it’s just a spill. I can get it out of the dress.” I don’t think she’s done talking so I sit quietly, eyes returning to the road while she sorts out her thoughts. “I’ve never worn anything this nice. I feel stupid for staining it the first time I wear it. You spent so much money on it and it’s so beautiful…and I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin it, baby.” I squeeze her fingers and my thumb traces her wedding band. “You just said you can get it out. And even if you couldn’t, it’s okay. Accidents happen.”

She nods, but I can tell it’s still bothering her. The rest of the ride is quiet. After I pull the car into the garage, I give her a look. It takes a second, but then she blinks and scoffs. “Fine. Come on.”

I’m out of the car a heartbeat later and opening her door for her. I grin as she takes my outstretched hand. She isn’t expecting the sharp tug as she stands and she falls into my arms as soon as she’s on her feet. Her soft laugh does things to my stomach. Those aren’t…butterflies, right?

“What are you—?”

Her words cut off as my lips crash into hers. It doesn’t take much before she’s relaxing in my hold, the hand not holding her clutch reaching up to clasp the back of my neck. I wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her like she’s the air I need to breathe.

If I took her to bed right now, what would she do? Would she let me or would I be doing more harm than good?

I pull away, cursing myself as I take in her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and swollen lips. I wonder what those lips would like around my cock?

Godsdamnit, Lorcan, get your shit together.

We head in and I pour her a glass of wine.

“More wine?” She asks, taking a sip. “You aren’t trying to get me drunk, are you?”

“It’s crossed my mind, but no.” I wink at her and make myself a drink, too. When I turn around, she’s inspecting the stain on the front of her dress. That adorable frown is back, as is the crease between her eyebrows. “What is it, baby?”

“I need to get this stain out as quickly as I can.” Grabbing her clutch, she heads for the stairs, but turns back and swipes her wine. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch her go and then quickly pull my phone out and Google how to get rid of a red wine stain.

Boiling water and table salt. Huh.

The bathroom door is closed when I enter the bedroom and I knock on the door. “Elide?”

“Just a second!”

I know she isn’t, but suddenly I have the image of a role reversal from the night she watched me in the shower. She’s just changing, maybe trying to rinse the wine out in the sink, but now I can’t stop thinking about her touching herself.

I wonder if she touches herself. I’m sure she does, everyone does, but how often? And what does she think about? Does she think about me?

I sure as fuck think about her.

She opens the door, gasping softly when she finds me standing there, both hands braced on the door frame. “Gods, Lorcan, you scared me.”

The dress is in her hands and she’s wearing a white t-shirt and some little black shorts.

Taking it from her, I press a kiss to her lips. “Why don’t you take a bubble bath and relax, baby?”

“But my dress—”

“I can handle it,” I promise. “Believe me, not the first spill that’s happened and won’t be the last one either. Not with Fenrys around.”

She gnaws on her lip and she’s gotta stop doing that cause now I want to sink my teeth into it. “I do have a bath bomb formula I’ve been wanting to test out.”

“Perfect.” I spin her and smack her ass. “Now go relax.”

She yelps then laughs as I turn around to leave and she shuts the bathroom door. The sound of her laughter follows me as I make my way back to the kitchen.

After tossing the dress on the counter, I’m boiling water. As it boils, I grab the salt shaker and pour it generously over the stain. I let it sit, as Google told me to, and when the water is at a boil I start to brush it off. After dipping a rag into the scalding water, I remove the rest of the salt with it and take a step back to admire my work.

It’s not as bad…but the stain is still there.

Fuck.

Back to Google. 

There are a million ways, apparently, to get wine stains out of fabric. A popular one is baking soda and dish soap, but I don’t think we have baking soda so I take on the one that uses club soda.

I have club soda.

I go to the bar and grab a full bottle before going back to the kitchen and stretching the dress out over the sink before pouring the liquid onto the stain. After about five minutes of doing that, scrubbing, and swearing, I’m shocked.

I hold the dress up into the light.

No stain.

At least, not one that can be seen in the soaking wet fabric. I pray to the fucking gods that there’s no stain to be seen when it’s dried, either, but for now I’m excited to ease some of Elain’s anxiety.

I hurry back upstairs and knock on the bathroom door.

“Yes?” she asks, and water sloshes around. “I got it out,” I say through the door. “Wanna see?”

She laughs. “I’m in the bath, per your request.”

“Bubbles cover everything,” I say, impatiently. “Can I come in?”

She doesn’t reply for a second and I’m thinking she’ll say no, but then the opposite comes. “Yeah.”

For a moment, I think I heard wrong but then I twist the knob and she doesn’t protest as I push the door open. She’s sitting in a tub filled with bubbles. The bubbles covering her from the shoulders down and her dark hair now piled high on the top of her head in a bun.

She looks cute as shit.

I realize I’m staring when her lips twist into a smile and one of her dark brows raise. “My dress?”

Blinking, I shake my head before holding up her dress and bringing it closer. “See? No stain. You can tell me how amazing I am whenever you’re ready.” 

She rolls her eyes, but reaches out to brush a couple fingers over the fabric. They come away clean. “Look at you. So amazing.”

Sarcasm drips from her tone and damn it, it shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. And there she is, sitting in the tub, completely naked.

I assume she is, at least. I highly doubt she’s wearing a strapless swimsuit in there, but I could be wrong.

I fucking hope not.

The humidity in the room has made her makeup smudge around her eyes a little and somehow, she’s even sexier than she was half an hour ago. I didn’t think that was possible.

I toss the dress behind me on the counter, not giving a shit about the former stain, wet spot, or the fact that it was over seven hundred dollars and it’s a wadded up mess, and squat down next to her in the tub. “Look at me? Look at you.”

She does this adorable thing where she scrunches her nose up. “I’m a sweaty mess, and I can’t believe you just threw the dress. You just got the stain out.”

“You’re hot as hell.” My eyes flick down to the water despite knowing they shouldn’t. No luck though, all I can see is a layer of thick, foamy bubbles, with the occasional glimpse of skin. The universe is trying to keep me from seeing my wife naked and I don’t appreciate it. “And it’ll be fine. I fixed it once, I’ll fix it twice.”

I look back up at her and she has an eyebrow raised again. I grin, unashamed. “Can you blame me?”

Elide rolls her eyes, showing that fire again, and I swear, my cock kicks from inside my pants. Resting my forearm against the tub, I dip my fingers into the bubbles and blow them at her. She bats them away, but I catch her wet hand before she can submerge it back under the bubbles. I kiss her fingertips and pause. I lick my lips. “You taste delicious.” Come to think of it, the room smells…sweet. “What is that?”

“It’s the bath bomb I dropped in with the bubbles.” She sniffs delicately at her wrist. “Is it too strong? It’s a mix of a few essential oils. It’s supposed to smell like birthday cake. I haven’t perfected the mix yet—”

I crash my mouth against hers, partially to shut her up, but also because I’ve restrained myself as long as I can. I love when she talks about her business, it’s amazing that she makes her own products and has a following big enough to support herself. It’s one of my favorite things about her, she’s got a kick ass work ethic.

But I could not give a single fuck about it right now.

Because she’s naked in the bathtub and she smells like a cake and I want to devour her.

I pull back and rest my forehead against hers, and she’s breathing just as heavily as I am. Her eyes are just as lust-filled as I’m sure mine are, and it takes everything in me not to climb into the tub, clothes and all. She must be reading my mind because her hands come out of the tub and she starts to unbutton my shirt in the slowest, most agonizing way. I glance between us, trying to get a glimpse of those beautiful breasts that I can’t wait to see, but I see nothing except for my shirt opening. Her sudsy hands brace themselves against my chest, and I take it upon myself to unbutton the rest of my shirt before slipping it off. Her hands explore my chest, my shoulders, and I don’t dare move. She touches me gently, with just her fingertips, and it sets me on fire. Gods, I want her. I want her so fucking bad, more than I have ever wanted anything or anyone. 

I’m so fucking hard that I feel like my dick’s about to break in half.

This time, she kisses me. My tongue searches for hers and when I find it, I can’t get enough of the taste. One of my hands slides into her hair and the other grabs onto the edge of the tub, keeping me grounded, keeping me from losing all control. I’m sure my knuckles are white beneath the ink covering them.

Elide gasps as I take her bottom lip between my teeth and tug, and then her soapy hands are cradling my face. She turns just a little so that she’s better facing me, but I still don’t see a thing.

But that’s okay, I realize, because tonight it’s about Elide.

I spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect for her, making sure she was spoiled, making sure she was treated like a queen, right down to scrubbing a stain out of a fucking dress. I won’t stop now.

Gods, she looked so fucking good in that dress.

I groan into her mouth and I swear she shudders, but I break the kiss again. She moves to reconnect it but I move back, just out of her reach. Her brows furrow, her eyes wide and crazed and full of lust. 

“What?” she breathes.

My hand falls from her hair as I say, “I wanna touch you.”

I expect her to say no, to freeze up, possibly even yell at me. I’m willing to push for it tonight, because I want her so bad, I’ll do whatever I can to make her feel good. I wait for her to fight me, even for her to give me more of her snark I live for.

So when she swallows roughly and nods, breathing out a soft, “Okay,” I don’t believe what I’m hearing.

I ask, a little more directly, “I can touch you?”

To punctuate my words, I dip my fingers in the water, letting them swirl a hole into the surrounding bubbles. A teasing glimpse of her legs peeks through.

Nodding, she says, “Yes. Please.”

Her eyes are bright with anticipation. I hope I don’t disappoint.

I claim her mouth again, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other slipping beneath the water. Despite the bubbles, I easily find her legs, dragging my hand up the inside of her thigh until my fingers gently brush over her sex.

Elide gasps against my lips the second I touch her and I brush my thumb along her cheekbone, trying to soothe her. “Breathe for me, baby.”

“I am breathing,” she snaps back, sass dripping from her words and it’s the just perfect thing for her to say in this exact moment.

I part her folds with a finger, gliding it from the very base of her slit, all the way up to her throbbing clit.

I pull back, just a hair. “You’re already soaked.”

Her blush darkens and she takes in a shuddering breath as I circle her clit with my finger. “Let’s just say I was very glad you offered me the same courtesy of knocking that I did not offer you.”

I stare at her, slowing my finger to a maddening pace. “You were touching yourself?”

I almost miss her quick nod, but don’t and I fight the urge to groan softly. “Were you thinking of me?”

It’s egotistical to assume she was, but I really fucking hope she was.

Her hips jerk as my finger leaves her clit and teases her entrance. Elide breathes, “I think about you all the time.”

My heart does funny things in my chest at that, and it may be just about the best thing anyone has ever said to me. 

But I need her to clarify. It’s stupid, and she’d likely call it territorial bullshit, but I need to know if my wife was getting off to the thought of me or another man.

I don’t move my fingers again until her eyes are focused on me. Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Were you thinking about me when you were touching yourself, Elide?”

There’s no hesitation this time. “Yes.”

I kiss her again, hot and hard. Her mouth opens to mine and I delve my tongue inside, tasting the heat of her breath and catching the sweet moan she lets out when I push my finger into her warmth. Her thighs part and her hand comes up out of the water to caress my cheek as I let my hand own her, my thumb rubbing her pulsing clit while I slip my fingers in and out of her. My cock throbs like mad in my slacks, begging to get into her. Holy fuck, is she tight. Two years of no sex is very, very good.

Her thighs squeeze my hand and she grasps the side of my neck, her breath panting against my mouth, and I know she's there already. I really want to drag this out, tease her and make her crazy, but that seems cruel right now when she's writhing her hot little core all over my hand. I like horny Elide.

As she moans and rides my hand, I genuinely consider pulling her out of the tub and taking her right here on the bathroom floor, but I said this night was about her, and I meant it. No matter how badly I want to shove my dick into her tight, wet pussy and see if she screams my name.

Suddenly, her walls clench and drench around my swirling fingers up inside her, while the rest of her body arches up, pressing against me, her muscles tightening and quivering. I swallow the cry of pleasure as her orgasm sweeps through her, kissing her slowly as she comes back down.

I have so many plans for her now that the doors have been opened, so to speak.

“Who’s my girl?” I whisper against her ear, moving my hand up to rest atop her stomach.

“Me,” she answers, breathlessly. Her eyes are shut, her chest is heaving, and one of her hands is still white knuckling the edge of the tub.

“That’s right.”

My girl. The last thing I thought I would ever want, and now, all I’ll ever need.

#til death do us part #TDDUP #elorcan tddup #elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lord lorcan lochan #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #sarah j maas #sjm fanfic #snelbz x theladyofdeath collab #snacmc collab

[adorethedistance]

I Can’t Remember - Jamie Drysdale x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, party.

Words: 1560

Summary: Attending a complete stranger’s party can be super cool if he’s rich and he has a cute face.

A/n: Yes, Hello it’s me again. Remember when I teased this fic and then abandoned it completely? Well, I don’t. it’s 4 am. let me live. anyway, inspired by 5sos’s “I cant remember” I wanted to write a piece in a party setting and the Z and D meet and greet coming up has me back in my Jamie feels.

“Hey, I just wanted to say you’re really pretty, and I was wondering what’s your name?” The dark-haired stranger asks you in a tone that clearly exposes the nervousness hiding behind his fake confidence. He’s puffing his chest like a little Kingfisher which might have been convincing, but his face gives him away as he shyly peers up at you from behind thick lashes. He’s accompanied by another boy of similar height and lighter hair with a know-it-all’s smirk who is lurking a few feet behind his friend. Their presence is off-putting for you and your friend Millie who decided to accompany you to the mall for dinner. You knew the Spectrum Center was full of characters, you just didn’t think any of them would hit on me.

“...You came over here to ask me my name?”

“Well, I was hoping I could maybe get your number, too? We’re having a party tonight if you want to come!” He adds with anxious enthusiasm.

“Uh, well, I’m Y/n. This is my friend Millie.” When you turn to look at her for her introduction, you notice she’s absolutely lost in shy boy’s shadow of a friend. “I’m not really sure if-”

“We’ll be there!” Millie jumps in before you can back out of their invite. You shoot her a look to ask if she’s sure we should attend the party at the residence of two men you’d met two seconds ago. “What’s the address?” She asks the friend, hopeful for an interaction.

“2100 East Katella Avenue, unit 3. 8 pm.” He says with a sense of arrogance that you’re immediately turned off of. You don’t dwell on the feeling too long as the dark-haired one who approached you both first hands me his phone. It’s open on an empty contact field and you reluctantly put your number in. If this gets you abducted, you’ll kill Millie yourself.

“Alright, we’ll see you later then.”

___________________________

“Yoooo! Jamie where the hell have you been? Party started, like, an hour ago,” Sonny cheers as Trevor and Jamie enter their shared flat.

“Yeah, well, the movie ran later than expected,” Jamie answers flatly whilst scanning the room. He isn’t looking directly at Sonny, but rather searching for the pretty girl from the mall. “Hey, did you see a girl about this tall,” he gestures with his hand, estimating from memory how tall you are based on his own height, “Grey shirt, really pretty eyes?”

Trevor scoffs a laugh at his best friend’s obsessiveness before ditching the younger two to find a drink for himself.

“Maybe? I don’t know, bro. I’ve been back here playing rage cage and I can’t see past the drinks area. Have you checked the couches?” Jamie nods a dismissive acknowledgment before practically tearing through the crowd to find the beautiful girl from before. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, sliding it open to his texts, searching for your name. Y/n. He still remembers how mesmerizing you were to look at with your kind smile and cool outfit. Pushing past the scattered members of the non-existent dance floor, Jamie is desperate for any sign of your presence. Just as he breaks through the crowd, he sees you seated in the far corner of the biggest couch, as far away from people as you could manage without seeming weird. Your friend, however, was lost in her own world, creating her own dancefloor as she moved around in front of you, effortlessly on beat to Kiss Me More.

“Whoever is on AUX is on fire,” she exclaims, making you laugh from your seated position. Having arrived at the party pretty early and no clue when ‘Jamie’ was going to arrive, you’d been nursing a few white claws for the better half of the hour. Therefore, everything Millie was doing was ten times funnier than it normally would be.

Shaking your head to dismiss your best friend’s energy, you scan the room again for the millionth time before laying eyes on Jamie. In a panic, you only hold contact for a second before continuing your scan of the room. Jamie’s heart jumps in his chest when you lock eyes, but the feeling is quickly replaced by something unreadable when you glance over him like he wasn’t even there. Surely, you had to have seen him… right? Shifting over on the couch, you retrieve your phone to pretend to look busy, hoping to alleviate the awkwardness. Should you have said hi? He did invite you after all. Rather than falling into a spiral of social anxiety, you open your texts and begin scrolling through a group chat to appear busier than normal. Maybe you can make it seem like you didn’t actually see him… even though you clearly did. Debating the facade for a moment more, you finally decide to look back up to where Jamie was standing but he’s disappeared without a trace before you can get another glimpse of him. Shit. He definitely saw you blow him off. Great. Now, he’ll definitely want to talk to you more! Way to go, Y/n.

What you didn’t know was Jamie saw you looking bored and, out of fear of being a bad host, he went to grab a drink for you and Millie.

“Hey, did you find her?” Trevor asks once his shyer friend appears beside him.

“Yeah. She didn’t seem that interested to see me.”

“Maybe she didn’t see you.”

“We made eye contact.”

“So? I make eye contact with people all the time and don’t notice them unless they say something.”

“Well, that’s different,” Jamie explains pointedly, “You’re you.” Trevor rolls his eyes but carries on anyway. From endless games and practices of playing alongside one another, Trevor and Jamie had begun to read each other’s minds. Without so much as a word, he hands Jamie two lemonade trulys, figuring he was grabbing things for you and Millie. Jamie nods a silent thanks and heads back your way to actually talk to you.

When he sees you again, his heart skips a beat and his stomach burns a little hotter at the sight of you. With Millie dancing in front of you, he didn’t even notice the complete outfit change you’d done between now and the earlier mall encounter. You had swapped out your grey band shirt and shorts for a sexy satin top and fishnet tights under ripped black jeans. He blinks a few times, willing his subconscious to not think dirty thoughts about you and how you’d look underneath the already revealing clothing.

“Hey.”

“Hey!” You smile as Jamie approaches you, flinging himself down on the couch, almost too close to you.

“Damn,” he whispers to himself, “You look amazing,” he says to you.

“Thank you! I figured I couldn’t go to a party in such casual attire so I opted for an outfit change.”

“It looks great. I mean, I thought you looked good even before you changed but this is… really something,” he says scanning your outfit. You clock his eyes lingering on the rips that lay on your upper thighs, and you don’t miss the way his cheeks start to flush. When his nervous eyes meet yours, he immediately looks away but you’re not so easily intimidated. Instead, your smile grows bigger and you breathe a small laugh at how bright his face is growing in the LED strobe lights. Figuring he could use a break from the mayhem of the party, you decide to be bold and take his hand, leading him to the stairway that’s littered with bodies and empty cans.

“Why don’t you show me to your room?” you flirt, playfully letting the liquid courage take control. Jamie doesn’t respond verbally, he just flashes a sheepish smile and leads you up the stairs. He’s eager but gentle, as if afraid to lose your precious touch in the crowds of people.

You’re so absorbed in the crisp, musky scent of his cologne that you almost miss the stares of interest and/or disdain from the partygoers lingering on the staircase. At the top, Jamie pulls you into a dark room and closes the door behind you so the two of you are sealed off from the light. The moment is fleeting as he flicks on the soft and warm overhead light gleaming off of his seemingly damp forehead. Once you’re able to break your stare from how pretty he is in the dim lighting, you do a quick sweep to see his room is unexpectedly dirty. Random articles of clothing, empty drink bottles, tape of any and all varieties.

“You know, you didn’t strike me as a particularly messy guy, but now that I’m seeing it, it kinda makes sense.”

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t think anyone would’ve actually seen it tonight,” he huffs a nervous laugh, seemingly more on edge than before if that was even possible.

“Hm. You’re cute when you blush.” Jamie freezes with the “deer in the headlights” expression. You laugh gently before crossing the small distance that had previously been between you two. He’s even prettier up close and, god, that cologne. His light eyes fall dumbstruck on your lips and you accidentally frighten him by laughing audibly.

“You’re very pretty,” he states in a trance-like state.

“What are you going to do about it?”

#Nhl imagine #nil x reader #NHL Hockey #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale fanfiction #jamie drysdale fanfic #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale writing #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale one shot #jamie drysdale oneshot #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale x y/n #jamie drysdale angst #jamie drysdale fluff #jamie drysdale smut #JD17 #JD34

[autopotion]

Started replaying FFXIII and I'm remembering my biggest gripe with it story-wise... Going into this game years later, I was thinking, "you know, Lightning never stuck with me for some reason. I loved Vanille and Fang. I'm looking forward to getting to know Lightning again and seeing what's interesting about her." But the game does not make that easy.

Lightning is ostensibly the protagonist (and only the second female protagonist in FF's history) but Snow is constantly hogging the spotlight and muscling into her emotional beats. I mean I think some of that is intentional--Snow thinks of himself as a "hero" and deliberately centers himself because of it, he and Lightning share a critical motivation that puts them in conflict--but, 2-3 hours in, I feel like I have a better sense of Snow than our leading lady. He wants to be the hero, he's rebelling against the Purge, he intends to save his fiancee (whom we know about before we ever see her on screen). These are all basic facts established about him quickly.

By contrast, we know that Lightning used to be a soldier but not why she quit, and we don't know her sister is involved until we're minutes from finding her. If you want a woman to be a protagonist, you kind of have to back off of the idea that she's "mysterious" and "unknowable" (which is the go-to characterization of a woman if the writers aren't sure what to do with her), at least a little bit.

Like, even Vanille, who is the "mysterious" one right now, whom we know even less about that Lightning, gets to be the narrator, which instantly familiarizes her to the viewer. (Also the plot twist with her is foreshadowed very early on in smart ways, whereas the story's grip on Lightning feels much looser.) Every scene with Lightning feels like we're viewing her through the eyes of whomever she's with instead of her own, Sazh being the principal example of this r/n (on another note, I'm not jazzed by the way she treats Sazh specifically, but that's a completely different post). The most annoying example of Lightning being sidelined was during their audience with Anima, and Snow took point. I know that there are other things going on there (Lightning is planning to kill the fal'Cie while Snow intends to negotiate, which she doesn't spring until after it's clear Snow's approach isn't working) but it's still like... clear and blatant imagery that Lightning isn't "in charge."

Ik she's meant to directly evoke Cloud, who is also a mysterious soldier with uncertain origins, but even though we don't know what's really going on with Cloud for a long time, FFVII does a lot of things to center us in Cloud's perspective, including but not limited to:

Beginning the story with him as a solo party member for a few battles before Barret joins;

Showing Cloud visions only he can see (when a ringing noise plays in the pit of the reactor, and he crouches and holds his head);

Staying in Cloud's perspective for most of the game as party members come and go;

Giving Cloud a Backstory Character to bounce off of after the first dungeon, who sticks around for some time.

The first couple areas with Lightning are mostly Sazh going "wow this woman sure is crazy! I wonder what's up with her?" as Lightning acrobatically pirouettes off the handle and then we switch to the perspective of an entirely different party. I don't know man, I'd like to find out. (Also, again, not the point of the post, but Sazh, as the only black character in the main cast, being limited to the over-exaggerated civilian jokester right away is not the best foot to start on. I love Sazh and he's got, IMO, one of the most compelling character plots of the main crew, but the introduction isn't his best material.)

We're hot off ToB, so maybe these criticisms aren't fair, but I keep thinking about how much ToB did to establish Velvet as the sole protagonist. We know exactly who she is, what she wants, and why, and she never competes with any other party member for the spotlight. There is no question that Velvet is the focus. ToB tripped at the finish line with her plot, but I have almost no complaints about the presentation of her story otherwise.

I can't say that about FFXIII so far. I have a lot of characters I like, and I'm enjoying getting to know them again, but FFXIII feels like an ensemble cast game, just like FFVI, and is therefore another example of FF being afraid to really commit to a female protagonist. After the debacle that was FFXV (and I'm not even going to touch FFXVI), I find I'm low on patience for that sort of thing.

The good news is I'm actually enjoying the combat this time around, and really appreciating the environments. I'm not expecting things of FFXIII that the game doesn't offer, and as a result I'm enjoying the ride much more. It's actually fun to play if you work with the systems and not against them! I seem to recall actually struggling a bit with the Pulse Vestige the first time around, but I blew through it with no trouble this time. And the music is great, as usual. I hope this doesn't come off as too negative lol, I'm just remembering what a disliked about FFXIII's presentation of its main cast the first go round.

#berseria blogging #kinda lol. i use it as a comparison point #ffxiii blogging

[zdbztumble]

Yet Another Kingdom Hearts Revisit, Part VII

I can't speak to what the Japanese version of Kingdom Hearts is like, but the English version has always done a brilliant job capturing Jack Skellington's voice. His dialogue reflects every facet of his character: elegant, theatrical, polite, delusional, and just a little pompous. Ooogie Boogie's always been on point too, speaking like the bullying but jazzy slob that he is. And this spot-on character writing is used in an original story! As far as adapting the flavor of a particular Disney movie in the writing - this Disney movie, at a time when the company still treated it like the ugly stepchild - Halloweentown is one of the best.

Visually, it's much less successful. I've never liked the look of Halloweentown in KH I, with its harsh reds and purples and copious amounts of ugly brown. On playing the game again, it might be my least favorite world aesthetically in the game, and the only reason it's not dead last for the entire series is because Port Royal in KH II looked even worse. Port Royal also doesn't have the saving grace that is Oogie's house, which I do think is well-designed. I wish it stuck around even after you defeat him, but I appreciate how that works out story-wise, and it's a fun area to climb and explore while it lasts. The gambling den is the highlight of the house, and the more fun and engaging stage of the fight with Oogie.

And you better believe that I fight him with Jack in my party. His movement and combat suit him just as well as his dialogue, and like Aladdin in KH I's Agrabah, Jack makes the Top 3 for my favorite party members in the series (Ariel's the other, for all the reasons I gave for appreciating Atlantica last time). Having Oogie fight you through gambling first, then a runaway possession by the powers of darkness, is a nice break from the more direct villains that precede him (Hades excepted).

Storywise, Halloweentown is the closest a non-Pooh world comes to being "filler." It's not - it's a world on the brink of destruction that needs saving just like the rest, and Oogie's in the League of Disney Villains - but none of the cutscenes build on the larger story or the lore the way every previous world does. It's the most self-contained adventure within the larger framework of "we must rescue Disney from darkness." I don't raise that as a complaint, though. It's rather nice to have a lighter world at this point in the game.

Neverland is much more embedded into the larger story, and it's an extremely well-written one. And yet I don't have too much to say about it; its virtues so far as driving Riku along the path to darkness, taking another step toward explaining what's up with Kairi, and giving Sora another step up in his hero's journey, are self-evident. And it's another world where the voice of a particular Disney character (Captain Hook in this case) is captured flawlessly. I don't think I fully appreciated how well he's handled before, but as far as lines and facial animation go, he may now be my favorite of the Disney villains used in this game.

Gameplay-wise, my biggest frustration with Neverland is that there's really one one combat area where you can really take off with flight. I'm sure the claustrophobia of the ship was by design, and I don't mind so much of the action taking place within the Jolly Roger, but it would be great to have a second open space where you can fly around unencumbered for regular combat.

Of course, you can fight Phantom in an open space, and I really love this boss. It was a nightmare fighting him the fist time I ever picked up this game, but as soon as you figure out his orb, it's easy (in principle, at least) to know what to do. It's not even that hard to beat him with a full party as long as you're willing to be generous with Stop magic. But he is still a challenge, and like with Kurt Zisa, I like that he demands a good mix of magic and physical attacks. I get why later games opted for more elaborate fights with main villains in lieu of these kinds of one-off Heartless fights, but I do miss them.

#kingdom hearts #z's crits #commentary #the nightmare before christmas #peter pan #disney

[buc-eebarnes]

could we get a “pressing a kiss to the other’s forehead as they sleep” with mayor damien and the da?

hello anon! thank you for your request! this is the second of the damien x da double feature, the first of which is this fic: fill my lungs, fill my head

from this prompt list. requests are closed at this time.

with sweetness, with you

pairing: damien x the district attorney

tags: forehead kisses, literal sleeping together, established relationship, secret relationship, damien-centric

rated T || 1080 words || read on ao3!

Damien wakes to a lightning storm thrashing outside the window.

His eyes blink lazily, but the noise doesn’t bother him in the least. He welcomes rainy days—there’s always been something so calming about the pitter-patter of it, the coziness that blankets the city after a dry spell.

He looks down at where he’s curled around his district attorney, sleeping soundly in his arms. Their ages-old face always looked so young whenever they rested. Damien thinks it’s the only time that they can really, truly let go of all their troubles, of their burdens.

Thunder rumbles again. The attorney shifts slightly, but not enough to wake. Damien rests his cheek on top of their head, absentmindedly stroking their shoulders.

He tries going back to sleep, but it’s difficult. He managed to fall asleep as soon as he and his attorney were finished with their…nighttime activities…but now that he has woken up, it seems like the drowsiness has evaded him.

The clock on the table reads 3:55 AM. He huffs a sigh and mentally runs through his schedule for the day.

He has to be in the office in four hours. Around 9 AM, he has meetings that run until noon. The rest of the day is dedicated to driving around the city and inspecting all of the different areas that need his attention. It’s going to be a long one, but at least the party will be something to look forward to in the evening. Like his attorney said, it’d be nice to see Mark again.

The thought of his friend puts a heavy weight on his mind.

It’s been a few years since Celine ran away with William. Damien didn’t know that anything was transpiring between the two; anytime he asked Mark how they were doing, or anytime he tried approaching Celine, they had always shrugged it off.

Damien didn’t realize how much they’d been fighting. How they were throwing things at each other, screaming obscenities and insults at one another. He only saw when he and William had come to the house when the spouses had been in the middle of their biggest fight and William, in an attempt to prevent Celine from getting hurt, had just taken Damien’s sister away, leaving Mark in shambles and cursing out his adoptive brother.

There was love there, once. Damien had been wary of their relationship since its conception, but he had always supported them, no matter what, even when Celine had started pursuing occult practices and Mark rose to fame as an actor.

He hasn’t talked to his sister since the incident. He wonders if she’ll be at the party.

Mark, he’s heard even less from. Ever since Celine left, he’d holed himself up in the manor, never stepping outside, not even taking on any roles or projects. He was a recluse in the public’s eye, and even some of his more determined fans didn’t seem to know what happened to him.

The district attorney, at one point, had marched up to the manor every single day for three months. They’d left food, groceries, things that Mark needed to keep functioning. Benjamin always met them at the door, and he always said the same thing, sadly,

“I apologize, but the master is not feeling well today.”

The district attorney cared a lot about Mark. In college, they both had a bond that not even Damien could break. They were inseparable—thick as thieves. Mark was more of a best friend to the attorney than he ever was. Their dynamic changed only when Celine and Mark got together.

They never said anything, but the change in his friend’s demeanor was palpable.

To his knowledge, nothing romantic had ever transpired between the two. He’d asked the attorney, once.

Something sad and dark passed through their eyes, but they shook their head vehemently. “No. Nothing’ll ever happen between me and him.”

And that was that.

Damien supposes that falling in love with the attorney was something that couldn’t be avoided. They were gorgeous. They were full of life. Personable. Easy to talk to. You could go to them with any problem and they’d give you solid advice. They’d never bullshit him.

They were kind, too. Attentive. Considerate. Encouraging. Even when the attorney had bad days, they never failed to think of others.

Falling in love was both gradual and quick. There was a pull to them that Damien couldn’t shake, and there was nothing else in the world that would have made him stray away. “Ride or die,” they had once said, taking his hand and bringing it up to their lips. “You’ve stuck with me this far. I’ll stick with you in the days to come.”

He was actually surprised when the attorney was the one to approach him with their feelings. It made Damien elated—he’d been harboring something for them for years, and to hear the attorney return it…

It’s a shame, however, that they have to keep their relationship a secret. Regimes have survived on less, but a scandal regarding the most well-liked mayor in decades and a promising newly-elected district attorney would have sent the media for a spin. Damien’s family was affluent and powerful. Word would have gotten out that the attorney was only able to get the position because they were connected to his family, and no one would have taken the time to acknowledge his friend’s hard work, to consider the other side of it all.

So this is what they have settled with. A house that they share, but none of their family members or their friends know. Damien debated on whether he should have told Mark or Celine, or William, for that matter, as they were all within the circle to know, but he secretly liked that this was theirs. As much as he would love for their relationship to be public, it just wasn’t feasible.

The attorney sleeps soundly against the raging storm. Damien gently kisses their temple, and they snuggle further into his hold.

In the morning, he will go through his routine, and in the evening, he will meet with the rest of his friends at Markiplier Manor. He will have a good time with old friends, and he will finally face Mark after a year of silence. And who knows what might happen? He and the attorney might be able to tell their friends the news of their relationship.

Life is theirs to choose, after all.

buy me a coffee!

#damien x da #damien x y/n #damien the mayor #mayor damien #who killed markiplier #wkm damien #wkm district attorney #y/n district attorney #my fic #anon #ask #for the late night crowd

[orowyrm]

so i work at an aquarium (for those who havent gathered as much yet) and in my position, a lot of my job requirements boil down to making sure people have tickets and that theyre for the right day, right time, and in a format that our scanners can read (for example, someone who shows up with a third party ticket through a program like gociti will have to go to the ticket booth to redeem their pass for a printed ticket, because our scanners don't take their QR codes). another problem that i never would have expected to be as common as it is -- the issue of people showing up for tickets to entirely different aquariums altogether.

the biggest offenders, naturally, are the ones closest to us physically. a lot of people just google 'new england aquarium', which will bring up results for all aquariums in the new england area, not just the aquarium CALLED 'the new england aquarium'. the maritime aquarium is a common offender, as they're popular and their tickets are a teensy bit cheaper than hours, so people who google 'aquarium near me' and zero in on the price tag might not realize right away. how exactly people get all the way to the point where theyre putting their credit card number into a website and don't even realize they're on the wrong website baffles me a bit, but hey, i can't judge. everybody makes mistakes.

yesterday, towards the end of the night (on weekdays we officially close the building at 5. we start clearing the exhibits at 4:45, so we close the booth at 4 and stop selling tickets altogether at 4:30 at the absolute latest. it was maybe about 4:10-4:15 when this happened) and i'm closing the ticket scan for the night. a guy approaches me with tickets on his phone, and only half paying attention, i scan them. i get an error message. i try scanning them again, thinking maybe the scanner was acting up. still nothing. i ask him to zoom out so i can read the text on the ticket, thinking it might be for a different date (it's not uncommon for people to accidentally purchase tickets for the day after, and is an easy mistake for us to fix). it takes me a few seconds to process that these are, in fact, tickets for an entirely different facility, and one i've never heard of at that. i inform the guys that they actually have tickets for the wrong aquarium, but if they want to buy tickets for THIS aquarium they can check in at the information desk, since the ticket booth is closed for the night, but that they should keep in mind that we start to close the building in about half an hour. they're pretty embarrassed, but they thank me and go over to the front desk to buy the right tickets. as soon as they walk away, i whip my phone out to google the name of the aquarium they had tickets for, thinking it might just be a smaller one in the area ive never heard of before for some reason. nope!

they have tickets for an aquarium in UTAH. the neaq is in massachusetts. i dont know how they even managed to get the two confused. it still baffles me.

[kygerbearr]

What's the worst game you've ever played?

it is hard to really gauge what the worst game I've ever played was, but there are definitely some games I consider to genuinely be bad. none of them are really all that interesting takes so don't expect much

persona 5 - I really, really dislike this game and genuinely think its game design is bad. visually it's amazing, but they lock game changing mechanics like party switching behind social links that I just had no interest in doing, and no one should be punished that hard for not doing optional content. horrible game design. also the story bored me to tears. the villain is so half-assed and character assassinated in the later half of the game that I felt insulted that they took so much time from me. the only redeeming quality of that game is its aesthetics, soundtrack and some of the characters, otherwise it's mediocre garbage and there are so many better RPGs to play. also persona 3 clears it

genshin impact - I don't hate it because it's anime or because it's gacha and I played it from launch all the way until the second half of inazuma when they released itto, but the way they handle content in that game is horrible. the units they released had horrendous kits overshadowed by whoever was running the meta. the hype for new units was completely gone, and building your team was fucking miserable because you need to gather bugs for 3 hours which also take 48+ real life hours to respawn. also everyone in that game is fucking white and its so annoying and I fucking hate it

the peak of my enjoyment out of genshin impact was liyue as a whole since it was actually a beautiful area with some slight amount of authenticity to traditional chinese culture, language, and topography. but the story of the game is so unbelievably fucking boring, the gameplay is not interesting, the new characters end up sucking and it's just a ridiculously unfun timesink. fuck genshin impact

maplestory - i have nothing to say about it. just trust me

yakuza 3 - holy shit I have never been more unsatisfied with the gameplay and story of a yakuza game. this actually made me want to drop the series entirely because I didn't find it fun or interesting whatsoever, the game is incredibly unbalanced, combat is so clunky and gross, the only saving grace is that okinawa is cool to look at. i didn't do any of the side stories because I just did not enjoy the gameplay, I finished this game and felt exhausted when I was done with it. the yakuza series is deeply deeply worth it, but please play this on the lowest difficulty and just bumrush the story.

tloz: wind waker - one of my hotter takes is that wind waker really isn't that good, admittedly I did play the gamecube version but what the wii u version changed doesn't completely turn it into a good game. my biggest issue with this game is that the overworld is genuinely empty and exploration feels pointless since the only side content you can do has unsatisfying rewards that don't make the game much better. the hint system they use for that game is fucking stupid, dungeon design takes a nosedive after the first 2 dungeons, items you get in dungeons have next to no use outside of those dungeons, and the final sequence being a boss gauntlet is one of the laziest cop-outs for the zelda series. I desperately wanted to like the game, so I played it 1 and a half times and that was enough to tell me that it wasn't that good.

ty the tasmanian tiger - i really wanted to love this game! but the level design got lazy and became a slog trying to collect everything, the boss design was very much not interesting and it just really couldn't hold my attention. I've gone back to this game 3 different times trying to see if I'd change my opinion but I play through half of the game and just end up realizing I don't like it and don't want to play it. it's just kind of sad

paper mario 64 - I won't call it one of the worst games I've played, but it's on this list because I beat the game and realized I didn't have any fun. the combat is really basic and boring, some of the areas are just kind of boring, it just felt really boring. the final battle? boring. there is nothing interesting about this game and I had more fun playing the randomizer than the actual game

tsukihime - this is not a game. this is a visual novel, but it's on the list because I genuinely fucking hate this game. it has the worst most annoying protagonist inner monologue ever, I liked the characters in it because of Melty Blood and ended up hating most of them by the time I finished tsukihime. I WILL be replaying it once the official english version of the remake drops in which case I will type a much longer winded review of it but I don't think anyone who likes tsukihime read it, or if they did and still like it, are not a good person. "just because they like the media doesn't mean they approve of it" cool don't care shiki tohno is a dogshit protagonist and wants to bang his sister bye

thats just scratching the surface and its just off the top of my head, other honorable mentions include final fantasy 15, final fantasy 10, glover, dragon ball z legacy of goku, super metroid (will not elaborate)