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#give us the supercut
lovelettersfromluna · 5 months
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Supercut
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Summary: “In my head, I play a supercut of us.”
an: halfway through writing this I decided that this isn't technically the finale hehe, more of cam girl!Ellie come, this is just the end of them being stupid. mwah mwah love you all more than you know.
Warnings: SMUT!! 18+, MDNI, angst, cam girl!ellie, Ellie is a real idiot in this one tbh, arguing, hurt/eventual comfort, toxic!Ellie, tribbing, making out, pet names, this one is a little short im sorry, lmk if I missed anything!!!
Read part 1 here, and part 2 here!
You know that gross feeling you get whenever you look back at old pictures or videos? You know, the one that you feel at the pit of your stomach, and it makes you really happy but also really sad? What's that called again?
Oh, right. Its melancholy
It's that feeling where you have a specific memory, and you know that no matter what, that time is gone. You can't replicate it, and the only place that it will live is in the confides of your own mind
And it sucks, because you don't even know when those moments are going to be made. There's no warning in your brain that the day you have planned is going to be so impactful to your life, that you will constantly chase that feeling, trying to replicate what it was that made that time so blissful so that you can feel that same warmth again.
You don't even get the chance to savor it while it lasts.
It almost makes you feel like you never wanted those times to happen to begin with, because you would have been fine without them. Sacrifice one of the times of your life so that you wouldn't have to spend countless nights laying in bed, only hoping that you will experience something that can even come close to how it all felt in the past.
Most of the time, it's easy to simply look back at those memories, feel that disgusting mixture of happiness and sadness, and then move on.
But for some god awful reason, you can't seem to do that this time.
This time, it lingers. It sits there, knocking at your chest, demanding to be acknowledged, to have all of your undivided attention, giving you no choice but to think about how fucked up this all is, how all of this was a complete and utter mistake, and how you have no way in taking it back.
It makes you wish time travel was real, yearning for some mad scientist to come out and say 'look everyone! you can reverse the mistakes you've made in the past!'.
But that doesn't happen, and you have no choice but to live with the icky feeling that settles at the pit of your stomach, and refuses to go away.
You weren't entirely sure what would happen after that night with Ellie, the night that she laid her weight on top of you, fucking you into her mattress over and over again, whispering the sweetest words into the nape of your neck, holding you the entire night through once you were finished, silence overcoming the space as you both fell into a blissful sleep.
It was hard to really tell where you both stood, but you weren't an idiot.
You knew, that you and Ellie had made love that night.
It was truly like nothing you had ever experienced. It was like you were constantly in that delicious state before sleep, where the world is soft, and everything is so comfortable right before you reach the point of unconsciousness, and everything feels so utterly perfect.
That's what it felt like, and you knew that from the moment Ellie had pulled you against her chest, and pressed a soft kiss to your head before you both fell asleep.
It happened, but God....you really wished it hadn't.
Because now? Things were so much fucking worse.
The feeling Ellie gave you scared you, and it made the ugliest thoughts fill your head when you woke up. You felt wrong, the skin on your body feeling filthy for doing something so intimate with her, with your roommate. You felt like you were taking something that wasn't yours, something that was never meant for you in that way.
So you ran.
Not far, of course. You were lucky enough to wake up before Ellie, gently peeling yourself from her body, your stomach sinking whenever she mumbled something gently in her sleep, her hands mindlessly reaching for your body before she fell back into her deep slumber.
You stood over her for a moment, watching as her eyes flickered in her sleep, lips parted as she snored gently. The feeling you had when you watched her sleep scared you, because you felt...like you wanted to stay with her, protect her, hold her in your arms and ignore the reality of how much this was fucking with your head, ignore the fact that she had simply wanted help with her work.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
You inhaled deeply before you left her room, closing her door gently before you quickly went to your bedroom, tugged on a t shirt and jeans before you grabbed your jacket and left the apartment.
You stayed out in the city all day, that day. You were like a ghost, trying to sort out the feelings that were settling in your chest, opting to simply ignore them instead. You made sure to leave your phone at home, knowing any texts from Ellie wouldn't do you any good with how you were feeling.
You didn't return home until later that afternoon, the sun setting, slowly casting the familiar darkness of night onto the city that you had come to know. You wished you could stay out longer, avoid the situation more, but it was only gettin colder, and you knew you had to go back to your apartment sooner or later.
When you got there, you were greeted by silence. You don't even hear Ellie's usual music playing from inside her room. You frowned softly, looking around a bit for any signs of the girl there. You looked down, finding that her leather jacket and helmet weren't where they usually were.
Ellie had left too.
You should've been happy at that, giving you even more time away from the girl than planned, yet you can't ignore the ugly tinge of sadness and annoyance that lingers at the back of your throat at the thought of here simply...leaving.
When you got to your room, you quickly grabbed your phone, wishfully thinking that there would be a string of messages from your roommate, asking you where you've gone, and if everything is okay between you both.
But when you unlock your phone, there's nothing there.
Not a single call, or a single text.
And you suddenly realized, that great minds think alike.
So, that's how things go with you and Ellie after that. There isn't a grand scene of love, where you both confess that you had both felt that way from the moment you set eyes on each other, there isn't a happily ever after where you become her girl, and she becomes yours. There isn't any of that, you two simply go from being friends, to barely being roommates.
You guys never speak about it. There's never a conversation that happens to even clear the air, pretending as though that night in her bedroom never happened.
There's a sense of hostility that follows after all of it happens, because Ellie won't even fucking look at you now, let alone stand in the same room as you. If you're in the living room, she's in her bedroom, and if you're in the kitchen, she leaves the apartment to go eat somewhere else.
It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, because you can practically feel the hatred she has for you radiating off of her body whenever she's around, and it's a shock to you that you two are still even living together. The Ellie that would once sit in the living room with you, practically tugging your body to sit on her lap, has succumb to someone who barely even exists to you anymore.
And it doesn't even end there.
Ellie never really had girls in and out of the apartment before, even before you and her started filming and having sex. She was pretty strict about letting others into her space, only ever bringing around girls she was dating long term, or her designated filming partner. You never had a problem with it, letting Ellie know time and time again that the place was half hers, and she could bring whoever she wanted.
But that seemingly changed after you and her happened.
Because suddenly, there's a different girl at your apartment every night, and Ellie is fucking them ten different ways into the next month.
And it always happens to be on the nights before you have to wake up early to go in and open the record store.
She becomes relentless.
You first noticed it happening when she breezed past you on a Friday night, clearly dressed up for a night out. You couldn't really ignore the way your core tightened at how fucking good she looked, the feeling quickly overshadowed by the way she yet again left the house as if you weren't sitting right there.
After getting yourself to bed for some much needed shut eye, you were rudely awakened by the sound of your front door slamming open, followed by the sound of tumbling and soft giggles..
Which then slowly turned into the sounds of Ellie fucking a girl in her bedroom that was directly across from yours.
And it kept going, night after night, the sound of Ellie pleasuring another woman was all that you were left with. Not even your headphones on full volume could drown out the banging of Ellies headboard against the wall.
You have never been a jealous person, especially when it came to Ellie and her sex life. However, after what happened between the both of you, and the very clear fact that Ellie was indeed doing it out of spite..
You really couldn't ignore the fire you felt at the pit of your stomach whenever you heard some random girl moaning out Ellie's name to the top of her fucking lungs.
It was then that you came to terms with the fact that enough was enough.
And you had to move out.
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It wasn't long until you wouldn't leave your room.
You seriously couldn't stomach the way it felt, being ignored by Ellie, her constant avoidance a reminder of how much of a bad idea it was to agree to filming with her in the first place. If that wasn't enough, constantly seeing her leave the apartment to go meet up with another girl started to hurt even more.
And you really didn't want to face the truth behind that.
There was something unsettling that came with the feeling it gave you, because how could you go from not even batting an eyelash at Ellie walking out of her bedroom with Julia, to feeling tears prickle at the edge of your eyes every time you heard her fucking someone else across from your room.
Because it's cruel, and you know you were wrong to leave her the way you did, but she left too. You knew that what you did was wrong, but surely you didn't deserve all of this? And why would she even want to hurt you like this in the first place? Surely you were the only one that felt this ridiculous conflicting feeling that only brought you stress.
And yet, you only found new ways to torture yourself.
It happens one night after work, you're tired and all you want to do is peel off your clothes and hop into bed.
Opting to grab your laptop, wanting to watch some mindless video on the internet to lull you to sleep, you are suddenly faced with something that had been waiting to haunt you.
A link to one of your videos with Ellie was still on your browser.
She had sent it to you a while ago, wanting to show you how well it was doing, and all the positive feedback that it was receiving, you meant to watch it at the time, but never got around to it. Now, it was sitting there, collecting dust until you decided to open it.
And you knew you shouldn't have, because that chapter of your life has closed, and you intended to keep it fully closed.
But curiosity did kill the cat, didn't it?
You didn't think twice before opening it, the link quickly flashing across your screen and taking you to Ellie's page. The thumbnail is of the two of you, the last video you guys had filmed. Its you, straddling Ellie on her bed, her strong hands gripping your hips, probably forcing you to grind down on her lap.
You feel your core tighten at the sight of it.
You don't look at it much longer, or read the comments either, because you know they will all be asking where you've gone, and whether or not you were coming back.
Instead of closing your laptop and going to sleep like you should have, you kept scrolling through Ellies page. You come to find the usual, seeing that she had been live the past few nights, as well as posted a few videos for her viewers to catch up on, none of it out of the ordinary.
Something does catch your eye however.
Its a video that was posted a few nights ago, and you can barely make it out, but you can see a thumbnail of Ellies tattooed hand pushed between a girls thighs, doing what you can only assume to be fingering her.
And that girl is definitely not you.
She had found herself a new partner.
It’s no shock that she did. She’d been actively fucking other girls, someone in and out of your apartment almost every night, something that she had made sure to make very clear to you…
But there was just something about actually seeing it that hurt like hell
You slammed your laptop shut, a bit too hard, but you were suddenly filled with something foreign to you, something that you hardly felt for anyone.
Quickly grabbing you blankets and tugging them over your body, you squeezed your eyes shut to try and erase the image of Ellie with another girl from your brain, the image slowly tainting the deepest corners of your mind so that you won't ever be able to do just that.
You couldn't do this anymore.
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Ellie was just as bad at talking about her feelings as you were.
Because the morning after you and her had sex, she wanted nothing more than to wake up with you, kiss you, hold you, move on from this agonizingly slow phase that you two were in, where she was allowed to do the things that she always wanted to do, just conditionally.
She wanted to wake up, and move forward whatever the fuck you and her were stuck in.
But you didn’t. You simply woke up before her, and left, leaving Ellie to feel like a fucking idiot.
Because maybe she read into the entire thing wrong, maybe you didn’t feel anything for her, maybe you really did only see her as your roommate and nothing more than that….
Maybe that look in your eye that she was sure she saw when she was fucking you, was all in her head.
So when you ran, she did too.
And soon, Ellie’s sadness turned into anger, and all she wanted to do, was hurt you the same way that you hurt her.
She wanted you to hear her with other girls, she wanted you to see her with other women on her streams, she wanted you to see what it was that you’d lost, what you’d stupidly lost when you decided to run away from her the morning after it all.
But maybe she’d taken it too far.
Because Ellie’s anger turned into something that she didn’t want, because no matter how much noise she made, how good she tried to look whenever she was getting ready to go out with some random girl, no matter what she did to make you jealous, you never batted an eyelash her way, you never once reacted to anything that she did that was directed at you for the sole purpose of getting your attention.
And not only did it further prove to Ellie that you didn’t give a fuck about her, but it also made her so much more frustrated with you.
Did you seriously not have a fucking soul? Could you not even acknowledge her? Hurt for her? Feel hurt by her? Why wasn’t it working? Why weren’t you…..why couldn’t you just…..
Why couldn’t you just fucking want her.
Ellie was truly at her last straw, because being with other women was something she already didn’t like doing, but it was slowly eating away at her, picking away at her insides and making her feel hollow inside, a shell of who she used to be when she was with you.
And when she didn’t think things could get any worse, she found you doing something she only saw in her nightmares.
She hadn’t really noticed it at first, but slowly, your belongings began to disappear from the apartment. Particularly in the living room.
Your stack of blankets would get smaller and smaller as the week went by, the dorky little figures you had littered around different shelves and the tv stand started to disappear too, little parts of you started leaving, one by one, and Ellie was too far up her own ass to even notice.
Maybe if she had, she could’ve convinced you to stay.
In all honesty? Ellie probably wouldn’t even have realized you were leaving until it was too late, the girl far too consumed in her little revenge streak to notice the slow but sure disappearance of you, the way the remnants of you slowly began to leave one by one.
It just so happened that on a day that you were packing up some of your boxes, you had left your door cracked open, thinking that Ellie wasn’t home.
She was passing by your room when she heard a soft huff, the sound quickly catching her attention as she slowly walked towards your door, catching sight of the various opened boxes scattered around your room that was already looking sparse due to packing it all the way.
That. That was the straw the broke the camels fucking back.
Because suddenly, Ellie is pushing your door open, the force from her hand making it slam against your wall, the loud sound making you flinch to look over in her direction with wide eyes.
“Ellie?” You question softly.
The sound of her name rolling off your tongue makes a shiver run down her spine, because god….had she missed the way you said it.
Her eyes are angry, eyebrows furrows together as her eyes scan your room, looking at the boxes, your half empty closet, your empty book shelf.
“What the fuck is going on here?” She spits out, her tone making you wince slightly. It’s the first time you’ve heard her speak to you in almost an entire month and it’s so fucking hostile, so pointed.
This really wasn’t how you wanted this to go.
You let out a soft sigh, bringing your palm up to ran along your face as you look down at the boxes as well, heart sinking at the thought of going.
“Look…Ellie…I was planning on telling you…I just-“ she’s quick to cut you off, walking further into your bedroom as her eyes scan the walls, watching as they began to grow emptier and emptier the further in she looked. She scoffs, her green eyes finally landing on yours, her smoldering grip enough to take your breath away.
“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t going to tell me anything, and you know that” she argues, nostrils flared as she stares at you with eyes filled with that same glare of hate that you saw every time she’d glaze over you within recent weeks.
And she was right. You had no intention of telling her anything. She would learn that you were gone once you were gone, because that’s what you did.
You always ran.
You let out a sigh of defeat before you step away from her, fully intending on continuing packing. You didn’t want this to stop you, or put anymore obstacles in your way of leaving. This was what you had to do, and you knew that.
“I can’t stay here anymore, Ellie…things are fucked up between us and I just…I won’t deal with it anymore” you mumble out, your voice tired, weak. A clear indication of how you felt towards the entire situation. It was draining you, and you knew that for your own well being, you had to get out.
The sight of you packing as if she wasn’t in your room, trying to figure out why you were leaving, makes her even more upset. It blinds her from your words, from the weakness in your voice, in your appearance. She ignores it because the anger she feels is much easier to indulge in.
"So that's it? You're just gonna leave? Without saying anything to me?" she barks out, her tone making you feel worse than you already do.
And then it all stops, because why the hell are you feeling bad when this isn't even your fault.
You slowly turn to Ellie, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare at her in disbelief, cocking your head to the side slowly before you start to speak.
"Are you listening to yourself right now, Ellie? Do you ever stop to think for one second that not everything is about you?" The tone of your voice is so calm, words so slow and articulated, it barely even sounds like you're mad.
And it scares you, and it scares her.
You don't stop there, you couldn't even if you wanted to.
"This wasn't my idea, none of it was. I agreed to help you because you asked it of me, and I clearly have no fucking sense of boundaries. I get that what I did was wrong, and I shouldn't have left you that morning, but no one is fucking perfect" You defend, your own breath become more shallow the more you speak, your anger and frustration finally rising to the surface.
"This isn't good for me. You aren't good for me, you've been fucking different girls every goddamn night just to hurt me, and you're a fucking liar if you deny it." you spit out, making Ellie wince slightly, yet her eyebrows never unravel from how furrowed they are, and the frown on her lips is still there.
When you said it out loud though, she realized just how bad it was.
"I did it to get your fucking attention...not to hurt you" She barely whispers, staring down at you. You can't help but laugh softly, scoffing at her words before you give her a gentle sigh.
"Oh it got my attention, Ellie. It got it so much, that I can't bare for you to have it anymore..." you mumble out softly before you turn away from her, unable to stare into her eyes for any longer.
"I don't know what happened between us that morning...but I want nothing more than to just..forget about it all" You let out meekly, feeling yourself reduce to that small ball of insecurities once again.
And Ellie finally softens when she sees it, because you never let your guard down this much.
She inhales deeply, taking a step towards you, trying to get closer to you. You don't step back, or flinch, you simply ignore her, carrying on to pack your things as if she wasn't there, standing above you.
"You hurt me too...you know" she mumbled out, her voice finally dropping that hostile tone that she had when she first walked in. You're quick to turn towards her, spinning around to set your eyes that were quickly growing redder by the second.
"And Im sorry!" you shout, your voice going the loudest it had yet, it makes Ellie flinch.
You sigh out tiredly before you bring your hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "If I could go back and do it differently..I would..but too much has happened, Ellie...I don't..." you trail off, struggling to find the proper words before you sigh softly, finally speaking again.
"I don't see you the same way, anymore" you mumble out.
This makes Ellies heart seize up, because what do you mean by that? What are you trying to tell her?
You move to sit on your knees, you bare legs coming in contact with the cold, wooden floor as you begin packing more things in a different box. There's no more fighting, there isn't anymore arguing, or anger, it's just silent, the occasional sound of your clothes hitting each other when they hit you settle them in the box. You don't even bother to turn around and yell at Ellie, or even tell her to get out.
And maybe thats what's hurting her the most. You never yelled, you didn't cry or beg, you didn't do anything when she knew you heard her, saw her with those other girls. All of them were nothing to her, sorry attempts at trying to grab hold of your attention again, get you to show just a little bit of fucking anger, so that she knew you still felt something for her, so that she knew she still had you.
But it was clear to her with the way that you disregarded her after it all, as if she didn't even matter, that she didn't have you anymore.
Did she ever? Did she ever have a chance with you? Was she all in her head? Were you simply just a good friend? A decent roommate who promised to help her out when she needed help? Was all of it just....
Pretend?
She feels like she's running out of options, because she assumed that if anything, you two would fight and end up in a heated, passionate love making session where you two would admit what you had felt all along.
But Ellie was slowly coming to the conclusion that she was being fucking delusional.
Her decisions didn't let up thought, because soon, she's on her knees next to you, grabbing your wrists gently in her hands and pulling you to face her. She feels her heart break when you refuse, trying to pull away from her grasp, mumbling soft complaints of how you needed to finish packing.
When she finally tugs you a bit harder, forcing you to look at her, she feels the weight of her mistakes finally settle on her chest, because you're crying. Your eyes are puffy and your cheeks are stained, and it's all her fucking fault.
She bites back a whimper, tugging her bottom lip into her mouth as she feel her own throat burn with tears.
"Hey...look at me...come on...where's my pretty girl...come on.." She tries over and over again, voice breaking, making you whimper as you try tugging your arms from her grasp.
"Don't you see how fucked up this is, Ellie? We were just screaming at each other and now...now you're calling me your girl" you plead with her, the words bubbling past your lips as the mere sight of here forces more tears from your eyes, making it harder and harder to talk.
Ellie can't talk her way out of this one, not with you. She knows there isn't much she can do, or say, and she feels like she's all out of options, because you're right. All of this is so fucked up, and it makes her insides burn because she's hurt, and you're hurt, and it feels like there's nothing she can do to fix it.
She does the only thing she feels will work. She kisses you.
It's filled with everything. Passion, longing, happiness, sadness, anger, everything that had been pent up between the both of you is poured into the kiss, and it's enough to make you feel dizzy.
But you don't pull away, you melt into her, just like you always do. She feels it too, feels the way you let you defenses down, taking it as a chance to tug your wrists up and around her neck, her own arms resting on your hips as she pulls you closer, her lips working against yours.
"Im....fuck...im so sorry, baby....never meant to hurt you" She mumbles against you, her words coming out as a breathy sigh against your lips, making you moan softly against her. She pushes her tongue into your mouth, giving your waist a soft squeeze.
"M'sorry too..Ellie....shouldn't have left..." You whine against her, and she's quickly shaking her head, gently tugging you up to stand with her before she's pulling you too your bed.
"Just...lemme take care of you..alright" She hums against your lips before she gently pushes you back to lay on your bed, her own body crawling over yours, resting her weight on your body as she goes back to kissing you.
It's so slow, and sensual, and it feels like the entire world is quiet, like you're fading into her, and she's fading into you, and you both are becoming one. It feels so fucking right, and the hole that had been growing in your chest is finally filling up, the essence that is Ellie slowly acting as the medicine that you needed all along.
Ellie rolls over, gripping your hips and tugging you to straddle her waist as she lays back against your bed. Her green eyes eat you up, strong hands already running along your hips and thighs, giving you a squeeze before her hand creeps up your t shirt, pushing it up a bit before it slips under, grasping your boob and massaging it in her hands.
"Fuck...look at you...missed you so much, pretty girl....you can't even imagine.." She sighs softly under her breath, eager hands roaming your body hungrily, as if they've deprived of you for so long, missing the way your skin spilled out from under her hands, always so responsive for her.
You tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch her practically worshiping your body with her hands, a soft whine leaving your lips as you rest your hands on her hips, pushing up her t shirt a bit as your thumbs rub small circle into her pale hips.
Her hands rest on your hips, forcing you to grind down onto her lap, making you whine softly, the feeling her her sweats bunching up right at your core, your cotton pajama shorts leaving much too room to be exposed by her touch.
She sits up, grabbing the hem of your shirt before she tugs it off your body, groaning softly as her lips immediately latch onto your nipple, biting and sucking. You moan softly, arching your back a bit and forcing more of you to her mouth, hands wrapped around her neck, toying with the hair at the nape of her neck.
Ellie pushes you back, resting you to lay down before she tugs your pajama shorts and panties off in one go. You promptly spread your legs for her, letting her settle between them, the small gesture making her groan, her strong hands gripping your thighs, grinding against your bare pussy.
"Fuck...such a good girl for me..." she sighs softly against your lips.
You whine, reaching down and tugging at her own pants, fumbling with the waistband of her shorts that hung oh so fucking low.
"Off..wanna feel you.." You moan softly against her, resulting in a soft chuckle from her. She presses one last kiss to your lips before she nods.
"Whatever you want baby...fuck" she mumbles softly under her breath when she pulls back to start tugging her own clothes off, catching a glimpse of your soaking wet pussy and naked body in the dim light of your room.
She looks so fucking desperate, nearly tripping over her sweats as she tugs them off, tossing them somewhere else in your room. It's like she can't get the clothes off quick enough, immediately settling between your legs again once she's naked, groaning softly a the feeling of your pussy against her body.
Her eagerness makes you giggle, and Ellie feels like she's on cloud fucking nine when she hears it, so soft and gentle. She pouts softly, staring down at you while she's already moving to position her pussy over yours, tossing your leg over her shoulder.
"What are you laughing at...hm?" She questions softly, her hips slowly moving against yours as she lets out a soft moan, eyes never leaving yours.
You can barely get the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel her slick pussy against yours, clits bumping together in a way that has you nearly salivating.
She chuckles above you, a soft groan following the noise as her lips graze along your calf.
"Thats what I thought...fuck....your pussy is too fuckin good, princess' She moans out softly, her hips moving slowly against yours.
You moan loudly, your hand coming to grip her thigh as you move your hips in tow with hers.
"F-fuck, Ellie....you...that feels so good" you babble out, your other hand gripping the sheets beneath you as she fucks her pussy down onto yours.
Ellie smirks softly as she watches you, watches the way you fall apart beneath her.
"Thats my fuckin girl....you're the only fucking one I need...fuck...." She groans, turning her head a bit to kiss your calf again before her teeth sink into you, biting and sucking your skin, making you moan loudly.
You feel her speed up, hips growing desperate as she chases both hers and your orgasm, making your head spin as your nails dig into her thigh, sure to leave marks in the morning.
"Im....god...Im close Ellie.....fuuuckkkk....dont stop" you gasp out, low, lust filled eyes staring up at her as she continues bullying your pussy with hers, both of your arousal squelching together, making the most explicit noise you've ever fucking heard.
"Come on baby...want you to cum for me...can you do that? Fuck...I feel it too....that's it, pretty girl.." Ellie is babbling too, her lust clouded braun barely uttering words that are comprehensible.
You see her eyes squeeze shut, her moans getting louder and more high pithed, sounding so fucking pretty above you.
You feel like you'll explode, your back arching as the familiar feeling settles in your core, your pussy getting wetter and wetter as you feel your orgasm grow closer.
"A-ah! Ellie!" You scream out as you come undone beneath her.
And she isn't far behind, leaning down and crashing her lips against yours, forcing you to swallow her moans as she cums hard against your pussy, the both of you breathing hard as her hips sputter, pussy sliding around sloppily against yours as she becomes so fucked out, that she loses her rhythm completely.
And just like before, she lays there, on top of you, trying to catch her breath, face tucked against your neck, hands keeping you close, as if you'll disappear in thin air at any given moment.
There's so much going through your head, trying to figure out what it is that happens from here, where you and here go, what steps to take after, all of which come up with blank answers whenever you try to figure out what to do.
You assume she will fall asleep on you as she did before, knock out immediately and leave you to lay there with your plaguing thoughts.
She doesn't, though. You hear a soft hum from her lips, her hands squeeze your waist gently, before she speaks against your neck.
"I love you...so much.." she sighs out, her voice breaking a bit as if shed break down at any given moment.
You aren't sure what you'll do from this point on, but you do know one thing.
You won't run away from Ellie, ever again.
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kamaluhkhan · 8 months
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in my head, i play a supercut of us
pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader
summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.
warnings: drinking + smoking. lots of plot + flashbacks. there is some mention of injuries, body issues/self esteem (reader is a competitive swimmer), complicated family dynamics (reader is eldest daughter), slight allusion to alcoholism.
a/n: ohhh this turned out much longer than i expected it to be!! honestly i have so many ideas that this will probably become a series. for now please enjoy the summer, childhood friends to lovers to strangers vibes ;)
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you still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn't satisfy you as much as it used to. you still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago. (alida nugent)
now — summer, age 18
driving up to the beach house after so many summers have passed, you’re struck with the memory of your first time swimming. 
it was mid-june in cousins; you must have been four years old. you stood on the edge of the pool for an eternity, until your father became impatient and threw you into the deep end. you screamed, imagined your lungs being filled with cold water, drowning in darkness. your neighbour had run over when he heard, and your father had to hold him back from jumping in to save you. instead, your life jacket kept you afloat, and soon enough you were kicking as though it was the most natural thing in the world. you discovered your love of swimming that afternoon and in that your father found his star athlete. you also realized your love for conrad fisher, the boy next door.
your summers in cousins, the friends you’d met here, conrad fisher — these composed your metaphorical lifejacket, once preserving your childhood. you’d taken it off for too long, spent years in the deep end alone, keeping yourself afloat, moving towards a carefully constructed future. now it all started to crumble, and here you were again, a different person; you wondered if the others were different, too. 
it wasn't your first choice to come back to cousins, but you were determined to make the most of it. after unpacking your things, you decide to make your way to the beck house, right next door to your own family’s. 
you knock once, twice, three times. there's no answer, so you figure that everyone is either in town or at the beach. you start to walk away when you hear the front door open. 
"excuse me!" laurel park's voice calls. you turn around, and the shock on laurel's face is clear. "y/n! oh my god, i almost didn't recognize you!" 
"four summers can do that," you note. 
you hear your name from inside the house, and before you know it, belly conklin excitedly runs out and tackles you in a hug. 
"hey, bells," you laugh. you notice how dressed up she is, something that changed from the oversized t-shirts and patterned shorts you remember her always wearing. "cute dress. where are you off to?" 
"oh. there's a high tea at the country club. sort of like an introduction for the debutante season." 
you raise an eyebrow, looking past belly towards laurel. "is this a lemon jelly belly situation?" you’re referring to the code phrases you used to exchange for different situations, depending on different flavours of jelly beans: pear, toasted marshmellow, lemon. it might have been childish (you were kids at the time), but it always worked. more than anyone, you know what it’s like to be pushed into something too quickly, too soon. even after all these years, and even though belly is only two years younger, your instinct is to defend her at all times.
"possibly," laurel sighs. 
"it's not," belly insists, giving her mother a pointed look. "i wanted to try something new this summer, and susannah promised it would be fun." 
the two of you walk back towards the house. when you reach the door, laurel brings you into a tight hug. the three of you walk into the kitchen, and you find yourself taking the seat you had once claimed as your own — a stool at the counter, third from the left. belly settles down next to you, and laurel grabs a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge while you reach over to take three glasses from the drying rack. 
belly explains more about the debutante season, and mentions that steven and jeremiah are both working at the club this summer. she doesn't get around to what conrad is up to, because laurel suddenly checks her watch, then sighs. 
"i hate to cut this reunion short, but belly, we'd better leave if we want to make that tea of yours." 
"right." belly looks at you with a frown, like she's worried you'll disappear if you're out of sight. "i'll see you later?"
you smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "i'll be here all summer," you promise, and belly beams.
"you’re coming to my book party?" laurel asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.
"yeah, sure," you promise, sipping your sweet tea. "i'll see you guys there." 
with one final see you later and another hug from belly, you're left alone in the kitchen. you wonder if the fishers still keep the cereal in the same cabinet; if their cupboards are filled with the same sugary snacks you were never allowed to have, but you and the boys would sneak when the adults weren’t looking. 
"y/n, my little mermaid, is that you?" 
susannah always called you her little mermaid — inspired by your love of swimming, yes, but also that one summer you were convinced that mermaids were real, so you and belly spent hours looking for clues on the beach and painting your nails iridescent turquoise. all the adults scoffed at you, but susannah was the only one who played along, who allowed you to believe that magic was real.
instantly, you rise from your seat and hug susannah.
"you have no idea how happy i am that you're here this summer," susannah whispers. as you break away from your hug, susannah places her hands on your cheeks. she looks happy and healthy, if a little tired. you can't help but think of the years you’d been gone when susannah and her family were dealing with so much. there was only so much connection texts, calls, and emails could provide. to be here now, seeing susannah fisher alive and well? 
it was almost too much.
tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them. instead, you reply: "so am i." and, certainly more than before, you mean it.
“conrad’s out back if you want to come say hi. i’m painting his portrait. he’s been a bit down lately, but if anyone can make him feel better, it’s you.”
you feel your cheeks heat up. you finish the rest of your sweet tea and put your glass in the dishwasher, not quite feeling ready to face conrad — there was a complicated history between the two of you. unresolved tension, hurtful words, that sort of thing.
“i’ll, uh, let you keep painting. i should go get ready for laurel’s book party.”
“alright. i’ll see you there, sweetie.”
“yeah,” you confirm. you start to walk away before hearing susannah’s voice again:
“and, y/n?” you turn around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”
later that night, at laurel's book launch party, you watch conrad pour another glass of wine, and wonder whether or not you should join him. his eyes catch yours from across the room, but he quickly looks away. belly ended up having a date, she'd texted you earlier, and you were roped into a conversation with your mother and susannah before you could find stephen or jeremiah. 
"they grow up so fast," susannah muses. she then wraps an arm around your shoulder. "i can't believe that our eldests are 18! conrad’s off to brown in the fall — how about you, y/n?”
“princeton,” your mother boasts, draining the rest of her cup and grabbing another from a tray passing by. that’s her third glass, by your count. “we were so proud. it’s the best women’s swim team in the country.”
“stanford is a close second,” you interject. “besides, we don’t even know if i can start swimming for real by then.”
you’d broken your ankle a month and a half before. it didn’t need surgery yet and you were out of your cast, but you couldn’t return to your usual level of activity for a while — which meant no training camp, like you’d been going to the past few summers.
“you know, i did always picture you on the west coast,” susannah smiles at you. “all those beaches and sunshine.”
your mother frowns, ignoring susannah. “don’t be ridiculous. if you spend the summer doing your physical therapy and resting, you’ll be back in the water before we know it. your father and i agreed — that’s why you’re here.”
you resist the urge to argue with her and instead block her out as she brags about your siblings getting top prizes in their academic decathalon. the twins were thirteen now and had plans with their friends tonight, sparing them from attending this event. no offence to laurel or susannah, of course, but you’d rather be with your friends.
when you look for conrad once more, you notice that he's been roped into a conversation with laurel and someone who your mom had pointed out as cleveland castillo. even after all these years, you can tell when he needs backup: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching the room for an out.
after excusing yourself from the conversation, you make your way over to conrad. 
"hey," you greet, nodding at laurel and cleveland. "mind if i borrow this guy? we've got some catching up to do." if either laurel or cleveland said anything more after yes, then you don't hear them, already pulling conrad away.
you lead him to the back corner of the room, near a small couch. neither of you make a move to sit; neither of you say anything. up close, you could see the shadows under his eyes, the creases in between his brows. he was always quiet, the more calm and thoughtful one of the group, but always with soft edges, especially when it came to you. now, quiet could have been replaced with brooding, and all those soft edges seem sharper.
“so,” you start. you grab the wine from conrad’s hand and take a sip. “are you gonna keep ignoring me, or are you gonna welcome me back?”
“when my mom said you were back, i didn’t believe her.” conrad looks at you, his face still. “i wish you hadn’t come back.” 
stung, you take a deep breath. after everything, conrad thought that was the best way to greet you? if cold and closed off was how conrad wanted to act, you could play that game, too.
“fuck you,” is all you say before joining jeremiah and steven on the other side of the room.
steven’s eyes widen once they land on you. "no fucking way. y/n!" steven exclaims. "thought you'd never come back here, man." there’s a joyful undertone to his comment as he smiles. same old steven: always blunt, always laughing. 
"yeah, well, i’m here.”
jeremiah just beams at you, picking you up and spinning you around. 
“jere,” you giggle, half scolding, fully floating.
“sorry, sorry!” he laughs, setting you down. “i just — i can’t believe you’re here. how come you didn’t tell me you were coming?”
“yeah, well.” you shrug. “i thought you liked surprises.”
“well, i do. especially if it involves seeing you.”
"yo, speaking of surprises — what if we ditch this party and surprise belly at the drive-in?" stephen suggests.
you shake your head, though leaving was very tempting. 
"or, instead of ruining your sister's first date, we get some booze, light a fire, and go get drunk on the beach," you suggest.
"oh, i am so down!" jeremiah exclaims. "you've got my vote." 
“hell yeah.” steven grins and throws his arm around your shoulder. "you always did know how to show us a good time."
then — summer, age 11
you had plenty of bonfires before, on the beach with your parents, but that summer marked the first one with just the kids. you begged and begged, and eventually the adults were okay with it since conrad had earned his boy scout badge for fire safety in the spring.
it was the beginning of july, and an unseasonably cold evening — basically, perfect bonfire weather. jeremiah helped susannah make hot chocolate for everyone. belly wanted s'mores, so you had biked with her to the store earlier that day for the ingredients. everyone was stuffing their faces with slightly burnt marshmallows as melted chocolate and graham cracker crumbs decorated your cheeks, and you chased it all down with lukewarm chocolatey liquid. you were kids and it was summer; life was sweet, life was good. 
"conrad," steven announced, turning to the boy who was pushing a marshmallow deeper into the fire. "i dare you to go dunk in the ocean." a grin erupted on steven's face, and in the glow of the fire, he looked like the cheshire cat. 
"no way, man. it's freezing."
you knew the real reason conrad didn't want to go into the ocean. one night the week before, when the parents were out to dinner and the other kids were asleep, you and conrad had stayed up to watch jaws together, having rented it secretly from the local video store. ever since, conrad had been coming up with excuses to not go swimming at the beach. 
"what's the matter, con? you scared?" jeremiah taunted, wearing a similar cheshire grin to steven’s.
"what?" the marshmallow conrad was trying to roast fell into the fire. he huffed, and belly handed him another one. "i'm not scared. it's just freezing."
"come on, man. you’ve gotta do it. besides, there's a fire and hot cocoa here for you when you get back," jeremiah reasoned. ten-year-old jeremiah was never very concerned about following the rules, except when it came to truth or dare. 
"i'm good," conrad snapped.
"aw, i think he's scared," steven laughed.
"i'm not scared —"
"what if i went with you?" you interrupted him. 
"but it's not your dare," belly pointed out as she continued carefully assembling a s'more. nine-year-old belly was competitive, so it was very important to her that the rules of any game were followed. 
"yeah, but if connie —"
"is scared," jeremiah coughed under his breath.
"wants company," you continued, ignoring jeremiah. "then, it'll be more fun, right?" you were a mix between jere and belly: you were competitive, but you didn’t particularly care about following the rules. especially when it came to your friends, even more when it came to conrad.
conrad smiled at you softly. "right." 
reluctantly, jeremiah, belly and steven agreed to the terms of the dare. you removed your beach cover up, and conrad his shirt, leaving you both in your swimsuits, dry even with swimming in the pool a few hours before. you ran to the water, pulling conrad with you. you stopped at the edge of the sand, waves tickling your feet and the light, and warmth, of the bonfire a recent memory. it was much cooler here, closer to the water.
"ready?"
conrad nodded once. "ready." 
hands still clasped together, you jumped into the ocean, leaving the comfort of the shore behind. 
now 
jeremiah finds stale marshmallows in the kitchen and steven makes a bonfire on the stretch of beach between your two houses. you head home to change out of your silk mini skirt and back into denim cutoffs. you switch your cream blouse for a short-sleeved button down, left open over your favourite bralette. when you get back to the beach, the boys have invited some people over, most of whom you don't recognize. 
"here," jeremiah hands you a lukewarm beer, which you accept gratefully. then, he throws an arm around your shoulder. "come on, there's some people i want you to meet." 
jeremiah introduces you to a few guys he works with at the club, and some girls who are doing the deb thing with belly. 
"jeremiah mentioned you’re a swimmer." gigi, one of the debs, smiles, eyeing the way jeremiah leans against you. "what's that like?"
the girls all wait expectantly for you to answer. 
"intense," you decide. you leave it at that. the fire flickers a few feet away, vibrant and alive. 
you want nothing more than to go back to those summer nights when you were kids. you want belly to be looking at the stars for elaborate constellations while jeremiah burns marshmallows to a crisp. you want steven to be laughing and making outrageous, impossible dares. you want the five of you together, huddled around a small fire that conrad had carefully crafted. you want conrad to be okay. 
"i hear that competitive sports can like, really fuck with a girl's self-esteem and body image," gigi continues. you don't necessarily think she means it as an insult, and it's certainly not anything you haven't heard (or felt) before, but you still bristle.
"like i said: intense," you answer cooly. 
"hey, man, when are we gonna get the marshmallows going?" steven suddenly appears, his face slightly flushed. he holds hands with shayla, who, as jeremiah pointed out earlier, steven is dating. 
"in a bit. i asked con to pick up chocolate and graham crackers for s'mores." jeremiah looks around before saying: "speaking of: look who's here!"
jeremiah runs off to meet his brother, while you stay back and take a sip of your beer. 
"looks like he brought nicole, too," steven observes.
who the fuck is nicole? 
nicole, you learn as the group sits around the bonfire and roasts marshmallows, is the girl conrad is either dating or hooking up with. jeremiah isn't quite sure.
the night grows darker. the air is warm with smoke from marshmallows roasting, the smell of burnt sugar dancing around. people start to leave to go to other parties, and soon enough it's only steven, shayla, nicole, conrad, jeremiah, and you. having less people around made it harder for you to ignore conrad. nicole is nice and pleasant to talk to, but you can't help but feel something churn in your stomach when you see how close nicole and conrad are to each other. plus, she's wearing a red sox cap, and you know for a fact that conrad hates the red sox, unless that obviously fundamental part of his personality changed too. 
jeremiah must have noticed, because he suggests a drinking game for the group to ease the tension. 
"never have i ever gotten a tattoo." 
you’re the only one to take a sip of your drink. 
"i meant a real one," steven rolls his eyes. 
"i do have a real tattoo." you remove the button down and point to the left side of your rib cage. 
the others take a closer look, except conrad, of course. he was always an expert at pretending not to care, but so were you. tonight is a prime example: since the bonfire, you hadn't said a word to each other. 
"why a starfish?" nicole asks. she leans further into conrad’s arms.
you look at conrad, briefly, then shrug. "i like the beach." 
the game continues until the fire dies down, and you’re left with a burning sensation from conrad glancing in your direction, at the starfish etched on your skin.
then — summer, age 13
"that's disgusting," steven said, scrunching his nose. 
"no, steven, that's friendship," you replied, just as jeremiah leaned over to take more from your cup, and vice versa.
"right, friendship." belly raised her eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response. you then decided to take an interest in your formerly white sneakers (after so many summers, they were now decorated with sand and sea water and permanent marker doodles. your mother hated them.)
that summer, belly became convinced that jeremiah had a crush on you. she said that he was absolutely lovestruck and that you were too blinded by years of being best friends with him to notice. jeremiah had made you promise not to tell belly the hilarious irony of the situation — that it was belly he so clearly loved.
"see, steven. friendship can be sweet!" jeremiah grinned, chewing the chunk of bubble gum he had fished from your cup. that was the type of cheesy thing only jeremiah could say and make others laugh unironically. 
years before, when you were just kids, you and jeremiah believed you had solved the most complicated problem in the world. you loved bubble gum ice cream, but hated the bubble gum chunks. jeremiah loved bubble gum chunks, and didn't care if the flavor clashed with his favorite rainbow sherbert because he loved you even more (platonically, of course). 
during the whole interaction, conrad was silent, looking out towards the beach. 
the five of you had walked to the nearest ice cream shop (there was no baskin robbins in cousins, but some nautical themed place with 50 flavors and unlimited toppings). you decided to come back and sit on the porch of the fisher house (where there was a decent amount of shade) rather than on the beach. it was one of the hottest afternoons of the summer, late july, when the sun was at its peak. those who'd been coming to cousins their whole lives knew that being at the beach in such weather was only good for swimming. 
you glanced at conrad, who took another bite (an actual bite) of his chocolate ice cream. he was sitting on the railing instead of the stairs like the rest of you, so you had to crane your neck slightly. you tapped his ankle, which was decorated with a temporary tattoo. the night before, the two of you had found a few left over from when you were kids and, having a sugar rush from too much cream soda and root beer (and maybe stolen sips of sangria when the adults weren't looking), decided it would be hilarious to see if the tattoos still worked. so, conrad had a cartoonish-looking shark on his ankle, and you had a similarly cartoonish-looking starfish on your arm. 
"you okay, connie?" you asked. you only got a nod and a small smile in response. more and more, as summer crept on, conrad would be laughing, loud and lively, one second (exhibit A: using those temporary tattoos the night before was his idea -- we don't want them to go to waste, y/n, he grinned mischievously) and the next he'd be silent, closed off (exhibit B: since you came back from your ice cream excursion, he'd barely said a word). 
even though you couldn't really read minds, you had an aching feeling that you knew what conrad was thinking in that moment, because you’d been thinking it, too: time was passing too quickly. in a few days, it would already be august, and september was just around the corner. the summer - your childhood - was as temporary as yours and conrad’s tattoos: vibrant and saturated, slightly faded, then gone. 
"i wanna go swimming. anyone wanna join me at the beach?" jeremiah suddenly asked. 
"i've gotta pick up the twins from day camp, but i'll try to meet you guys later." you knew that wasn't true though — things were getting more and more tense between your parents, your father storming out angrily after useless arguments and your mother passing out on the couch after one too many glasses of wine. someone needed to watch your siblings, and neither of your parents seemed pressed to find an actual babysitter.
"i'll stay with you," conrad said.
belly and steven took jeremiah up on his offer. once the other three were gone, you stood up. "scooch over." conrad shifted slightly and you went to join him on the railing, your knees practically knocking together. 
"so. did the tattoo help you get over your fear of sharks?" 
conrad took another bite of his ice cream, this time with a giant chunk of chocolate. "i don't fear sharks," he replied. then, he turned to you and shrugged. "i just respect them, you know?"
you bumped your shoulder against conrad's. "right. you respect them so much that you avoid the ocean at all costs." 
conrad smirked. "says the girl who avoids eating on the beach because she's scared of seagulls!" 
you were laughing, teasing each other, not caring that your ice cream was melting, when mr. fisher opened the front door, car keys in hand.
"oh, hey kids. we were wondering where you were."
"we went to scoops ahoy," you explained. you took a bite of your ice cream and resisted the urge to spit it out once you realized that it had a chunk of bubble gum in it. 
"better watch the ice cream, huh, y/n?" mr. fisher said, smiling like he said the funniest thing in the world. he patted his stomach to further his point. "if you want to keep up at those swim meets."
you suddenly froze, mid bite. you cleared your throat and dropped the spoon back in your half-empty cup, suddenly queasy.
"dad," conrad said, not raising his voice, but definitely irritated. "what the actual fuck."
"language, conrad," mr. fisher scolded. without another word, he got in his car and drove away.
"he shouldn't have said that," conrad said instantly.
"it's fine," you replied, too quickly to be true. you set down your ice cream between you and conrad. "it's nothing my own father hasn't said to me."
being a teenage girl was brutal, and competitive swimming amplified that, especially the older you got. there was always someone faster, someone more skilled, someone better. ice cream churned in your stomach at the thought. was your father right: had you wasted your summer, not practicing your technique and stuffing your face with sugary treats? 
conrad picked up your ice cream and handed it to you. he then took the spoon from his own cup, and stated: "fuck dads who are jerks." 
you couldn't help but smile. somehow, he always knew what to say to make you believe that you weren't alone, that things would be okay no matter how fucked up the world was. 
"fuck dads who are jerks," you echoed, raising your spoon.
"and,” conrad paused. he looked at you with gentle eyes. “to always being there for each other."
you smiled at him, heart soaring. "to always being there for each other." 
you clinked your spoons together, and ate your ice cream, and shifted closer so your legs pressed together — and it didn't feel like a temporary promise.
now
you always loved mornings in cousins. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water at its most peaceful.
the morning after the bonfire, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. as quietly as you can to avoid waking up the rest of your family, you make a fresh pot of coffee and pour some into your favourite mug. it’s from the rainforest cafe: bright green with a cartoon frog on it. you brought it back from a swim meet in niagara falls when you were 10, and got one for the fishers as well. theirs was orange with a cartoon iguana. conrad would use it all the time; you imagine it collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard now.
you make your way down to the beach, and notice someone already sitting at your usual spot by the water.
conrad doesn’t say anything when you sit next to him. he’s wearing a red hoodie over his clothes from last night, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. he glances at you as you sip your drink. 
“morning,” he whispers.
you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time conrad spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.
“morning,” you finally reply. 
as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, conrad lights his cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. in turn, you offer him your mug. a peace offering — you both accept. the space between you becomes open, comfortable.
“since when do you smoke?” you exhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs. 
conrad takes a long sip of coffee, looking out towards the ocean. “since i quit football.”
“i thought you loved football.”
“i loved it,” conrad answers. he takes another sip, then gives the mug back to you. “i don’t love it anymore.”
you take another drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.
“once you love something, you never really unlove it,” you muse, even though you know exactly what he means — when it comes to sports. 
“don’t misquote spirited away at me,” he laughs, and you can’t help but smile. the first time you'd watch that movie was when you were 8. all the kids crowded into the den of the fisher house on a rainy day. susannah prepared an impressive spread of candy, popcorn, and soda for you all. you drank dr. pepper from a twizzler straw and cried when chihiro reunited with haku.
conrad glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his brown hair, the hazel of his eyes. golden, radiant. 
you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.
“i’m not sure nicole would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope conrad doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, conrad knew you too well. 
“you don’t get to do that,” he snaps.
“do what?”
conrad scoffs. “be jealous.” 
“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”
“so, you are jealous?”
you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.
“it’s too early, con. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”
there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your house, the beach and conrad further away with every step you take.
it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.
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randomishnickname · 5 months
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Must-read Destiel fics - my superduper Nov. 5th rec list
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Three years ago, on the blessed day of November 5th, 2020, I had:
never seen an episode of SPN,
only had a vague inkling of what the two pale coconuts were on about,
and I hee-heed and ha-had with the rest of Tumblr about the love confession scene and the Internet errupting in an unparalleled craze
At first I thought, that's it.
Then ... I got curious. I watched some YouTube Destiel supercuts. I read some fic (I think @andhumanslovedstories beautiful Cas/OC fic was my entry point?). I read meta. I watched some more YouTube scene packs. I read even more fic. I watched some of S4, some of S1, some random fan fav episodes. And then Destiel lodged itself so deeply, thouroughly into my brain that it took over and hasn't relinquished control in the last two years. The most tenacious, pervasive brain worm to date.
This ship got it all, and this fandom got it all, and there's such delightful, powerful, batshit crazy, romantic, expertedly crafted fanfic out there, it's like being a starving child in the world's biggest candystore.
So without further ado, here's some of my very favorite fics from this infinite trove, with all my thanks to the wonderful writers who keep delighting and awing me with their dedication and craft. There'll of course be some recency bias at play but you can browse my bookmarks over here to chose from over 100 excellent and well-curated SPN stories.
💕CATEGORY: SWOONWORTHY💕
Wildly romantic fics that warm you up from the inside.
It Won't Be Perfect by someonetoanyone (10K words) Summary: Dean daydreams about what it'd be like to let himself love Cas freely.
Why I love it: the humor, the spot-on characterizations, and the quintessential late season Destiel-ness of being so deeply love with your best friend that it's too big to actually do anything about. Just. So warm.
Rock Lobster by Ginger Fail (13K) Summary: Cas decides that the lobsters Dean planned to cook need to get back home. Impromptu beach vacation ensues!
Why I love it: This road trip story is fresh and invigorating like a sea breeze! Fun, entertaining and full of deep, deep fondness.
Seek to Know You Better by ahurston (32K)
Summary: On a road trip, Dean and Cas play the 36 Questions That Lead To Love.
Why I love it: They’re so deliberatedly, carefully starting a relationship here. They try so hard to bridge the gaps and meet each other halfway. A very mature take on love that feels nourishing.
☢️CATEGORY: BRAINWORMS GALORE☢️
Fics that make you go BARK BARK BARK.
samson went back to bed by piesexuality (9k, @twoheadedcas) Summary: Cas strikes a deal with Chuck - keeping his family together comes at the price of their free will.
Why I love it: What if Cas got his revenge for the Mala'ak box? What if love came at the price of everything you've been fighting for? What if a story twisted the knife oh so sweetly? Each word of this one lands a punch. Made me insane in the best of ways (cue pinned fanart).
In sickness by @saintedcastiel (41K) Summary: S4 redux but Castiel has a fetish: giving Dean the sniffles.
Why I love it: This one is soooo. Can barely find words for it. It taps into Cas' early season alienness and psychosexual obsession with Dean, brilliantly demonstrates Casdean vs Samruby parallels, and each word is just. Perfect. ARGH!
so much smoke in a hall full of mirrors by AreYouReady (6K, @autisticandroids ) Summary: Godstiel is losing his heavenly war. Crowley provides a compliant Dean-doll for him to release his frustrations upon.
Why I love it: Urgh, this one is sooo dark. Taps into the scary, intimidating and alien aspects of Godstiel so well. Gore, consent and psychosexual issues galore. Delicious.
Special mention: In a Parked Car, Exhuming Ophelia by @an-android-in-a-tutu (17K). Still need to comment properly ;)
💣CATEGORY: EMOTIONAL WRECKING BALLS💣
Angsty fics that tear you to pieces to remake you better.
What Used To Be Mine by someonetoanyone (48K words) Summary: Dean never makes his apology prayer in Purgatory - Cas dies, Dean mourns.
Why I love it: Oh god, this is a heavy hitter. Just, straight up insurmontable grief, packaged in poetic, raw language to make you shed tears and tears. Loved it so much.
Ignite your bones By ilovehowyouletmefall (67K, @angelinthefire) Summary: Dean accepts Chuck's deal: killing Sam to save the world.
Why I love it: Cruuuuel cruel premise for a story that doesn’t pull its punches. It gets dark in Dean’s head and everyone around him suffers. Wonderfully written. The ending set my brain on fire.
Right Where you Left Me by outdean (93K, @armandgender)
Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty after 10 years to find Dean married to another man.
Why I love it: This one is a riiiide. When grief has become a part of you but your love comes back… When you return from the dead and have to carve a new space into the world for yourself... nothing is easy here, but the emotions are INTENSE. Also, autistic!Cas for the win.
Special mention: Who Ya Gonna Call? by saintedcastiel (50K) and Clear skies in spring by enochianprayer (WIP)
💥CATEGORY: EPIC RIDES💥
Expansive, wild adventures with lots of ups and downs
Spirit of the West by teen_dean (140K, @urne-buriall)
Summary: An 18y old Dean grew up on a horse farm – cue veterinarian Castiel. The summer of a lifetime ensues.
Why I love it: So this is one of my very favorite stories, ever ever, and I cannot recommand enough to immediatedly suscribe to the author’s Substack to be able to follow it in „real time“ next summer. It’s cinematic, rich, full of darkness and light, it’s everything a story can aspire to, I’m just. I just really love it.
Second Verse, Same as The First by LaLaCat1 (135K)
Summary: Endverse!Cas is sent back to the start of S1 and is determined to make things right this time round.
Why I love it: a desperate and badass Cas, unfridging everyone, a thrilling plot, moments of awesome for the entire cast, gripping action scenes, a romance for the ages… this is a genuinely amazing story.
back road, black road by eden22 (167K)
Summary: 18y old Sam gets kidnapped by Hell on his way to Stanford. Dean tries to deal.
Why I love it: So this one’s not Destiel-centric but does have wonderful Destiel moments. It’s also very heavy on the gore and the angst (NOT for the faint of stomach), but expertly crafted, fascinating and frankly it deserves more love. Held my breath for half the read and never knew where it’d take me.
Special mention: It's The End Of The World (As We Know It) by tiamatv (140K)
🤪CATEGORY: DESTIEL INSANITY🤪
Uproariously funny stories about the intricate rituals these two weirdos get up too.
Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall (26K)
Summary: Dean teaches a newly human Cas how to be „a real man“.
Why I love it: Dean coming to Big Self-Realizations while trying to have platonic threesomes with Cas is so perfect. Very endearing, tender and funny. Also, smoking hot sex.
the cheapest room in the house by biggaybenny (89K)
Summary: Dean downloads Grindr for Cas
Why I love it: Just. Late season Dean being deranged about Cas’ sexuality while everyone watches on in utter confusion. Equally hilarious and deeply moving
according to all known laws of life by @sobsicles (29k)
Summary: Cas comes back from the Empty to a Dean who won’t stop playing gay chicken.
Why I love it: They are both such petty, insane weirdos in this one. They said „can every situation be turned into a squabble“ and didn’t wait for an answer. So funny, so tender
Special mention: Wedding Vows and Negotiations by GingerFail (6K)
That's it, enjoy and leave your writers some much-deserved love!
711 notes · View notes
strawberrysainz · 3 months
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supercut of us. max verstappen
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“ you weren’t expecting him to join the holiday. so when he does . . . you’re not sure how to refrain yourself from both slapping him in the face or pulling him into bed with you. ”
max verstappen x fem!reader
a mini enemies to lovers “blurb” (it’s 1.5k words lol) for my max lovers.
a warning — slightly mature scene, profanity, alcohol consumption
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3:36 P.M.
“My heart is pounding,” you admit, and your hand that absentmindedly clutches your moving chest allows you to let out a deep breath.
George chuckles. You’re both waiting for his girlfriend to come back from the bar with your cocktails - you for a drink, him so he can leave you two alone.
The bird that’s just made a grab at your bowl of snacks squawks from a metre away and you stare at it menacingly. Carmen comes back clutching two strawberry daiquiris, and George takes that as his cue to leave, hurriedly. You furrow your eyebrows. “What’s the man got to do at -” you check your watch -“three forty two pm on holiday?”
Carmen shrugs. “He had to get to the airport to pick people up, last I heard.”
You nod knowingly and lean back on the sun lounger, taking a sip of your drink.
Carmen starts to talk about drama from work, and you peer at her through your sunglasses as the warmth of the sun and the comfort of previous tipsiness starts making you drift off.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
4:56 P.M.
Around an hour later you’re rudely awoken by multiple cheeky voices; you can identify George’s loud voice through the squinting of your eyes through the sunlight, but there’s one voice that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It’s raspy - in a smooth way - but the short cackle that follows it allows you to realise that it's someone you definitely don’t want on holiday with you.
Pure annoyance makes you open your eyes. Carmen is nowhere to be seen; four men stand above you. You sit up, yawning, and hope that you’re not red with sunburn. (Looking down for a split second, you’re not.) Then you look up with some kind of synthetic smile and your blood boils as you look Max straight in the eyes.
“Hi boys,” you say, smiling, and get up to give everyone a hug; Lando spins you around and runs across the sand, and as you scream he throws you into the ocean.
Now you need a drink, for real.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
LATER. 11:37 P.M.
Head heavy in your hand on the counter, you’re woozy, blanketed by too many cocktails, and Lily and Carmen sit across from you stealing blocks of chocolate from a bar Alex bought.
Max strolls in and you grimace.
The anger hasn’t dissipated- being in a serene setting hasn’t changed what happened- and you toss him the drink he nods to; he turns straight back around and leaves.
“What’s the beef with you two, anyway?” Lily says curiously, and Carmen laughs. “It’s so dumb.”
“When we were sixteen-” you interrupt yourself to cough- “he dated two of my friends and caused us all to break up our group. Then he asked me out for a date, we went out, then he ghosted me. I was left with no friends. Then we met again two years later and we had a screaming fight outside a club, which ended up in a Dutch gossip mag. I was so embarrassed.”
Lily scrunches her nose. Carmen has zoned out, but she laughs to herself.
You look at her with the hint of a smile, tilting your head.
She nudges Lily. “They have to share a room tonight.” She whispers, and she throws her head back laughing and you stare at her incredulously. “Sorry?”
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
2:16 A.M.
“Max, I don’t fucking care, I’m sleeping on this stupid thing.” You kick the hard wooden bench at the foot of the bed. (It looks like a terrible place to sleep).
“Can you fucking get over yourself?” He says, rolling his eyes, and you’re drunk and upset and trying not to cry because he makes you so angry. “Just sleep in the fucking bed.”
You stand there in the room with your arms crossed, breeze softly blowing. He huffs and stalks off to the bathroom.
You get dressed for bed, in a big t-shirt because it’s hot and humid. Max walks out of the bathroom as you’re sliding on the shirt and you know he’s gotten a glimpse of your stomach and your underwear because his gaze changes from something frustrated to something you witnessed at the age of seventeen, across a dinner table as his hands move over your thigh.
He seems to be moving without knowing; suddenly he’s in front of you, eyes wild with desire you haven’t ever known, and it’s a test of patience, standing there under the twilight; the curtains blow.
You stand there with trepidation rattling your body and turn around, getting into bed like a stubborn little child.
He closes his eyes, opens the door and leaves.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
9:23 A.M.
The morning air greets you as you walk outside; Lando’s made mimosas on the wooden table next to the swimming pool, and you take a champagne glass gratefully. You wave to Lily and Alex who sit with their feet in the pool, and sip, the sun bathing you in light.
Lando comes to sit next to you by the pool loungers and you raise your glass as a thank you to him. “I heard you two had a little spat last night,” he says carefully, and you snort. “He instigated it and left.”
He laughs. “He went past my room to sleep on the couch. His footsteps were so fuckin’ heavy, I couldn’t even sleep for a good twenty minutes.”
You laugh.
George yells from inside that he’s made breakfast and everyone gets up with a yawn. Lando grabs a spare bottle of champagne and you all walk inside.
There’s some nearly burnt pancakes, heavenly smelling bacon, some sausage, and fried eggs. You all praise him heavily (Alex wraps his arm around his waist and pretends to kiss him) and Max walks in. He doesn’t acknowledge you and instead greets everyone else. You roll your eyes.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
13:43 P.M.
You’re a bit tipsy already, enough so that you can chat to Max amicably beside the pool as George and Alex play some mix of water polo and volleyball.
Your empty glass seems to shout at you from your side, so you pick it up and make your way back to the house.
As you enter the kitchen you hear someone stepping behind you. It’s Max - you know it from the soft thud of his foot against the wooden floor. Your eyelids flutter shut with some emotion you don’t know yet when he comes to stand next to you. You watch him out of your periphery, his hands, the soft, flowing movement of his body. His resting face, squinting with concentration to pour drinks. You bite back some words and carry on pouring.
As you turn around to go back, you two face each other, and your breath hitches when his eyes slowly move to meet yours, clutching your glass like it’s your protector. His gaze is… tender. In the kind of way that blurs out everything else.
The only thing that comes to mind is kissing him, so you move to go, and he sets down a glass to grab your arm. You clear your throat, and Christine McVie’s voice croons in the background when you look back. His eyelashes brush his cheek every time he blinks, and you study his face, forgetting all that came before.
Lando and Alex call, and you both leave. The feelings are left there, back in the house, when you go.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
12:34 A.M.
Stumbling back from the restaurant, everyone bids eachother a good night after a quick drink of a glass of water each. You find your room and start getting undressed in the middle of the room, carelessly, and when you hear Max come in you get a fright and clutch your chest. He lets out a little laugh as he gets his things and moves to the bathroom.
Two minutes later, when he walks back inside, you’re bending over to see your face in the mirror to take off your makeup and you can sense the energy inside the room has changed. He’s in a shirt and those gingham pants that look divine on any man, and he stands still for a moment before moving over to the window. You bend back up and you’re met by his gaze again, frozen in place. Your lips part momentarily and he steps forward, and you’re reminded of how much you hate his stupid face when his lips meet yours. His hands wrap around your waist, one dipping beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach, and you’re kissing him, hard, desperately, messily; in a way that you don’t realise how much you wanted to until now.
He moves slowly to the bed, large hands grasping your waist softly, sending shivers up your spine. His hips press against yours as you fall on the bed, gasping with pleasure as his hands meet your neck.
❤️‍🔥🍓💋🍹
TWO MONTHS LATER. 11:56 AM.
In the garage, you’re busy chatting to some mechanics when he comes up to you, and his hands slide around your waist from behind. You twist your torso to smile up at him as he presses a kiss to your cheek, and to your delight he pushes you towards his driver’s room, shooting you a knowing grin as he looks away, holding up five fingers and then a thumbs up. You bite back a broad smile as you walk away.
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i hope you enjoyed. heart, comment, reblog pls 🫶🤙 love u love u love u
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ayvnari · 7 months
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♡ sanrio obsessed reader x ellie headcanons
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im not sure why but i think this is super cute though and i love the thought of ellie just being really confused but also thinking its cute AAAHH this is also super super short idk, i thought it was cute, also im working on like 3 other ellie fanfics so !!!! might be done with the first one tn, im not sure, im kind of tired.
nsfw headcanons at the end (i'll put a warning before !)
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she'd be really confused when she went into your room for the first time
like, she knew you were all cutesy, but this was to another level
she'd be really amazed by your plushie collection, and your bedding, with your sanrio themed blankets and throw pillows
she'd pick up one of your my melody plushie
"doll, what's this one called?" she said, holding it up.
she does not remember a single one of their names besides hello kitty, she would ask you the names but then just forgets, so she makes nicknames for them.
pompompurin would be pumpkin, cinamaroll would be poodle, exc.
idk why but i feel like she would call rilakkuma "freddy fazbear" as a joke but it just stuck
when she falls asleep on your plushie infested bed, you could cover her up with all of them, and burry her under them. when she wakes up she'd just pull you into them with her, and cover you up as punishment.
she constantly tells you that your room is so childish and unnecessarily pink (she absolutely loves it but is just too prideful to admit it)
whenever you gift her one of her favorite sanrio characters (which is definitely keroppi prove me wrong) she will complain and tell you how stupid it is, and how she has no use for it. but if you try and take it back she'll have a fit.
she secretly has a collection of all the plushies you give her on her bed that she falls sleep in but she hides whenever you come over
she gives you small gift baskets and leaves them in random places in your house, like really random, to the point where sometimes you wont find them for months, they'll be in the back of your cabinet or under your bed, and they'll just have extra plushies and knick knacks to add to your collection
she watches hello kitty and friends supercute adventures with you and cuddles (she'll be asleep or on her phone, just letting you enjoy yourself)
(NSFW UPCOMING!!!)
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she'd keep you quiet by stuffing one of your plushies in your mouth
she would put her strap on your really big life sized rilakkuma plush and make you ride it
she sometimes sets up all your plushies and figurines up to watch you two, especially when you're being a brat, since you usually face them towards the wall so they can't see you two
she absolutely degrades you for it but then she'll praise you for it
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ty for reading this weird idk little drabble i was just bored and was looking at my korilakkuma plush and was like "ellie would look really cute holding that" yk
858 notes · View notes
redclercs · 7 months
Text
DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.
xiv. this feels like the calm before the storm.
— the one where the world is caving in.
warnings: cheesy pop culture references, aidan and victoria are back, more articles than usual. mentions of panic attacks, anxiety tics, spelling mistakes in the tweets that i am too lazy to correct, forgive me. 2.3k words (+articles!)
masterlist ✢ next
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'Did Timothée Chalamet get y/n y/ln a role in 'Little Women'?'
By Bridget Thomas
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As previously reported by various outlets, actress y/n y/ln has been cast as the youngest March sister for yet another remake of "Little Women", expected to be premiered by the end of next year. However, we can't help but wonder, how did y/n manage to get a role alongside actors of such high caliber, such as Meryl Streep and Best Actress Nominee Saoirse Ronan?
Despite the success of movies such as Supercut and The Hating Game, y/n's acting skills cannot even begin to compare to those of her co-stars, she's a romcom actress, and she's supposed to stay that way. But as Ringo Starr once sung: "I get by with a little help from my friends" and y/n is no exception.
Timothée Chalamet, Greta Gerwig's other main muse, has Hollywood eating out of the palm of his hand, and his influence goes a long way. So much so, that he was able to secure Amy's role for new friend (possibly new something else) y/n y/ln.
Right after they were seen mingling at a party in Paris with y/n's boyfriend (probably soon to be ex) Charles Leclerc, y/n got the call that they decided to give her the role.
Don't we all want a boyfriend who uses nepotism to our benefit?
Seriously, though, how does y/n manage to get this heartthrobs to spare a glance her way and do this stuff in her name? Somebody call the Winchester Brothers, we might have a witchcraft case right in front of our eyes.
Click here to go to the next article.
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'Victoria Presley: I still miss my best friend, but all she did was use me.'
By Daniel Gomez
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After staying away from social media and her job for a month and a half, beauty influencer Victoria Presley is back and she's not afraid of anything. Not even legal repercussions.
Back in July, Victoria received a 'Cease and Desist' letter from none other than former best friend y/n y/ln, demanding she stopped talking about her in public and to news outlets. This sparked the rumors that Presley had been selling her secrets to tabloids and was the one to reveal the engagement secret alongside actress Mia Kim, Aidan Kim's sister.
Victoria immediately removed herself from the narrative, deeply hurt by her ex-bestie's actions. Now, after gathering her thoughts and recovering from being stabbed in the back, she's giving us this exclusive interview.
"I can't help but miss y/n, she was my best friend for so long. But all she did was use me." Victoria is still in disbelief of y/n's actions, after giving her all her love and support. "I let her live in my house for months, and one day she leaves without any explanation. All to meet that Formula One guy."
Victoria has expressed her discontent with y/n's relationship with Charles Leclerc several times, arguing he is one of the main reasons y/n cut all ties with her and not the rumors that she revealed y/n's secrets to tabloids.
"He changed her for worse. Their relationship is so toxic, they breakup and get back together again and again, and they're just looking for ways to use the other's reputation for their benefit."
However, Victoria is certain the relationship won't last much longer, since y/n has her sight set on co-star Timothée Chalamet. "y/n has liked him for a while. When the rumors of his relationship with Kylie Jenner came out, she assured me she could steal him away with a flick of her hand."
Meanwhile, Victoria is focusing on her beauty line and its evergrowing sales. "I'm competing directly with Rare Beauty and Fenty. I'm in the big leagues, the way I deserve to be."
Click here to go to the next article.
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'Aidan Kim reveals tracklist for "MIRRORS" and moves the release forward.'
By Paul Dean
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Aidan Kim fans won't have to wait until October 5th anymore since their idol has decided to move the release date for his debut album forward by one month.
While we believe this decision was influenced by the news of ex-girlfriend y/n y/ln making her acting comeback in a high category movie, his fans also begged him to 'remind everyone of how awful y/n is' and judging by the titles of his upcoming tracks, we're sure he's leaving no crumbs.
Check out "MIRRORS" tracklist here:
In Your Pocket
All The Things I Hate About You
Him
Cry Me A River
Stabber
Stupid Love Letter
MIRRORS
Round and Round (Star-5 Reprise)
Yours and Mine (Star-5 Reprise)
Blinding Lights (The Weeknd Cover)
No Lie (With Mia Kim)
We can't wait for Aidan's insight on his relationship and breakup to y/n, we're certain the details are juicy! Don't forget to presave "MIRRORS" on Spotify and Apple Music!
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Monza, Italy, September 3rd.
1...2...3... deep breath in, 4...5...6, breathe out.
You repeat the process five times until your heart has set in your chest and isn't trying to break free anymore. Until you've stopped squeezing your thighs with your palms and you can keep your eyes open without feeling like the red decoration is stabbing your eyeballs.
It's good that you can manage your anxiety before it turns into panic. You're still embarrassed about The Spain Incident, although neither Charles nor Carlos fault you for it at all. Still, every now and then, their panicked faces flashback in your mind and you feel sorry for them all over again.
You don't want this weekend to turn into The Monza Incident. Not when Charles' contract renewal was announced a few hours ago and he's on Pole Position, this weekend has to be perfect. Or as perfect as possible, for your boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
The weight of the word has multiplied by a thousand in your mind. Silly, when you really think about it. But palpable in a way that has butterflies flying around your stomach every time you think about the word and Charles' smiling face appears in your mind.
He's your boyfriend and you're his girlfriend, and this was a mutual agreement you reached with panic still holding you by the throat, only soothed by Charles' soft lips against your temple and his warm hands rubbing your skin.
You agreed to come to this Grand Prix because it will be the last one for you for a while. Filming for Little Women starts soon, and though they have a couple of races in the States, your schedule can be a little unpredictable. Also, you're hoping to score more roles soon.
You breathe again, deep enough that your lungs ache and lightheadedness threatens to rise through your body. You're overwhelming yourself, again.
According to the world, you’re not skilled enough to be in a movie with Saoirse and Timothée and should give up the role to someone who actually deserves it. Which you won’t do, of course. That someone who deserves it is yourself. It has taken a lot of pep talks in the bathroom mirror to brainwash yourself into believing it, but you’re getting there.
Plus, there are more things to worry about with Victoria back on her bullshit and Aidan's album coming out in two days. There are so many things to fix again, just when you thought you were getting there. Of course the two people that hate you most in the world have to mess with you again.
"Already here?" Carlos asks the second he crosses the door to the Suite. "It's way early."
"Good morning to you too," you let the air out of your already burning lungs and smile at Carlos. "I have nowhere else to be."
You could be at the Paddock Club, mingling with whatever celebrity or rich local is there. Or even visiting McLaren, since Lando offered to 'show you the garage', something Charles didn't like, of course. The secret of your newly earned girlfriend-boyfriend titles is one you try to keep close to your heart.
As if that has worked before.
A wave of anxiety runs down the back of your neck when you remember the tweet you saw this morning about a Deuxmoi tip on Charles and you. What could the exact price be, to reveal your relationship to the world?
"Have you had breakfast? Looks like you're going to throw up," Carlos says, sitting in the sofa opposite yours.
It's at least the fifth time he's told you that during the weekend. You know he does it out of a place of concern, but it still rubs you the wrong way. You also need to look perfect, not like you're going to throw up.
"I had breakfast back at the hotel, it's just the lighting."
"Sure?"
"I'm fine, Carlos. How are you?"
Carlos shrugs, he's not being the center of attention this weekend despite this being another home race for the team. "Good."
"Didn't you have to be at the meeting today?" you question, although it's obvious that by his getting there just now, he didn't.
"Had my PR reminders yesterday. Charles is different."
Of course. He has to know what he's allowed to say about his renewal and what he should not speak on at all.
Your own team advised you not to let yourself be seen at Monza. Mildred would have pulled you out of the plane if it had been up to her, and Walter would have helped her hold you hostage until the weekend was over.
They're both trying to find out about the Deuxmoi pictures too, although you doubt they can reach an agreement of any kind with whoever holds them to stop them from calling People Magazine up.
This whole avoiding being seen thing makes you feel wrong. As if you were doing something bad with Charles instead of just finally letting the love you've felt for him for months show. You hate it.
You're wrong to compare your current situation with your past ones. Aidan was your first really public romantic relationship, but before that, you didn't hide your partners either. Of course you weren't that famous, but even then, you didn't entertain the thought of scurrying around like criminals.
"He'll be fine, y/n," Carlos adds, looking at the way your foot keeps stomping the floor, like you're some kind of hyperactive bunny. "He's on Pole. You can pray for Max's downfall, though, maybe that'll help."
"I don't pray for people's downfall," you click your tongue, crossing your legs to stop the tic.
Karma and all that.
"Maybe you should." Carlos winks at you, and your conversation is finished as Charles leaves his meeting.
You can tell something's off just from the way his shoulders tense, but he smiles at you the moment your eyes meet.
"Everything okay?" you ask before he leans down to reach your height as you sit and pecks your lips.
"Yes, everything's good."
He's lying.
─────────
What was the point of coming to Monza if you're only watching the race through the screens?
You don't think the sun has touched your face at all since you got to the circuit, and you really want to be out there. But you stay put in your seat as the formation lap occurs right outside of the Suite.
It will make no difference, though, Charles is focused on the race, as he should be, rather than whether you're watching him through the TV.
Soon enough you know what will make a difference.
It's some kind of miracle that Charles has managed to regain the P1 position after the disastrous pit stop Ferrari put him through, and maybe Carlos was actually praying for Red Bull's downfall since Max has his very first DNF of the season and Checo can't get past George in P3.
Charles is going to win Monza again.
The decision making tree branches in front of you in a matter of seconds, people at the Suite are already talking excitedly and someone asks if you want to go down, there are four laps left.
You get up from your seat, aware that if life was anything like that videogame you played a couple times on the set of Parisian Valentine with your co-star, the "This action will have consequences" legend would appear on the screen right now.
You follow the Ferrari worker out, but even between the excitement and celebrations, you manage to hear what the PR Manager really thinks of your presence in the Paddock.
"She’s such a PR nightmare,"
She switches to Italian when your eyes fly to her face. And you can only wonder what cruel yet entirely accurate thing she said.
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It's worse than a nightmare. It feels like the apocalypse all over again. And the weight of the world is back on your shoulders, feeling like you're messing up what was a weekend out of a dream for Charles.
You flashback to Monaco and the way Mati pulled you out of your head and locked your phone in her purse. You wish she was here more with each passing second. You cannot tear your eyes away from every single tweet speculating about your presence, about your relationship, about your intentions. It's overwhelming.
But Charles' happiness is what matters. He's absolutely ecstatic, even after the mishaps during the interviews where his PR training had to kick in and lead reporters back to Formula 1 related questions.
The thought that maybe you should have tried to make friends with more people occurs to you when you arrive at the celebration in the private club and Charles is dragged away from you. He tries his best to hold on to your hand, but the truth is people want to be with him and not you, so you let him take the spotlight he deserves and enjoy it.
"So, are you and Charles dating, then? Didn't you use to be engaged?"
You half-smile at the girl who just asked you the question, so boldly it takes you aback. But you guess her eyes are so bright from how much alcohol there is in her system, she's bound to be direct with liquid courage running through her veins. She's pretty in that dark hair, dark eyes way that has you momentarily doubting your own looks.
The extra heartbeat that takes you to reply, has her eyes shifting around the room before settling on Charles, who is finally walking back to your side.
Your boyfriend hands you a drink and smiles at the dark-haired girl and her friend, politely. "Are you having a good time?" the question is mostly directed towards you, but both girls jump at the chance of saying they're having the time of their lives and congratulating Charles for such an epic win. But they prompt you to join the conversation a few seconds later, so you're grateful for it either way.
There's a song in Spanish playing on the speakers and Charles is doing his best to sing the words while encouraging you to move to the beat with him. With his arms around you, things feel a little lighter, the whole in your chest that anxiety carved out is slowly filling with the love you feel for him, and the happiness of the day outshines the darkness of the thoughts in the back of your mind.
That is, at least, until the first notes of 'In Your Pocket' replace the previous song, after the DJ announces it's a special request. It's a remix, obviously, so people can dance to it, but a few of them have stopped moving altogether just to be a little less discreet about eyeing you.
"C'est pas amusant," you hear Charles say to one of his friends, who is hiding his mouth behind a tall glass of alcohol, his eyes still betray his enjoyement.
"It's fine," you squeeze Charles' arm, trying your best to smile although you're being put in the spotlight and there's nearly nothing worse than being the butt of a cruel joke. "It's just a song."
You wondered many times what those surrounding Charles thought of you. They didn't know you, after all. His brothers were nice to you when you saw them around the Paddock, and it wasn't like you'd hung around the rest of his friends. Did they mock him when tabloids called him a homewrecker? Or did they believe he'd just embarked on what seemed to be a dead-end relationship?
"I'm sorry, soleil, they're just— they're idiots," Charles adds, his hand reaching for yours. He looks genuinely upset and you can't help but hate whoever requested the song a little more for spoiling Charles' mood rather than for making fun of you.
"Charlie, it's okay, I've been through worse," your reassurance doesn't soothe him, so you squeeze his hand and he presses his lips to your temple. "I'd rather listen to Bad Bunny or something, though."
Charles laughs and pulls you out of the dancefloor, to a more private part of the club where you both can catch your breath and share a few kisses, unafraid of people staring at you.
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New York, United States, September 7th.
You know you're in trouble when Mildred calls tells you that you need to be at her office ASAP. She also used that condescending 'I'm the adult' tone that send you back to when you were fifteen and got in trouble with your mother, so it's another indication that she's angry at you.
Of course you know why, the words 'PR nightmare' haven't left your brain in days. And the moment you set foot in New York, Mildred was all over you about every single thing that was being said about the Monza Incident—aka seeing your boyfriend like any normal person would.
"This isn't ideal," Mildred says after a while, she has been explaining the public's perception of you for the past half hour. "It's like you—"
"Like I fucked up?" you cut her off, squeezing your knees to stop from biting your nails.
"We were rebuilding your brand, y/n. People think you waited for things to die a little so you could go public with Charles. Aidan's new album is not helping your case."
If you thought 'In Your Pocket' was bad, nothing compared to the rest of the songs. Some in which he called you a list of things including a homie-hopper, drama starter and said you settled for a 'bum' when you could have had a 'rockstar'.
"How is that my fault?" you don't intend to sound so whiny, but you can't help it. Why are Aidan's actions always your fault somehow?
"People are talking more about how you are dating a Ferrari Driver after spending months saying you weren't, rather than the fact that you landed an incredibly important role."
"We haven't told anyone we're dating,"
Mildred rolls her eyes despite her best efforts to remain professional. "Do you really think that's necessary?"
"What do you suggest we do?" you ask, knowing you won't like the answer.
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─── team principal radio: ❝remember when I said it wouldn't take me one month to update delicate and then it took me longer than that? I'M SO SORRY LMAO. also not loving this chapter but i just want it out of my way for now i need it off my drafts, but don't worry this time i'll try for the next not to take me a century. thank you if you're still here, your patience means the world to me i love you all so muuuuch♡❞
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the-doomed-witch · 8 months
Text
COME HOME TO MY HEART
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Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader
Summary: You rekindle with a childhood lover, now on the other end of the world. The love is still passionate, vibrant, but just far away. So you go back to meet her. // based on Supercut by Lorde
Word Count: ~4.0k
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS + MEN DNI. phone sex, masturbation, long distance lovers meet up, fluff, a littttttleeee angsty, oral (both), fingering (both), strap-on (n receiving), squirting, light bondage, mostly reminiscent
Author’s Note: i’ve written a similar drabble with wanda before, but i wanted to write a complete one shot with infinity war nat bc why not 🤭
MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // REQUESTS CLOSED
— ✦ —
The room is dimly lit, almost completely dark, when you get a call from Nat at 3:00 a.m. There’s obviously nothing else she could possibly be doing right now, so a little sigh leaves your mouth as you prepare yourself to pick it up.
“Hey baby, w-” you attempt to ask her, but she moans loudly. Yes, she’s doing exactly what you thought before picking up her call.
“Y/N, I need you… your touch, your tongue… Ah-!” you listen to her closely, with a hint of redness flushing over your cheeks. You could vividly imagine the mess she would be making around her.
The sounds of her fingering herself stopped, and she asks you, “Wouldn’t you join me detka? Come along with me? Let me hear you say my name? Won’t you, Y/N?”
Your mouth was already dripping at the thought of her wanting your tongue, but a pool of slick formed on your cotton panties at the thought of touching yourself to her sounds. You’d never done anything of the sort before, but ever since Nat reconnected with you, it was hard to resist or deny the offer she just gave.
You put your phone aside, on the bedside table, as you take off your clothes. You make her listen to your own sounds of pleasure, all the way in a different country. You can hear her overflowing pussy, and her fingers. Dip, spread, and rub, and again. Every moment or so, she pleads your name, as if you were right there, next to her.
Realising that mere touching is of no use for you to get yourself off, you introduce a toy to the moment, conveniently handy inside your bedside table drawer. “God, Nat, I wish you’d be taking this right now, I’d be pounding into you. You would take me so well…” you narrate to her, fantasising her touch, as you align the toy inside of you.
On the other end of the line, Nat is already reaching her climax. Her breathing is staggered, and her hole sounds as heavenly as her chants of your name. She screams loudly as she comes, hopefully making a mess around herself.
Just listening to her has been giving you chills all over your body. And no sooner than you sense her releasing herself, you do it too.
After moments of mutual silence filled with panting and whining, the question slips out of your mouth,“Why are you so far away, Nat?”
“Why did you move away, Y/N?”
You have no answer that is satisfactory. “I almost forgot that it’s morning for you, you really wanted me to come over and take care, didn’t you?”
“Isn’t it obvious Y/N? I ache for you, crave your touch every single night, hoping you’d come back here someday. We could go on dates, kiss each other, fool around all day in my apartment…”
“Oh my sweet baby… I promise I’ll be there soon. And when we go out on dates, I’ll hold your hand, always. Okay?”
“You’re going to make me come again with all your sweet talk. But this time, I mean it. I want to be able to do everything with you, just how lovers do. I miss you. I miss you so much.” You don’t need her to explain, you become cognizant of how her fingers slipped inside of her again. “Y/N, I’m so wet for you, I wish you were here to see it, do something about it.” she says shortly before cutting the call.
You think it’s by mistake, so you ring her again. She doesn’t pick it up.
With a heart full of longing, you recall your brightest memories with her. Right from coming out to her, to stealing moments alone after the day at high school ended just to give each other a kiss. The time both of you went to prom together, despite all your classmates thinking that both of you did so because “you couldn’t get a nice guy”. But nobody except you two knew the joy of being together.
Natasha Romanoff was your whole life before you left the goddamn place. She was so sure of a future together, before a silent and apologetic breakup came along, followed by you moving out to an entirely different continent. You still remember the tears pooling up around her emerald like irises, and then you attempting to calm her down. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breath out… 6,7,8 you taught her before leaving as a naive teenager.
A flashback of every subsided memory in your mind filled up your thoughts for the rest of the night. Your heartbeat increases as you think of what you have done for the two of you, and how it was only the most reasonable option given your circumstances. As a young love, you were wild and fluorescent.
But it’s been a few months since you found Natasha again, thanks to an exchange student in your university who turned out to be a mutual friend. And you wouldn’t commit those same mistakes this time.
— ✦ —
After three days of a monotonous routine, you call Nat several times abruptly. Of course, she is busy on the other side of the world, but there’s nothing more prime than your excitement today.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up!” you repeat to yourself till she actually picks up your call. “Y/N! You’ve been calling me aggressively, care to consider I’m at uni? What’s going on, is everything okay?” She sounds impatient. Not the impatient that you are feeling, but a rather frustrated one.
“Honey! Natty! I’ve got the best news for you!”
“Get to the point quickly! I cannot hold this call for long, my professor will be breaking my neck in half.”
“Mark the date Natty!! I’m just about to scream, oh my God! I love you! So much. Tell me that you love me too when I meet you at the airport, don’t forget to pick me up. I’m sending you the details of my flight, we’ll be walking around the town hand in hand in a few days!”
“Oh my God, Y/N. This is the best news I’ve heard, like ever! Fuck, I’m so going to cry, gosh. I lo-”
“No Natty! Say it when you meet me, I want to hear it in person. I can go for a week. Oh my God, there’s so much I need to do, bye! Take care.”
“Take care moya lyubov! See you soon.”
There’s a week left for you to catch your flight, but there's too much stuff to do. After all, it’s your home country and you will inevitably have to meet your family after years of no contact. That’s a fear, yes, but having Natasha by your side seemed soothing in a way.
Over the seven days, you cause havoc in your own apartment. Random calls with Nat throughout the day, going to university for the selected number of hours, bunking a few lectures to go and relieve yourself with what only Natasha could give you the best.
Definitely, there’s financing trouble to do, calculating the amount you’ll be spending, but you balance it all through with the help of your colleagues pursuing finance related majors.
From the depths of your wardrobe, you select the best pieces of clothing you have. Some bright, some in Natasha’s favourite colours, and some just a little provocative. There are an endless bunch of other things you want to carry but obviously, there’s a restriction on the weight of your luggage.
— ✦ —
“Babe, where are you? I can’t find you here. I’m at Gate 3.” you speak to Nat on call.
“Then what the fuck am I doing at Gate 2?! Wait I’ll have to run over to the other gate, I’m so fucking dumb!”
She turns to the other side, preparing herself to run off to the supposed gateway to find you. Suddenly, two arms grab her waist from behind, kissing her neck as you hold her in a tight embrace. “I was messing with you, love. I’m right here.” You whisper while planting kisses on her whole face as she giggles through your affection.
In the fullness of time, she pulls your face closer into a long awaited, and pined for kiss. Her tongue travels places inside your mouth as soon as you let her in, her hands pulling you impossibly close to her body.
Your hands stay gripping her back, entangled in her now-blonde hair. Your lips don’t depart till you’re both completely out of breath. “Before I forget to say it; I love you too Y/N! With my whole heart.”
“Seven years. Seven fucking years and you just taste the same kind of sweet, Natalia.”
She gives you a gentle smooch before replying, “And for seven fucking years I’ve waited for this. You’re here, you’re so here malyshka, my dearest!” Her muscular arms help you carry your heavy luggage, full of stuff you want to share with her.
She drives you around the city, reminiscing about places you both used to go to. “Wait, here comes the school! Can we please go inside? I want to take a look, it feels like I’ve missed years of stories I need to catch up with.”
You meet a few teachers from your childhood, many others have either left or retired. You meet Mrs. Agatha Harkness, who taught you history. She was the first adult you ever came out to, because you had met her wife Mrs. Wanda Maximoff several times in school.
She looked just the same, as if she were immortal. Agatha greeted the two of you with a cheerful glin, “What a lovely surprise have I got here! The two ladies; the secret high school sweethearts!” Both of you tensely blush at the addressal, and she teases the two of you again, “Your cheeks still redden just the way they did about a decade ago, oh my God!” She adoringly laughs at your innocent faces.
You find your secret spots in hidden staircases, near humongous trees, and the girls’ restroom. In the light of echoing your earliest happy moments, you kiss Natasha every time you find one of those places. The school is empty, since summer holidays are around.
Among other places in the city, you visit parks, cafeterias, and other sites you’ve been to with Nat ever since your childhood. From time to time, you recreate the past photos of the both of you.
You sit in the car after yet another round of wandering, tired of all the travel you’ve done today. You let out a sigh in the sharp afternoon sunlight. You haven’t rested in the last sixteen hours, but it’s been all worth it.
“I can’t imagine I get to say this today - Take me home, baby.” you tease her, tugging on her leather vest. The jacket you don’t understand for what godforsaken reason she still has on, in this summer heat.
Her apartment is a little cosy space, with hints of boldness here and there. Though there are spots recognizable from video calls and pictures, you’re surprised at the bigger picture that you hadn’t yet seen.
You never imagined her to be someone to hang artwork, but she has a few sapphic based paintings along the entrance corridor. You comment on the decoration, “Wow, I love how these are hanging by the entrance door. Someone could walk inside and just go like, ‘Natasha Romanoff. Badass, smartass, and girlkisser.’”
She chuckles at your little quip. Her bedroom is simple, not filled with many things, just some regular personal effects including photo frames. There were mainly pictures of her and Yelena, but some of them also had you photobombing the sisters.
“How’s Yelena?” you ask her, taking a seat by the bed.
“She’s alright. Like you, she doesn’t live here anymore. She goes around the world, teaching women about vigilance. I’m proud of what she does, but I wish she were here.”
“I was hoping I could meet her, we haven’t spoken in almost a decade. What about Bucky? Or Carol? Tony? All of our friends, you know.”
“Most of them left the city, and some, like you, left the country wholly. Bucky’s still here, he’s engaged to Sam. Bruce and Tony went to a science oriented institute. Carol comes around from time to time, to meet us. And well, Steve joined the military like he always wanted to. Everyone’s still in casual contact, except we miss you so much.”
“You know, we should be having a reunion someday. Not this time though, I think I’ll just meet a few people. Mostly, I want to be with you.” Your palm rests on the top of hers, fingers interlocking.
You let out another audible sigh, pushing yourself back into the bed. “You sound really dead beat, you don’t breathe out like this often. Do you want me to get you something Y/N?”
“I think I’m just facing jet lag, I’ll be fine in a day or so. But I could really use relaxation right now.”
She straddles your waist, moving strands of hair out of your face and tucking them behind your ears. “Then let me help you, detka.” Your lips part softly, signalling her to lean in. Instead, she places her thumb on your chin, making you suck on it. You close your eyes as they flutter, enjoying the feeling of her touch.
After a few minutes, she withdraws and gets her weight off your body. “May I?” she seeks your permission before proceeding. You nod at her in response.
She doesn’t pull down your pants immediately. Instead, her hands touch you over your pair of trousers. You cannot feel it as a direct contact with your skin, but it does tingle. A light tickle-like movement of her fingers traces your body, sending literal quivers and twitches from head to toe. Impatiently, you pull up your t-shirt and throw it away into a corner of the room. She unzips her shiny leather vest, only to reveal that there was nothing underneath this whole time. However, she doesn’t take it off her shoulders.
One flick of her hand, and your bra is unhooked. She covers your tits in her saliva with her sucking, biting and licking. You turn into a whimpering mess underneath her.
If she hadn’t cupped your core by pushing her hand down your trousers, you were sure you could’ve leaked your wetness onto the bed. “Fuck Y/N, who thought you’re going to be a dripping pool for me? You want me to fuck you so that you forget how to walk? Leave your legs sore? That’s what you want?” With every question, she spreads your juices up and down. She presses down on your clitoris harshly, “Answer me Y/N.”
“Mm” You give a string of incoherent mumbles as a reply. She unbuttons your pants and helps you take them off, to meet a sight of black lace barely covering any of your pussy. Natasha groans at the view, and decides not to pull them down.
She bends down to get to work as she lets two of her fingers hold the cloth aside. Her tongue rolls up and down and side, experiencing the full taste of your cunt. Every now and then, she pauses, leaves kisses, and moans into your slit, giving you shivers.
The room is filled with your screams, and sounds of your entire body heaving. Nat could sense the walls of your pussy clenching on her tongue. With a soft graceful tug on the bud, you squirt on her face, leaving you utterly embarrassed. “Oh my God baby, I didn’t know you were a squirter!” she says, excitedly. You get flustered as you misunderstand her words and push her away from your body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Shh. Give me one more, I love it when you do it.” She interrupts your whole line of thought with a kiss, and simultaneously pushing her fingers inside of you, ultimately curling them. Your legs writhe against her touch, as her hand moves faster.
You separate yourself from the kiss to scream when she touches a deep spot inside of you. Your response is enough for her to do it again, and again, and once again, till you release your juices. As soon as you do, she goes down to swallow it all, licking you and your pussy clean.
Throughout the climax, you leave scars on her body in the heat of the moment. Scars on her shoulders with your tight grip, on her back, and bites on her lips till they bled. “Look at me malyshka, look me in the eye when you come. You’re so tight for me, so good.” she says as she rides you through another orgasm, staring into your eyes with nothing but adoration.
You let your panties slip down, exposing Nat to an unfiltered heat. She slaps it hard before spreading it wide with her digits, rolling her tongue inside once again.
When she’s done abusing your poor clit, she massages your sweaty body, helping you relieve all the stress you’ve been facing with the jet lag.
“Nat,” you say, rubbing fingertips on her head in circular motions, “I love you. Let me return the favour, please?”
“Tomorrow. You’re so tired dorogaya, you should sleep. We can continue anytime.”
“Now.” you demand, rolling one of her nipples between your fingers. Her grip on the bed sheet intensifies as you stimulate her gently. “Y/N…”
You shred her of all her garments till she’s left only with her panties. You rub them over her drenched core, and pull them out too. You use them to tie her hands above her head, so that you could have the space all to yourself.
Her holes expand and shrink, waiting to be fucked by you. So you dip your fingers inside her, and pull them out fully, sucking on them for a taste, a nice and loud slurp. Your eyes meet hers, fingers still in your mouth, her hooded glaucous sight connected to yours.
Carrying a string of saliva on their way back in, you penetrate her once again. Pump in, pump out. Your thrusting gets more quick with every moan she lets out with your name on the tip of her tongue.
Something sparked your mind, so you get off the bed and poke around in your luggage. Back in the bed, hands tied, Nat screams at the lack of friction, squeezing her legs together for some sort of relief.
“I’ve wanted to use this on you since so long, baby.” you say as you return with a strap adorned around your waist. “Wouldn’t you like to take my big dick? Make a mess on it?”
You don’t give her time to answer and linger on her top before deciding to fuck her throat. You shove the toy inside, practically gagging the woman beneath you. When you find it satisfactory, you align the tip against her hole, slowly inserting it till you bottom out.
“Ah… feels so full Y/N-”
You start pounding into her vehemently, evoking the loudest of noises from Natasha. “You’re so fucking pretty Nat, taking it so well.”
The words of affirmation made her come hard, almost tripping her over. Beads of sweat roll down her tummy, the dimmed lights giving them a different glow. Just the sight of her was seductive at its finest.
Your movements keep going mercilessly, till you turn her around and plunge into her even more rapidly from the back. And just before she is about to come undone, you pull out and put your mouth to work.
She keeps on grinding against your face even after coming, just to feel you in the places she always needed you the most. The panties tied around her wrists tear apart with a single attempt from her, just because she wants to push your face further inside. You moan and occasionally breathe deep inside her pussy, driving her wild. A little pressure on the clit and she’s coming again. You lick her thoroughly clean, not letting a single droplet get to waste.
“Y/N… too much… please.” she begs you to stop and so you do, with one last taste of her delicate sweetness. You lay down next to her, on bed sheets covered in the liquids of pleasure and lust. While staring at the ceiling, she utters, “That was the best experience I’ve ever had and you’re the worst tease.”
“Can you really blame me though?” You wheeze at her comment, and turn towards her, the weight of your right leg on the top of her. Fingers find their way through her blonde hair again, scratching her scalp. “When did you choose to get rid of my favourite redhead?”
“You know it’s your favourite. What would have been the point if I never saw you again? I changed it a couple of years ago.”
“Not that I’m complaining, you look really hot as a silver blonde. If I didn’t know you and you walked up to me I think I would literally do whatever you asked me to.”
“Except you know me, and still do it.”
After what almost felt like an hour of comfortable silence, she cuddles you like a big spoon, which is highly unlikely of her. But you are not whining, you love the warmth of her body, and her soul.
— ✦ —
Fast forward to the last day of your stay. The two weeks you’ve spent with Nat have already come to an end, and you find it difficult to believe. You struggle to pack your belongings, in a reluctance to leave the place. But you need to prioritise some things.
On a long session of scrutiny with Nat, you decided not to visit your parents. You’ve had your fair share of trauma already.
She smiles at you throughout the day, but her eyes clearly convey, “Please stay.” You’re convinced that the departure is going to be harder than you imagined it, but you had no choice.
Before leaving her at the airport, you don’t stop kissing her. She’s almost out of her breath, but doesn’t spare a single moment. Evidently, she’s trying to hold on to every bit of you that she could keep with her.
There are tears in her eyes, on her cheeks, as she cups your face even more close. “Don’t leave, malyshka. I can't beat this pain again. Please stay.”
“You know I can’t, honey. You know that if I could, I would.” you begin crying yourself, too scared to forget what it felt like to hold her in your arms.
“Shh. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breathe out… 6,7,8.” you teach her again, exactly how you did years ago, when you broke up with her.
She didn’t have it in herself to let go of her grip on you, but a warning announcement for the passengers had to do it. She tastes your lips one last time before letting you go, unsure of when she will ever get to do it again.
But she doesn’t ask you about you coming back. Natasha is, in all respects, confident that you would. The ring on her finger does it for her, as she waves goodbye.
On your flight back home, you’re sure you’ll be permanently moving back someday, the ring on yours does it for you.
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boombox-fuckboy · 5 months
Note
Hey!!! You commented on my post about limetown haha which is why I’m here. You offered to give podcast recs! What are your favorites?? I’m looking for some new ones
I completely forgot I had this ask, excuse the delay. Here's a selection of 30 podcasts I enjoyed from a broad range of genres: hopefully at least one appeals.
Let me know if you're after something more specific.
Arden: (Investigative, Comedy) On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.
Desperado: (Supernatural, Adventure, Horror Elements) In a modern world of gods and magic, three young people, all under the patronage of death dieties, embark on the same adventure for different reasons: for safety, for revenge, and to kill The Old Man in the Sky. Fantastic banter and killer action sequences.
The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agoraphobic young woman wakes one day to discover her lighthouse home has travelled to somewhere entirely unfamilar. As this continues to happen day after day, she uses the opportunity to search for her missing brother. A really unique and charming piece of fiction.
Gastronaut: (Sci-Fi) Interstellar travel audio blog of a former food critic as he travels to an active warzone to get firsthand experience with unfamilar cuisine. ft. Disgruntled martian nobility, sinister businessmen, explosive mushrooms, forbidden snacks, rogue revolutionary artists, and the consequences of your actions.
Girl in Space: (Sci-Fi) The Girl In Space lives alone on a space station, doing science, making cheese, rewatching Jurassic Park, and tending to the plants, animals, and artificial sun entrusted to her. It's a little lonely, but not a bad life. Would be a shame if someone came along to ruin it.
The Goblet Wire: (Microfiction, Weird Fiction) A surreal microfiction with horror elements, taking the form of phone calls to an audio-based game in which the voice of the mysterious Dictator leads each player through fantastic and horrific world and story.
Hello From The Hallowoods: (Horror, Supernatural) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods, as they find meaning and sometimes eachother.
Hi Nay: (Supernatural Horror) A year after moving to Toronto, sound designer Mari finds herself drawn into helping people around the city with various horrific supernatural encounters due to her babaylan (shaman) family background. It quickly becomes apparent that there's something much more sinister and complicated happening in the background.
Inco: (Microfiction, Sci-Fi) A perpetually exausted interstellar information trader and her peppy AI find a mysterious (read: bratty) boy floating in space and are inadventently pulled into a world political intrigue.
Inn Between: (Fantasy) Ever curious about what the D&D characters get up to at the tavern between sessions? A generally lighter-hearted (with some exceptions) with richly-written and always-growing characters. A really interesting format, too: a lot of the adventure appears in the "next time" and "last time" segments which makes it all flow really nicely. Not a tabletop podcast.
Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenoarcheologist and a xenopaleontologist are sent to a study a dead city on a distant world. Nobody likes what they find there. A unique format, with one set of logs presented first to last, and the other last to first. I'd recommend listening to the supercut for this one.
The Kingmaker Histories: (Steampunk, Weird Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy Elements) In the Valorian Socialist Republic 1911, on her 25th birthday, tailor's apprentice Colette experienced the worst headache of her life. As a result, she fleed from town with a human artificer and a fae chef - both now smugglers - pursued by an utterly furious flesh-crafter. I'm not sure I'm selling how good this podcast is but it's very good.
Life With Althaar: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) A human repairman moves to a space station on the edge of human territory that is perpetually on the edge of self-destruction, and ends up with a less-than-ideal last-minute roomate. Althaar is polite, friendly, deeply interested in human culture, and eager to be friends. Unfortunately he belongs to a species that sends humans into a visceral panic at a glance.
Lost Terminal: (Sci-Fi, Hopepunk) Seth is a very lonely AI living on a satellite. His crew were left stranded aboard with no hope of return, and it's been longer than he can count since then. The Earth below him has changed dramatically, and with only a few other AI down there to talk to, he's very lonely. But! He has a plan to make some new friends.
Love and Luck: (Romance, Slice-of-Life and Urban Fantasy Elements) Voice messages cataloguing two young men falling in love and opening a queer dry bar together.
Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance) Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.
Midst: (Weird Fiction, Western, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Elements) The old-western planetoid islet of Midst floats, rotating steadily, in a sea of reality-warping darkness. Down in the town of Stationary Hill, things are in movement, and vistors from the light above are about to bring unanticipated change. ft a monocycle-riding monster-hunter, radio-famous airship paladins, deadly mica, the universe's peppiest cultist, good dogs, and a really strange businessman.
The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy and Horror Elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item.
Monstrous Agonies: (Supernatural, Relationship Advice) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.
Night Shift: (Urban Fantasy, Investigative) Set in a modern world with the addition of magic, which manifests in small inherited skills/traits, can warp people in horrific ways, or can be manipulated with the right science (and intense work) to induce superpowers. Sebastian Fenn is a barista at Night Shift Coffee, but since things are slow he's decided to start a podcast to talk about various mysteries, crimes and conspiracies around the city, and of course finds himself deeper in them than he'd intended.
The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller Elements? I think?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.
SCP: Find Us Alive: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror and Slice-of-Life elements) You don't need to know anything about SCP to enjoy this. A research team gets trapped in an underground research facility when the complex collapses and the building is dragged into a pocket dimension. The tear it was designed to study begins creating tiny copies of itself, generating strange entities the team needs to deal with. And as if that wasn't enough, the entire situation physically resets itself every 30 days. And yet, this is genuinely also an office comedy.
Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a scout sent to explore and establish early infastructure new world, and the communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.
Seen and Not Heard: (Slice-of-Life, Drama) Seen and Not Heard follows Bet, who's still adjusting to life a year after a bout of severe illness, and the resulting hearing loss it caused. It's about the ways we make connection, and food, and art, and different kinds of grief.
The Silt Verses: (Horror) In a modern world where gods are abundant, frequently both commercialised and restricted, two devotees of an outlawed river god go on a pilgrimage.
SINKHOLE: (Sci-Fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.
Starfall: (Fantasy) Seeking to escape her mysterious past and find some purpose, a young swordswoman joins a travelling actor's troupe. This new life is unfamilar and sometimes stressful, but she's taken under the wing of stagehand Fel, who's determined to help her feel welcome as she experiences the figurative and literal magic of the theatre for the first time.
The Tower: (Weird Fiction) A low-key, meditative podcasy about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Gorgeous sound design.
The Vesta Clinic: (Sci-Fi) New GP Dr. Fae Underwood, with the expert transcription skills of resident AI Sec, writes up patient reports on human and alien patients of The Vesta Clinic, a medical clinic on the edge of human space. Really comfy and creative.
Victoriocity: (Steampunk, Mystery) Set in the steam-powered Victorian city of Even Greater London, an aspiring journalist and a tired detective find themselves working together to solve a strange murder. I say Victorian but as queen Victoria is now an extensive grandiocity of cyborg components following seven only-kind-of-successful assassinations, you may need to adjust expectations a little.
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neinofthem · 5 months
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rewatching pre-reveal essek clips is my favorite pastime oh it’s so good like. ok so the nein hit him up and are like hey we talked to the empire and they let us see the beacon and they agreed to give it back! how cool is that! and essek is seeing red one eye twitching talking through gritted teeth like they agreed to um. to what. how nice. wonderful. you know that he had some fucking words for ludinus later but on the outside he’s sitting there going :) you all have done me proud :) on the inside he’s seriously considering killing himself or faking his death and then two hours later he shows up at the nein’s door with a bottle of wine to invite himself to dinner which is an absolutely insane move! truly the king of batshit decisions! the supercut is doing some cocomelon shit to me.
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blueballsracing · 6 days
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charles leclerc and max verstappen: suburban legends
Just Give Me A Reason by P!NK and Nate Reuss // Enemies by Wendell Berry // Mortal Man by Kendrick Lamar // Cut from the Same Cloth by Chloe Taylor // Mastermind by Taylor Swift // The prince and the pauper: How Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen swapped F1 fortunes, The Athletic 2023  // Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë // this is me trying by Taylor Swift // Supercut by Lorde // Suburban Legends by Taylor Swift // Verstappen and Leclerc look back: 'We knew then’, GPBlog 2024 // The Glass Essay by Anne Carson // Chicago by Carl Sandburg // Maybe The Last Chapter Hasn’t Been Written Yet And Our Story Is Not Over, The Thought Catalog 2017 // So It Goes by Taylor Swift // Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story from Hamilton // The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot // Allie in The Notebook // It happen in this sport: Verstappen reconciles with Leclerc after dramatic Austrian GP win, Scroll 2019 // Only Us from Dear Evan Hansen
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nolita-fairytale · 1 year
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comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: called you again
summary: you and carmy try your best to repair the relationship... but it only leads to distance. you both make the mistake thinkin' the other is better of without you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)
warnings: angst, death, grief, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language
word count: 3.5k
listen to: supercut - lorde | speechless - lady gaga | call me back - young the giant | called you again - lizzy mcalpine
a/n: while i felt like i was dropping an emotional bomb on you with the last chapter, i didn't know it would have such an emotional impact. i just wanted to share that i write so much from my own experiences -- perhaps why some of the chapters feel so realistic. anyways, thank you for all of your kind words in regards to the last chapter. i didn't want to write the phone call, since after this part, 'make my heart surrender' begins / i write a bit of it in that story / it really made for a spicy dramatic ending.
on another note: it's me, hi! i broke my own heart writing this. high key like... i feel like i'm going through a breakup right now (i'm not). the next part will be a big time jump: it takes place after right after 'make my heart surrender' ends, where reader has just moved to chicago for carmy so you'll be glad to hear that i'm done hurting you and myself.
read: chapter four
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April 2022 
“Seriously, Carmy. I can’t thank you enough. You really saved the day,” Maya harps, reminding Carmy for the 100th time today that he single-handedly saved Passover. 
“It’s nothin’ really,'' Carmy mumbles with a shrug. “I’m uh… gonna finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Sure I can’t help?” Maya asks, giving him one last chance to say ‘yes.’
“No, it’s all good. I got a whole system,” he explains, a reassuring look in his eyes. 
“Of course,” Maya replies, bowing out of the conversation. 
She walks through her home towards the open double terrace doors that lead out onto the patio. You’re outside, shifted to one side of the large outdoor dining table, your focus unbroken as you stack empty plates, one on top of the other.
“Hey,” you say to her, a warm nostalgia about the way the spring air kisses your bare shoulders. 
“So… Carmy really came through,” she starts, watching you for your reaction. 
“Yeah, he did,” you reply simply, as if it’s just fact.
Maya half expects for you to say more, but she knows it’s been weird between the two of you since you slept together. She’s not sure why, but she’s always rooted for Carmy. Perhaps because you light up every time he’s around – every time you talk about him. Perhaps because she sees the way he looks at you, especially when he thinks you’re not looking. Because, even though he’s deeply imperfect, you’re good for him – and he, you. 
“It’s all for you, you know,” she says, growing bolder in her reminder. 
Her words stop you in your tracks. You stop working on the pile of dishes you’re creating, taking a moment to look up at your friend. 
“Why do you think that?” you ask quietly. 
“Because he took the night off to be here,” she answers, checking to make sure Carmy isn’t listening. “I mean, when have any of us seen him take any time off? He’s not doing it for me. I just think… it seems like he’s really making an effort to mend things.”
You nod slowly, processing what she’s just said. Carmy, in an effort to try to mend things, had joined you for a drink with some of your mutual friends from the restaurant. As Maya had lamented about the caterer falling through for her Passover dinner, he’d more than eagerly offered to step in, surprising all of you. 
“Maybe,” you shrug, trying not to get your hopes up. “I don’t know. It’s still not the way it used to be.”
“Well of course it’s not!” Maya exclaims with a laugh. She sighs out your name, shaking her head as she continues. “You guys are… of course that would change things.”
“I think it’s just going to take a while…” you explain, your voice soft. “I uh. I should take these in.”
You collect your pile of dishes, heading back inside into the kitchen. You know you’re avoiding having the conversation with Maya, but the distance between you and Carmy has been so tough on you. It wasn’t until you took some space from him that you realized just how big of a part he’d been playing in your life. And now, he was grieving, and you’d both crossed the line that had complicated things. 
It all just felt… messy. 
As you enter the kitchen, you see Carmy standing there. He’s staged the kitchen for the most efficient dishwashing: one half of the sink is filled with to sanitize, the other to rinse, before loading up the dishwasher. You place the first stack of plates down on the kitchen island, making a sound that doesn’t even seem to grab Carmy’s attention. He doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t acknowledge the sound, so you decide to keep moving things in from outside instead. 
You’ve managed to get all of the dirty dishes from the terrace into the kitchen, Carmy giving you a nod as he’d instructed you to place them down on the counter for him. 
You put your focus on packing up leftovers in deli containers and making sure all the food that needed to be has been put away. Carmy’s loaded up the dishwasher but he’s got at least a dozen wine glasses that he knows need to be hand washed. You notice that he’s taking a break, pushing yourself to ask him, as if it’s going to be your only chance to.
“How are you?” you say, instantly regretting it as the words come out of your mouth. 
He shrugs, unsure of how to answer the question, leaning up against the kitchen counter. You think it’s the only answer you’re going to get as he crosses his arms across his chest. You continue packing up the equipment that you and Carmy have brought over, while he manages to steal a few glances when he thinks you’re not looking. 
He’s not sure what to say. 
Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels about it. 
But something inside him is begging him to tell you – as if telling you will give him some kind of resolution. Like he’ll know what to do. Like telling you will bring him the comfort he’s so desperately been craving. 
He opens his mouth to say something, noticing that you’ve kept yourself busy – almost as if you’re trying to stay out of his way. 
He hates this. 
He hates that you feel you have to tiptoe around him. 
“Mikey left me the restaurant,” he confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth like five hundred pounds of bricks. 
“Oh wow,” you gasp, taking in what he’s said. 
He nods, pausing before he speaks again. And it’s the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone:
“I think it’s time for me to go home.”
You don’t say anything back, because you’re not sure what to say back. You know he hadn’t gone home for the funeral, despite your insistence.
Why now? What did this mean? What would this mean? And when did he find out about the restaurant? You can’t help but feel like everything's falling apart, like this is the end. While you know he has to go home – you’re honestly surprised it’s taken him so long to come to this conclusion – it’s impossible not to feel your heart shattering into pieces. 
Carmy was going to leave. You were going to stay. And you didn’t know where that left the two of you. 
“Can I help – with the wine glasses?” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. 
Focusing on the glasses may be the only thing that keeps you from crying. 
“Yeah,” he nods, and you know it’s his way of trying to connect. 
You work quietly, the only sounds in the background are the dinner party playlist that’s playing on a loop through the home’s speakers. You wash and Carmy dries, knocking out the remaining dishes that need to be hand washed, before packing up to go. Maya, of course, thanks Carmy again and again, while her partner, Patrick, compliments the meal, letting Carmy know he’s got to get some cooking tips from him. 
As the two of you walk out of the door, brown paper bags loaded up with empty delis and equipment that you brought over to the house, Carmy stops before either of you can go your separate ways. 
“Can I walk you home?” Carmy asks you, a hopeful look in his eyes. 
You nod, “Yeah.”
May 
Hope you’re doing okay. How’s home?
It’s about the third text you’ve sent to Carmy since he left New York. After letting you know he’d made it safely, you hadn’t heard from him at all. Sure it’s only been a couple of weeks, but it’s like as soon as he let you know he’d made it safe, he’d cut you off cold. To say that you’re angry would be an understatement. 
You’re really fucking pissed off. 
And you also know that underneath all that anger, is a fuck ton of hurt that you’d really rather not acknowledge – that you’re not ready to feel yet.
You don’t know how he’s able to turn it off – just pretend that the last two and half years haven’t been significant. That you haven’t practically been attached at the hip since the lockdown. That you’re not best friends who also just so happen to maybe be in love with each other. 
Somehow, Liz has coaxed you out after a long night at the restaurant for a round of drinks with your coworkers. Something about a need to blow off some steam. Only a round has turned into many, and you just might have had one too many to forget about the searing pain you feel when you think about the fact that you may never hear from Carmy again. You’re waiting for your next drink at the bar, making a mental note that this has to be your last. 
“How’s Berzatto these days?” you hear a voice ask, turning your head as you realize someone’s joined you at the bar. 
“Uh.. yeah, I think he’s been really busy. You know… with the family restaurant. Getting adjusted, you know?” you lie to Nate, pretending that you’ve been in contact with him. 
Nothing would sting more than to admit to Nate fucking Walker that Carmy’s ghosted you. 
Nate laughs cooly, with a shake of his head. 
“He hasn’t called you, has he?” he asks. 
You don’t answer. But your silence is the only answer Nate needs to confirm his suspicions. 
“Listen, can we just talk about something else?” you dismiss him, watching as the bartender returns with your drink. 
The rest of your friends have started a game of pool, but you’re not in the mood for it tonight. Nate asks you to sit, so you do. You hate to admit it, but the attention feels nice, especially with how much you miss Carmy. It burns in your chest tonight, leaving you breathless. You’d rather be numb than feel this much pain. 
You’re not sure how the conversation turns back to Carmy after an hour or so of conversation with Nate. Even though you said you didn’t want to talk about him. Even though you can see that Nate’s tired of hearing about him. You can’t help yourself when it comes to Carmy. Every little thing reminds you of him, and he just keeps coming up like word vomit. 
“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about him,” Nate reminds you. 
You shake your head, “I don’t!” 
Nate shoots you a look, before shaking his head, making sure to polish off the last of his drink. 
“He’s an idiot,” Nate scoffs with an eye roll. 
“Don’t say that,” you relent. 
“I mean it. He’s a fuckin’ idiot!” he exclaims again, turning much more serious. 
“Nate!” you protest lightly. 
“I mean it,” he repeats himself, holding piercing eye contact with you. 
Nate waits a beat, his eyes flickering from your lips back to your eyes as he leans in, lowering his voice. 
“He couldn’t even see a good thing when had it,” he croons, leaning in towards you. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you just want to feel wanted, but you feel woozy – hazy, you’re head spinning with lust as you contemplate kissing him. 
“Not even when it was right in front of him,” he adds, his lips so very close to yours. 
Nate’s always been good looking. Your eyes flicker to his full lips and deep brown eyes as he towers over you from where he sits, knowing that he wants to kiss you. He’s just the kind of guy that knows he’s good looking – something you find terribly annoying. 
“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry that he can’t see it,” he practically whispers against your lips, so close that all the blood rushes to your head. 
It just feels good to be wanted, to be seen. So you surge forward, closing the gap between you. As you press your lips against his, you can feel Nate smiling into the kiss. He’s a smug bastard, but tonight, you don’t care. You entertain the kiss for a little longer. At this point, you could care less that you’ve garnered the attention of some of your coworkers, that you’re just making out with Nate fucking Walker out in the open for everyone to see. 
“You wanna go somewhere else? My place is around the corner,” he murmurs into the kiss.
“Sure,” you agree, you breath catching in your throat. 
“C’mon,” he encourages you, with a nod towards the door. 
Revenge, or the last of your gin cocktail, burns in your throat as you make a deal with the devil, following Nate out of the bar. 
June
Carmy’s phone buzzes again, catching his attention as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He’s got one missed call from Sugar, a voicemail, and a text with a link to that meeting she won’t stop nagging him to go to. He’s just about to put his phone back in his pocket as it buzzes again. 
He looks down. 
Shit. 
Fuck.
It’s a text from you. 
His heart stops beating for a moment, just for a second, and he freezes. 
Came across this article in the New Yorker about denim & rock n roll. Made me think of you. 
Carmy’s eyes scan over the title: From the Working Class to a Fashion Statement: John Lennon, Elvis Presley, & Other Icons That Brought Denim to the Mainstream. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s been so focused on the restaurant, so focused on fixing it, that it’s been easy to compartmentalize, push any thought of you out of his mind. But as his thumb hovers over the article, daring to open it, he can picture it all so vividly. His head is filled with the image of you walking down Bowery, a few paces in front of him, clad in your favorite denim jacket of his as you tell him to ‘hurry up.’ 
And just for a moment, it feels so real. He can practically smell the New York City air. He can hear your laugh as you bump into him in the small walkways of each mom-and-pop dumpling shop. He can almost feel your skin brush against his as you scoot by him on the way to your table.
It becomes harder to push the thoughts of you out of his mind, the sobering reality that it’s been at least a month and a half since he’s talked to you. 
She’s better off without me. Without this. Without all of this chaos, he thinks to himself. 
He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted, hadn’t been in touch on purpose, and he had to admit, it was killing him. There were days where all he wanted to do was call you, ask how you were doing – days where the only thing that would bring him comfort was imagining you running your fingers through his hair while he bitched about the restaurant. Days where he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with you while you forced him to watch some violent action movie, and he’d watch you in awe. He’d call you a psychopath, when in reality, he was just in shock that someone like you could want to be around someone like him. 
Carmy wonders if you miss him – if it’s killing you too. 
But he doubts it. 
You’re a fucking mess, he thinks to himself, coming to conclusion that you’re better off without him. Without all of this… mess… grief… chaos. 
What would he even say?
Sorry I'm such a prick.
I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.
I love you.
It becomes progressively easier to push his thoughts of you out of his mind, as he hyper-fixates on what needs to be done today: outsource bread, read over Sydney’s report because she’s probably right about the budget…. And what the fuck is KBL electric anyways? 
Now that the impulse is gone to text you back, Carmy shoves his phone into his pocket, shaking his head as he finishes his cigarette and reminds himself again:
You’re better off without him.
August 
“I don’t understand,” the exec chef says to you, his voice monotone. Something wild stirring behind his eyes in response to the notice that you’ve just given him. 
“My heart’s not in it,” you explain, hesitantly. “And I know you accept nothing less than perfection. I just… need some time to figure things out.”
“You’re not going to find another job like this,” he reminds you, coldly. 
You nod your head in response. You thought he’d say that. 
“I understand, chef,” you reply, using your tone of professionalism in your voice as a barrier. 
“I told her we could reevaluate in a month. I’m open to a rehire, should after your sabbatical, you come to the conclusion that here is where you need to be,” the head pastry chef adds. 
Sabbatical. 
Your head pastry chef is the only one using that word, as if they expect that you’ll come back. As if this is just a break. 
But it’s not a break to you. It’s a much needed change. 
Your exec chef thinks it over, his lips pressed together in a thin line. 
“You’re an exceptional pastry chef, but your lack of commitment worries me,” he states plainly. “You’ll have to interview again.”
“I understand, chef,” you repeat yourself. 
The conversation goes like this: you keep your cool, wanting nothing more than to get the conversation over it. It’s a daunting thing – quitting your dream job – enough as it is. Your head pastry chef fights for you, while the exec chef continues on his ego trip, as if you’re not sitting right in front of him. It’s not hard to tune him out. There’s a feeling inside of you, something telling you that you won’t be back, so the hoops he’s creating for you to jump through don’t seem to matter. 
Your feet hit the pavement as soon as the conversation is over, and you can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. Dinner service prep had already begun, and as you’d left, you understood there would be questions, rumors, strange looks from your coworkers. But you knew this was right. 
Your heart hadn’t been in it for a while. 
Not since it left and moved to Chicago and decided not to call you back. 
You feel lost. 
It’s not just Carmy. It’s not just the big changes and shifts you’re experiencing. It’s everything. You don’t know what the hell it is you want. And you’re brave enough to go searching for it. 
You want nothing more than to call Carmy, to send him a text, for him to yell at you for quitting the job you both held in such high regard and tell you that you’re making a mistake. But the sting of the last time he ignored your call a few weeks ago stops you from picking up the phone.
Maybe he was only meant to be in your life for that chapter. 
Maybe, as you leave the restaurant behind, you’ll be able to let go of him too. 
Soon-To-Be Fall 
It had only been a few weeks since you’d quit the restaurant, in those few weeks, for the first time in a long time, you were at peace. You’d gotten loads of calls and texts: a ‘just want to check in’ from your head pastry chef, a ‘you doin’ okay?’ from Tim, and a series of ‘can’t take no for an answer’ texts from Nate that you have no plans to answer. 
The past few weeks have been filled with quiet. You’re enjoying your time, and you’re doing a whole lot of thinking about what it is you really want. You spend your Tuesday afternoon deep cleaning your apartment and listening to some of your comfort albums. It feels good to get to live slowly for once. It’s soon-to-be-Fall, even if the heat seems to be sticking around in New York City as of late. 
You hear a ping coming from your phone as you close up the container filled with sanitizing wipes that you’ve been using. Making your way over to your small studio kitchen, you see a text from Liz. 
Liz: I have the day off. Drinks & catching up?
You: Yeah. 7 pm?
Liz: Perf. I have restaurant goss. 👀
You chuckle in response to her text. Just as you’re preparing to type out a response, your phone buzzes again as a call comes through. 
‘Carmy.’ 
Carmy is calling you. 
Holy fuck.
It’s as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you have to try not to drop your phone. As it continues to ring, for a split second, you think about not answering. What if you didn’t? Send him to voicemail just like he’s done to you? But your curiosity gets the best of you as your thumb hovers over the ‘answer’ button. Had he heard? Was that what this was about? 
You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 
“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 
And it’s as if all your troubles melt away as you hear his voice.
“Hi,” he replies.
a/n: hello! yes, by popular demand i'll be writing the phone call as a drabble. however, my first series i wrote about carmy, 'make my heart surrender' picks up right where this chapter leaves off. chapter six will take places after that story, so for those of you that have not, feel free to read it while we wait (w baited breath of course) for the final chapter of this one.
read: chapter six
taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery @strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn
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theminecraftbee · 7 months
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okay hold on im thinking about decked out now. i know pretty much absolutely nothing as i dont watch tango and i think all ive seen of it was through grian in season 7? but ive been meaning to look into it but i have no idea where to start
so there are multiple playlists and compilation videos on youtube of people playing, which should be fairly easy to find if you just want that! etho specifically is pretty good for it, he got pretty obsessed. joe makes several episodes out of it as well. honestly the BEST place to start, though, is probably tango’s instruction video for the original decked out, because it pretty concisely tells you how to play.
so uh, here are some places to start then!
tango’s instructional video
a “everyone’s decked out runs” playlist
etho decked out supercut
tango’s season seven - if you want to watch his progress it starts in episode 40, he finishes the game in episode 48, and the game is played until I think episode 59. shoutout also to the among us project at the end of his season, which isn’t decked out but is similarly insane.
so hopefully that gives you some good places to start for the original! as for decked out two… uh, pick an episode in his season this season there’s a 70% chance it involves it,
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kiss-me-cill-me · 30 days
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Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 2
Start with Pt. 1 HERE!
Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader
Word Count: 5.4k
Warnings: ALL OF THE SAME WARNINGS AS PART 1, plus more angst, some fluff, general dark themes, depiction of a stick n' poke tattoo, violence, makeshift weapons, fear toxin, Crane spikes someone's drink (not the reader's)
A/N: Back by mildly popular demand lol :) First, I have to give a huge thank you to @cillianslvt for all of her help with brainstorming, concept bouncing, and song picking! She gave me the perfect inspo for this part: Supercut by Lorde.
I wanted to do something a bit different here, so this is told in alternating cuts between the fallout from part 1 (written in past tense) and flashbacks to the reader's college days (written in present tense just to be confusing lol). I probably will be writing one more part for this, but it might be a while before it's out because I kind of want to take a small break from angst haha. But, I hope you enjoy this part!
***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***
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Somewhere out in the echoing hallway, an alarm buzzed.
“Lights out in five minutes!”
The guard’s booming voice was almost too muffled to understand through the thick metal door. But you weren’t paying enough attention for it to matter. It was the same routine, for the hundredth time. You didn’t need an announcement to know that you were about to be plunged into the dark.
And besides, you had more important things to worry about.
Your fingers traced over the hearts that still littered your bedsheets. Contained to one of the corners for now, but wild and scattered, as if they might be about to spill out over the rest of the white cotton at any moment. Unrestrained.
You clenched your teeth, trying hard to focus on something other than the hailstorm of tremors that seemed ready to wrack your body. Your skin was prickling. If you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if what came out would be a sob or a scream. You didn’t particularly want to find out.
The familiar sound of a key in the lock was enough to pull you out of your stupor. Quickly, you covered the doodles again, and whipped your head toward the door, hoping.
But no. It was nobody. Some faceless orderly, sent to give you the pills that you never took, if you could get away with hiding them.
Tonight, though, you decided to behave. You had certainly been causing enough trouble lately. And besides, if you were being honest, you could use them. Your mood had been a complete mess all day, and a little stability would be nice, for a change.
You swallowed your pride along with the pills, and flopped back onto the mattress. As soon as the orderly was gone, you inched the sheets back down, exposing the blue stains. Tomorrow was laundry day, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to enjoy them for much longer.
Seconds later, the lights flicked out, and you were left alone with your memories.
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The asphalt beneath your feet feels like it’s not even there as you practically skip down the driveway, and you’re not sure how gravity still has a hold on you by the time your hand wrenches open the car door.
“Hey!” You smile as you climb in, whipping around quickly to fasten your seatbelt. Maybe that will be enough to ground you, but it doesn’t seem likely. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“You took long enough to get out here,” he replies, slightly snarky.
But when you finally look up at him, his soft half-smile makes your heart melt, and your legs and arms feel even more weightless than ever. His blue eyes peer over at you from just below the rim of his glasses, and he tilts his head while he waits for you to respond.
“Fuck off, Jonathan,” you laugh, waving a hand in his direction.
He shakes his head, shifting to take hold of the wheel.
As he starts the car, the two of you sit in silence for a moment, and you use the opportunity to take a closer look at him. He’s bundled up tightly in his jacket. A slight chill permeates the air, though you feel perfectly warm sitting next to him.
“I don’t know how you can stand driving around without listening to music,” you say suddenly, reaching for the radio.
It takes you a minute to find anything worth listening to. Static mixed intermittently with snippets of sound fills the car as you carefully turn the dial, until finally landing on something you know. Satisfied, you sit back.
“I don’t know how you can stand listening to this,” Jonathan laughs. “I mean, are you even hearing these lyrics?”
“I like the lyrics!” you insist. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re just cheesy,” he says, dismissively.
You roll your eyes, and settle back with your arm resting against the car door. Before long, your head is bobbing along to the music, and you start to hum.
You’ve only known Jonathan for a few weeks, but already it’s become nearly impossible to ignore the way your heart pounds when you’re next to him. It’s nerve wracking - to think he might not feel that way about you. But you don’t let yourself imagine that possibility too often. It’s better to stay positive, and look to your future together. You honestly can’t imagine things any other way.
At the start of the chorus, your humming turns gradually into words - quiet at first, and then louder when Jonathan doesn’t try to stop you. Soon, you’re singing at full volume.
“You know, distracted driving is the number one cause of car accidents,” he informs you.
When you look over, you notice the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.
“But music improves mood and cognition,” you shoot back, interrupting your singing to give him a slight shove. “Shouldn’t you know that, Mr. Psychology Major?”
Jonathan scoffs, but mercifully keeps his mouth shut when you open yours to start singing again, rolling down the window to scream into the night.
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Your eyes, tight with heavy sleep, shot suddenly open, to be met by the darkness of your cell. Breath heavy, you tried to remember the dream you’d been having. Whatever it was, it had gotten you worked up. So much for the sedatives doing you any good; maybe Crane hadn’t actually upped your dose like he’d threatened to do.
Or he had, and this was just your body’s paradoxical reaction to the sudden increase. Not that you had been taking the regular dose with any consistency.
You considered getting up, but what was the point in that? There was nowhere to go but from one corner of the small room to the other, and you had spent enough time pacing back and forth to last a lifetime.
The small window set high up on the wall of your cell let in a sliver of light, just briefly, as a rotating searchlight made its round, and you closed your eyes again.
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The university’s library is calming, in a way. The seemingly endless stacks of books reach out to greet you as you run your hands over their spines, walking slowly down one row and then another. 
You’re looking for something specific, but not a book. You know that he always comes here at this time.
Jonathan is crouched down to reach something on a low shelf when you finally see him. You hover, half-hidden, at the end of the row where he’s kneeling, and watch as he flips through the first few pages of a book. Satisfied, he stands up, and you saunter into the aisle to join him.
“Hey,” you call, softly. “Thought I might find you here.”
Jonathan tucks the book under his arm, and looks at you curiously for a moment.
“Hey,” he echoes, apprehensive. “Don’t you have class right now?”
“Do I?” you ask, stopping next to him. “Whoops. Whatcha reading?”
“Nothing. Just a book for class. Unlike some people I know, I take academics seriously.”
As he talks, he tilts his head to the side and takes a step closer to you, crowding you back against the bookshelves. He’s smiling. Just having fun with you; you’re sure of it. But you can’t stop the warm rush that spreads over your cheeks.
You try to straighten up under his gaze, bringing the tip of your nose close to his.
“I take this stuff seriously, too,” you insist. “Here, I’ll prove it. What’re you studying?”
Before giving him a chance to respond, you reach down and snatch the book from his hand. Brushing a thumb over the cover, you consider the title.
“Phobias, huh?” you muse. “No offense, Jonathan. But you’re not very scary.”
You beam as you watch a blush creep over his cheeks. He’s been doing that around you more often, and every time you notice it, your heart swells.
“You don’t think so?” he drones, taking another step closer.
He’s nearly on top of you as you press back into the row of books, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. Not out of fear, but for an entirely different reason.
“Nope,” you challenge. “Not scary at all.”
“Hm. Guess I’ll have to try harder then.” 
He snatches the book back and starts to move away from you, but before he can get too far, both of your hands shoot out. Your fingers grab onto his sweater, and faster than you have a chance to think, suddenly your lips are pressing against his. Eyes squeezed shut so you don’t have to face his reaction, you hold him. But when you let go of his shirt, he stays there for a few seconds longer, before pulling away.
“That was scary,” you breathe, finally daring to meet his cold eyes.
But, what you see there is softness, mixed with slight shock. The piercing, frost-blue that normally seems to slice through you has taken on a watery quality, as if something has melted, if just for a moment.
You take a deep breath as Jonathan leans back in.
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By the time the orderlies had started to wheel their huge bin of laundry down the narrow hall, your white sheets were already torn off and crumpled at the foot of your bed. You weren’t about to take the risk of anyone else seeing the hearts you’d drawn. This way, they were unlikely to be noticed. At least until after they’d already been mixed with all of the other patients’ laundry, untraceable to you.
Before, the worst that could happen was you losing your pen - a sorry excuse for entertainment, but nothing vital. Now, losing that same pen meant losing your one chance at freedom as well, and you weren’t prepared to give that up.
You stood in the far corner of the room, watching silently as two men came in to collect your sheets. They didn’t comment on the fact that you’d stripped your own bed - perhaps too caught up in their meaningless conversation to notice.
When they left, you finally felt able to breathe again. You exhaled, trying to push every last trace of air out of your lungs so that you could start fresh again.
Sitting back down on your new set of sheets, you ran your hand over the blank space that no longer bore even a faint trace of love.
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“What are you doing?” Jonathan asks, leaning over your shoulder to peer down at whatever has you so occupied.
“Giving myself a tattoo,” you reply easily. 
“What?”
“It’s just a little heart - see?”
You carefully hold up your wrist to him, showing off the half finished lobe of a heart. One side of it, anyway. It’s slow going, but you’re determined to take your time; to not rush through the impulsive decision you’ve made.
“Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Because I felt like it,” you reply. “Do I need another reason?”
“Did you at least sterilize your wrist - and the needle?” he sighs.
“I used some hand sanitizer. M’sure that’s good enough.”
Jonathan pinches the bridge of his nose, putting his other hand on his hip.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he complains.
“Well, it’s not like I can’t stop now, though - right?” you say, playfully. “You’re always telling me not to leave things half finished.”
Jonathan sits down in the chair next to you, as you go back to carefully maneuvering the needle. Your tongue sticks out from the corner of your mouth, frozen in concentration. You jump, just a fraction of an inch, as the sharp point breaches your skin.
“Give me that,” Jonathan mutters.
He’s already swiped the needle away from you, and is holding your wrist down securely against the table as he inspects your work.
“This isn’t going to heal nicely,” he informs you.
“I don’t care.”
To your surprise, he dips the needle into the little pot of ink that’s sitting on the table between you, and then lines up the point to continue.
“You’re pushing it in way too deep,” he says, peering over his glasses.
When he presses down, the sharp end of the needle barely seems to graze you. It doesn’t hurt so much when he does it. Jonathan’s thumb brushes over the flesh of your palm, soothing you.
“You’re good at this,” you comment. “You’ll make a good doctor someday.”
Jonathan tries to hide his smile, but you catch the small curl of his lips despite the way he’s hunched over, focusing on your tattoo. The second jab is just as painless as the first, and you smile back.
“This isn’t exactly what I picture myself doing for work.” He laughs - just a small hum, but it’s there.
“Right - you want to study the fear of needles. Not be the one jabbing patients.”
“Something like that,” he agrees.
The two of you sit, huddled close in the silence; you watching Jonathan work as he gingerly uses the needle. It’s strangely intimate, and you feel closer to him than you have in a long time. 
Not because you’ve spent too much time apart. On the contrary, you’ve been seeing each other more often than ever. But the more time you spend with him, the sharper you seem to feel his small absences. It has, lately, started to seem like you need to see Jonathan more and more often just to feel normal; like you’re in danger of something bad happening when he’s not there.
“Thank you,” you say.
“For what?”
“The tattoo means more, now that you’re the one doing it.”
Jonathan keeps his head bowed, trying desperately not to let you see his expression. The tips of his ears give him away, though, as they turn a bright pink behind strands of hair that have fallen away as he leans down.
“Jonathan?” “Hm?”
“It’s polite to say ‘you’re welcome’ when someone thanks you,” you tease.
As he looks up to narrow his eyes at you, you take the chance to lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.
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The harsh white fluorescents buzzed over your head as you leaned back in your uncomfortable chair. You’d sat in this same plastic seat for probably dozens of therapy sessions. Not once had the miserable thing ever done anything other than give you back pain.
“Are you paying attention?” the doctor in front of you asked.
“No,” you replied.
What was the use in lying, when it was obvious to both of you?
The doctor hummed in annoyance, shuffled some papers, and frowned at her clipboard. 
“Well I suggest you start,” she began, “because what we’re trying to do here is very important. You know your appeal is in the process of being reviewed, and…”
You tuned her out, turning your attention to the much more important matter of planning your escape. Even just thinking those words made you feel strangely giddy. This was something that happened in movies and cheap paperback novels; not real life. But, you had made up your mind, and there would be no going back now. You were going to rebuild your life with the person who mattered most, and doing that meant that you needed to get out of here.
You thought of the ballpoint pen, now modified and hidden, deep within the bones of your mattress. It had taken patience to sharpen the plastic casing against the concrete, and patience was something you didn’t have much of these days. But in the end, it would all be worth it.
“...three counts of manslaughter, and two more of - are you listening?” the doctor repeated. 
“Why should I? We both know that I’ve heard this a thousand times,” you sighed.
The doctor, equally as exasperated, crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.
“Whatever. It’s your life.”
“My life doesn’t exist in here,” you whispered. “Not the one I want, anyway.”
“Well, it’s the one you’ve got, so maybe you ought to start acting like it,” she suggested.
You ignored her, and retreated back into the world that only existed inside your memories. Yours… and his, if you were lucky.
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The room is dark and full of music. Music, and bodies - swaying in time to the rhythm; draped over furniture or pressed up against walls, as lips meet and hands wander. You pass by two people who look like they’re three seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off, and duck under the raised elbow of somebody else as they pump their fist in the air. A clamor erupts as you pass; some conversation you’re not part of that’s full of hollered laughter and shouts.
You’re looking for Jonathan, amidst all the colors and flashing lights. You’d left him several minutes ago to go and find the bathroom, and got turned around on your way back. The slight buzz of alcohol makes your limbs a bit looser than usual, and you pause to savor the deep thrum that emanates from the sound system. As you close your eyes, your feet sway a little, and you smile.
Jonathan is never interested in going to parties with you, but for whatever reason, he had accepted the invitation tonight. You like to think it’s because he just wants to spend time with you, even if loud, messy gatherings aren’t usually his idea of a good time.
Finally, you find your way back to the couch where you left him. And there he is, smiling that soft half-smile you know so well, from the hundreds of times it’s made your heart do somersaults in your chest.
You frown. Scowl.
Jonathan is leaning forward, hands on his legs as he talks to another woman. Smiles at her. You stop short in your tracks, and watch from a distance as Jonathan tilts his head to her ear, whispering something.
The girl stands up, giggles while she looks down at him for a moment, and then walks off. You see red; a crimson wash that feels slightly too familiar as it drapes over you.
Jonathan, still on the couch, smiles for a moment longer before reaching into his pocket. The girl has moved on by now, and you watch as the affable grin is wiped neatly from Jonathan’s face, replaced by something blank and more difficult to categorize.
There’s a tiny glass tube in his hand. You can’t see what it is exactly, but you can make out the way he removes a cap, and then brings his hand close to the red plastic cup that’s sitting on the table in front of him, right where the woman had been.
Your rage propels you forward, and without time to think things through, you’ve grabbed the sleeve of his jacket before you even realize you’ve reached him.
“Shit- Oh. It’s you,” Jonathan mumbles.
“What the hell are you doing?” you hiss.
Jonathan looks at your hand on his arm. The vial, now empty and still pinched between his fingers, hidden from the rest of the crowd. And then back up to your face.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he begins.
“What are you doing?” you repeat, your voice wobbling louder.
Jonathan’s eyes dart off to the side, and he stands up quickly. Suddenly, his hand is in yours and he’s dragging you off, heading for a set of glass doors that lead to the back patio.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” he says, and you can barely hear him muttering over the sound of the screeching music and the pounding, frantic whir that seems to have taken over your head. 
By the time you’re outside, the door shut firm behind you, you haven’t calmed down a bit.
“Jonathan-”
“I swear, I’m not doing anything bad,” he interjects. “I know that it… probably looks like I’m-”
“Why her?” you say, softly.
You can’t even stand to look at him as you speak. Your whole chest feels impossibly heavy; as if it’s consuming the rest of your body, piece by dissolving piece.
“...What?” Jonathan looks at you curiously, as you feel yourself fall even more fully apart.
“Why her, when I’m right here, huh?” you demand, tears squeezing out from behind your damp eyelashes, even as you try to blink them back. “I’m yours, Jonathan. I’ve been yours. All you have to do is ask.”
“That’s not… God, I’m not trying to-”
“You don’t even have to try with me!” you cry, voice rising up into a frenzy. Your hands fly to slam against him, pushing him by the shoulders. “You’ve never had to-”
You cut yourself off, and cradle your wrist to your chest. The tattoo that he gave you is settled close by to your heart, and you bring your other hand up to trace absently over the ink that mirrors it.
“Listen to me,” Jonathan says, taking hold of your shoulders. You look up at him, salty tears still welled in your eyes, starting to spill down over your cheeks. “That’s not what I’m doing. This is just… research.”
“Research?” you echo.
“Yes. That’s all,” he assures you. Both of you have started to calm down, and the pressure of his hands on your shoulders finally becomes noticeable. “It’s for… how do I phrase this?”
The sounds of the party are muffled out here, but suddenly a sharp scream rises over the music. Both of you turn to peer through the glass doors, and you catch a brief glimpse of the woman from earlier, just as the red plastic cup falls from her hand. She claws at her face, and sinks to the floor, still screaming.
Your focus shifts back to Jonathan, and you watch as he stares through the glass, his eyes frigid and, suddenly, calculating. His hands are still on your shoulders, and you feel as his grip tightens slightly, as if his fingers are itching to do… something. You can’t say quite what.
“...Fear,” you breathe, quietly.
You aren’t sure exactly what’s going on, but some sort of vague understanding has started to seep into your nerves, mending the frays that had threatened to form. Like healing salve, soothed over all of the tiny rips and tears that had nearly pulled you apart, only seconds ago.
“Yes,” he agrees. “That’s all I wanted her for. I swear.”
It takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you again, a serious expression on his strained face. His eyes seem to bore into yours, but it’s comforting, just to feel like he’s burrowing into you.
The commotion inside becomes louder; more shouts of alarm rising to join the first, and you hear something crash to the ground. But you’re not paying attention to that anymore; you’re swimming in Jonathan’s eyes as the tears slowly dry from yours.
“Jonathan?” you ask. “Can we go home?”
He turns to look again at the riot that’s quickly developing inside; the bass of the music replaced now by shrill cries that have risen above everything. For a moment, you think he’s about to refuse, and the lump in your throat almost tears through the delicate flesh of your neck.
“Sure. Let’s go home,” he agrees.
You walk, hand in hand, away from the party. Looping around the house and down the sidewalk, your fingers intertwine with his in the night air. You smile, and grab onto Jonathan’s arm, pulling him closer.
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Today was the day.
You pulled your sleeve down, trying to cover the now-sharpened pen casing that was held tight in your sweaty hand. The tip of your finger brushed over the point, as you went over the plan in your head again.
If you could manage to be stealthy enough, you wouldn’t even need the pen. Not that you would hesitate to use it, but there was a certain amount of risk that you’d prefer to avoid if at all possible. Things could get messy, and that would be sure to draw attention. For once, you didn’t want Crane to notice what you were doing.
You stayed close to the wall of the cafeteria, practically hugging the stone as you walked briskly. It was important to be fast, but not too fast.
“What are you doing?” asked a sharp voice behind you.
You would have spun faster than either of you could blink, pen at the ready to plunge into his neck. If only you hadn’t recognized the voice.
Crane grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, and you screamed silently behind your eyes.
“Nothing,” you said calmly. “Going for a walk.”
“You’re not allowed to do that,” Crane sighed, already dragging you to face him. His expression was just as drab as the bricks that now pressed into your back. “What’s in your hand?”
Your finger flicked over the sharp point again. This was the one possibility that you hadn’t imagined, of course. The one opponent your weapon was useless against, all because you couldn’t bring yourself to use it.
With your jaw set and shoulders squared, you straightened up to face him. You wouldn’t shy away from his eyes, even if looking at them meant facing the disappointment that lurked, not-so-subtly beneath their surface.
Crane grew impatient awaiting your answer, and grabbed you by the wrist. You let him. It was useless to resist, and the two of you glared at each other as he yanked your hand and your fingers fell open. The story was written over your palm, almost as clearly as if you had used the pen to record it across your own flesh.
Crane picked up the wrecked pen, considered the jagged edge of the plastic, and pocketed it. Without another word, he turned and dragged you out of the cafeteria, heading toward your cell.
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Jonathan’s hand in yours is restless; seeming to flutter as his thumb drifts absentmindedly, rubbing back and forth in a way that might be more soothing for him than it is to you. You want to help him, but you’re not sure how. You’ve noticed the anxieties that have seemed to overwhelm him lately, and you wish there was more you could offer him.
“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggest. “We could watch a movie or something. Go for a walk?”
Jonathan shakes his head, and tears his hand away to go back to scribbling on the pad in front of him. The paper is already littered with letters and symbols that mean nothing to you. Three vials full of pale liquid - Jonathan’s pet project - roll gently back and forth on the table.
“I can’t get it right, and I don’t know why,” he snaps, frustrated. “I need to run more tests, but…”
“I could test it for you,” you offer.
Jonathan looks at you with a mix of shock and, maybe, revulsion, and you feel yourself shrink back into your seat.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he says.
“You don’t have to ask,” you reply. “I’d do anything for you.”
His expression morphs into something that’s harder to read. That’s been happening more and more often lately, and it’s started to panic you when it does. You know him so well, but suddenly, there are sides to him that seem almost foreign to you. You bring a hand up to cup his sharp cheek, and the smile stretched over your own face feels plastic.
“Us against the world,” you remind him.
Jonathan places his hand over yours, only for a moment before pulling away entirely.
“I just… want to know I can do something,” he says. “Something I set my own mind to.”
“You can,” you assure him. “You have.”
“My whole life, I’ve felt as if I’m just reacting to things that are outside of my control,” he continues, almost as if he hadn’t heard you. “I just want to understand why.”
Emotion has crept into his voice, and your first instinct is to pull back. You ignore it. Instead, you place a kiss on his temple, and he lets his head fall to rest on your shoulder. The room is silent for a moment, as you wrap both your arms around him and try to think of something to say.
“You know I’d be lost without you, right?” you ask, gently. 
“That’s because you have a dysfunctional attachment style.”
You stop. His words, flat and unemotional, pierce through you as if he had stabbed instead of spoken them. You can feel the ground opening up at your feet, and struggle to reassert yourself.
“That’s not true. You… don’t mean that,” you flounder.
“Maybe I don’t,” he agrees, halfheartedly. “Who knows anymore.”
Your heart aches. You hate that he’s talking like this is the end of something. A foregone conclusion that’s just out of his grasp, but that he doesn’t even care to reach for. A sentence on a page, half-finished but forgotten.
“You’ve been working too hard,” you decide. “You’re tired.”
“I am tired.”
“Let’s go to bed, then,” you suggest. 
He nods, and you take hold of his hand to guide him, the dark ink of your tattoo pressed up against the blank space on his wrist.
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Back in your cell, Crane didn’t bother to lock the door behind him for once. Instead, he stood directly in front of it, hands on his hips as he stared down at you.
“I would say I’m shocked, but I’m not,” he sighed, voice already grinding against itself. “But, what I can’t figure out is this. What gave you the idea that this would go well for you?”
You didn’t answer.
“It’s not as if I don’t monitor you.”
Normally, the admission that he’d been paying attention to you would have made your heart flutter. But now, it felt like there was nothing more than a pit in your chest. The same one that was always there, longing for something that could fill it without being swallowed.
“You’re lucky it was me who found you, and not somebody else.” He moved one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, just like he always had. For as long as you’d known him. “Don’t you ever stop and think before you act?”
That was insulting. You’d spent plenty of time thinking about this. In fact, it was all you’d been focusing on for weeks - at least when your mind was clear enough to focus. 
And really, he was one to talk. How many times had you helped him crawl out of one failed situation or another? It wasn’t fair for him to talk like everything he did went perfectly, when both of you knew very well that it didn’t.
“Don’t have anything to say?” Crane pried.
You felt anger swell furiously within you, and - as if to prove the point he’d just made - you surged forward without thinking. Crane didn’t have any time to react, and you pressed your lips up against his in a harsh kiss that felt sickeningly void of love. Your cold fingers grabbed at the front of his sweater, and you felt your lips crush into your teeth, desperately searching for some hint of the spark that you felt certain was still there.
Crane scrambled, his back pressed against the hard door, and finally tore you away from him.
“What are you doing?” he spat.
Your eyes were downcast, unable to meet his, and you bit the cracked skin of your lips.
“Who knows anymore,” you replied, echoing his words from long ago.
“You need to control yourself,” Crane hissed. “If you can’t, I’m not going to keep making excuses for you.”
His words might as well have just echoed off the stone walls, vibrating in an empty cell. You weren’t listening. You weren’t even there anymore.
Fleeting as a beam of light. 
Crane collected himself and then left, departing just as the sleek ribbons of past life came to wrap over you again.
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You woke, not realizing that you’d fallen asleep. You weren’t sure how long it had been since Crane left, but, judging by the way the lights were already turned out, it had been hours. 
Automatically, your hand went to the top corner of your mattress, intent on blindly tracing over the hearts that had once been there on the sheets. But of course, they weren’t anymore. Instead, though, you heard a clatter as something fell to the floor.
That was odd. Certainly, you hadn’t left anything there this morning. It wasn’t as if you had any possessions to leave.
Groping in the dark, your fingers slid across the floor. Finally, you found it, and held the object up close to your face.
A key.
Your lips curled as you held tight to the metal.
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Read Pt. 3 HERE!
132 notes · View notes
diasdelfuego · 9 days
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Is DM or Lestat really getting shoehorned in the season 2? I thought it was in the books? I have never read those but with the way people talk I thought Lestat was in it throughout and eventually Daniel too?
i think that’s a question that’s a bit more complicated than just “it’s in the books,” and i think that people using “it’s in the books” (or that rolin quote about how they're taking into account the entire saga for the adaptation) to dismiss fans’ (particularly black fans!) concerns or criticisms are just another symptom of prevalent fandom racism. 
so, yeah, you know i’m long winded, so brace for this answer.
the reasoning behind this concern and/or criticism —the way i think about it, of course, i don’t want to put words in anyone else’s mouth— is that this second season, which is “officially” an adaptation of the second half of the interview book, should be, based on the content and narrative beats of the source material, primarily concerned with louis, claudia, and armand. of course, the show is making major structural changes in order to make this new story more cohesive than the original, which is infamously a disjointed, often nonsensical mess, so it’s a given that some things are going to be different. now, what things are different, how, and how those changes are presented are stuff worth thinking about. 
obviously, i love the framing device of the second interview, and you know i love daniel as a character. but the adaptation has certainly given him a relevance that he never had in the books. in the interview he’s a nameless “boy,” in queen of the damned he gets about 20 pages from his own pov and then some more pages from armand’s point of view, and then he’s relegated to at best a paragraph per book for the rest of the series, when he’s mentioned at all. hell, anne rice forgot how to spell his last name in several books! 
likewise, i have talked before about how people blow devil’s minion importance in the series out of proportion, and i actually have my post about it at hand because i meant to answer a different question about this. sorry @ other anon, i will get to you eventually. probably. anyway, here is the post in question! 
now, lestat is, without a doubt, the protagonist of the chronicles. anne rice went on record to say that she pretty much hated louis after the first book and would never write him again, and lestat was her precious gary stu self-insert. he is the protagonist of the second book, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth, and… you get it. 
rolin has already said that season three will be his season, and we know he’s a lestat fanboy, and it’s whatever. as long as jacob anderson has at least 50% of the total screentime, i’ll be streaming, and if he has less than that i’ll watch a supercut on youtube. 
but lestat is not a major player in the second half of the interview and, in general, he is more a villain than a love interest in that first book. again, the show is adapting the entire saga, and they are trying to tie it together more neatly, and this is not quite the same story, but armand is as key to louis’s character arc in the interview as lestat and, out of the two, he’s the one that plays the role of love interest. we learn nothing of lestat’s backstory, and very little of armand’s, in that book, and any relationship that lestat and armand have only becomes known to us in the second book. 
and again, structurally, some changes can be attributed to the nature of the adaptation. i was a huge fan of the choice to have lestat “trauma-dumping” in season one, i feel it was an effective and economical introduction to his character that carried a lot of narrative weight, just like i think that making antoinette a woman and giving the affair more space than the one paragraph it gets in the book did a lot of work for the story, but i think that what’s most praise-worthy about these decisions is precisely their economy: we don’t really get a lot of screentime on antoinette, just like we don’t dedicate actual flashbacks to lestat’s tragic backstory, and yet the story gains a lot from them. 
and the story, capital letters italicized The Story, is about louis. 
(i’d argue that, for these two first seasons, it goes: louis, then to a lesser degree claudia, then lestat and armand, then daniel last of all. claudia is much bigger in louis’s story than either lestat or armand are on their own.)
louis is the titular vampire. and this season is meant to be the second and last part of his book. those chapters are truly the best of the novel, so i earnestly hope louis and claudia’s story will get the treatment it deserves. especially because i truly believe that claudia’s death is the emotional center of the vampire chronicles, and if the show is truly smart it will build its narrative foundations around it. 
anyway. back to what i was saying. i think it’s fair to expect the changes to the story to contribute to this core narrative, not detract from it. 
as perfectly put by @nativehueofresolution here, i’m all for additional lestat and armand backstory if it’s in service of louis and armand’s arc. otherwise, what does it add?
now, personally, i have said that i’m optimistic and as of today i have a lot of confidence in the team behind the show! i try to keep sight of how good season one was and not let stuff extraneous to the actual show distract me from it. but i do see the reasons to be wary. 
i brought up in my recent pilot liveblog that the second season still has only one writer and no black directors, that seems to me a cause for wariness in a show that has so far been centrally concerned with how its black protagonist navigates systemic racism! 
for me, the biggest concern is that television isn’t created by artists, but by entire teams which include producers and lots of executives, and amc has a bad track record with executive intervention on their shows (see the history of the walking dead). they’re putting too much stock on mayfair witches and the immortal universe, and you can see just from MW that there’s not a single, cohesively critical, intelligent artistic vision for the whole enterprise, so interview might very well end up being pulled by the general trends of the franchise. plus, frankly, i just don’t think rolin jones is the most brilliant guy out there, and i dread how a bad change to the writers’ room or the story editor could affect the direction of the show. 
now, i was talking about devil’s minion a little while back, and now we’ve come all the way back to that. the old guard: i don’t know how much is the marketing or the writing actually pandering to the old-school fans, and how much is fandom just being racist and stupid. we don’t know enough about the second season yet, so i don’t want to judge the story based on previews. and, personally i would enjoy it if the show did do devil’s minion if it was done well! but, from where i’m standing, the only coherent way to give that relationship any extended amount of screentime during the second season should necessarily involve louis in a big way in order to be done well. 
i think it’s fair to be annoyed, and i’m pretty damn annoyed, by people who are eager to push louis aside to get to a hypothetical daniel/armand storyline or a future lestat season; especially when quite a few of the latter set of people have repeatedly made it clear that they believe louis is a liar, lestat is the real victim, armand is the only abuser and lestat is innocent of all charges, or claudia is the villain of season one. 
luckily, both jacob himself and writer hannah moscovitch have said stuff about louis’s arc as an abuse survivor that reassures me i don’t need to worry too much about that! but there’s still stuff in amc’s marketing that does give me pause. 
i think it’s fair to question the centrality that sam has had in this season’s promotion so far, given that, again, lestat should all in all have little screentime if this adaptation was planning on roughly matching the beats of the second part. i think it’s fair to question why assad and jacob aren’t getting the same couples press tour treatment that sam and jacob did, when this is louis and armand’s season. it’s definitely fair to question amc’s apparent lack of efforts to get bailey and jacob on more black american media outlets or to engage black reporters and critics in general —on the upside, the podcast deserves a shoutout as an example of very good metatext from amc, and they definitely should have marketed that harder. i think it’s fair to want to see more of delainey doing press! 
and i definitely think it’s fair to interpret some of these choices as amc pandering to white audiences, reassuring viewers that they don’t have to invest too much stock in these black and brown characters because, worry not, the story will soon turn to the real protagonists… the white guys! 
these are not choices made in a vacuum, and we’d do well to interrogate them.
because i’m optimistic, i think these might very well be issues of promotion, rather than of writing: it’s clear to me that amc’s marketing intentions and the creative team’s artistic vision don’t quite mesh; as the network’s marketing strategies seem very oriented towards an audience of old-school fans, the same old-school fans who decided to hate the show the moment they learned louis and claudia were black or who watch the show with blinders on to keep them from seeing anything but the white characters; while the writing on the screen speaks to some really smart people behind the scenes, and certainly suggests they’re not afraid to alienate old-guard fanbase with bold creative decisions. 
so, i know i absolutely derailed your question, but it’s just that it’s much more nuanced than that. 
all of these decisions, and the way in which these changes are realized —and it will be a change from the source material to allot meaningful screentime to any of these characters/storylines in the second season, even if lestat and to a lesser extent daniel do become more relevant in later books!— certainly have more implications than simple “loyalty to canon” (or lack thereof). 
i don’t think devil’s minion would necessarily be shoehorned if it featured in some way in season two, and if louis was incorporated into a sort of larger ot3 devils’ minion plot, eye would likely find it to be a great choice. i don’t think the introduction of some 1790s storyline would necessarily be shoehorned as long as it adds to louis and armand’s story, though right now i’m certainly not sold on it. hell, i think making santiago into a bigger antagonist could be a great change, and i’m looking forward to seeing what ben daniel does with the role! but if these things aren’t working in service of louis’s larger narrative, then i think they definitely are worth criticizing. 
all this to say: season one of interview was unlikely excellent television, so i understand being wary of how structural racism might affect the development of the show going forward, and i think people dismissing these concerns altogether and trying to paint them as bad faith engagement with the adaptation are being, at best, willfully obtuse (and at worst, straight up racist). 
and, if the show did indeed erase louis to prop up lestat, regardless of how “true to canon” that is, it would still be racist, just like it would still be victim blaming and abuse apologia to adapt anne rice’s rhetoric as she put it down. 
don’t bother reading the books, they’re not worth it, just know that the people trying to reduce any criticism to a matter of fidelity to the source are not doing so in good faith.
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spamgyu · 3 months
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BACKBURNER DEEP DIVE
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Real quick, just wanted to say that i am so so so grateful for everyone who fell inlove with the fic and the countless reactions that made me laugh and made my day.
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This fic was written with the intent of showing Mingyu as the person on OC's Backburner. Throughout all the parts, I have hinted that she is the red flag and she is basically who we have come to hate: Seungcheol.
When she said if he was a red flag, I can be redder - this was directed more towards her actions towards Mingyu.
I wrote OC to be selfish and two dimensional in which she only sees it as what about my feelings? what are my personal gains? Very similar to Cheol.
The use of Supercut was a double edge sword to show that OC hung on to Cheol because she only saw the "supercut" of their situationship which are just the good parts. She is so determined to make him be her end game that she refuses to look at the bad sides, which occurred far more often than the good parts which goes hand in hand with how Mingyu views OC. It's not as extreme as how Cheol treated OC, Mingyu only sees the good parts of him and OC.
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I wasn't originally going to make a happy ending for Mingyu but everyone fell in love with OC x Mingyu, I owe it to you guys to give him his ending with OC.
Version 1 was the original ending of Backburner — it's more hinted that she ends up choosing Cheol in a panic thinking Mingyu doesn't feel the same. Similar to Cheol picking her since Sunhee didn't pick him.
OC thought if she went with Mingyu (who made it seem like kissing her was a mistake) instead of Cheol (who had voiced that he chose her) that she would be placed on a back burned again. And she would much rather go head first into something she was sure of than have to go through the same trauma of a situationship with someone who she labeled as her best friend.
Lastly, Mingyu chose not to tell OC why Cheol picked her because think about it....... she had gone low enough to use him to mess with Cheol, he knew that she didn't care how she got Cheol — as long as at the end of the day, he was hers. (red flag hint hint)
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creamhoodie · 2 months
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Supercut
Summary: You and Gojo were dating in your youth. Your relationship was an intimate secret the two of you held close. After a mission went astray, your relationship fell apart. Flash forward a few years and you're now dating Kento Nanami and are forced to navigate your feelings regarding the two of them.
Tags: fem reader, NSFW, 18+ content, angst, love triangle, flashback scenes written in italics.
A/N: This will be my first multi chapter fic I've written on here (plz comment if you'd like to be included in a tag list. ) Also pls do not make fun or point out any plot holes when it comes to explaining & introducing stuff having to do with curses. This is all for fun and fantasy no way reflecting canon. The things I write about are meant to make sense within the context of the story & will be explained as the story progresses.
wc: 5.4k
Chapter 1: The Day Everything Changed
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“Oh. The flowers? Is it a special day?” Gojo asked, poking his head into your empty classroom as you sat at your desk grading papers. 
The roses he spoke of were in a pristine glass vase. A gift from your boyfriend.
“Kento got them for me for our anniversary,” you replied shortly. 
“Oh really? How long has it been now?” he asked, cocking his head to the side as if thinking. 
“Two years,” you replied. 
Surely he knew. How couldn’t he? The two of you had history and call it arrogance but given that history you were sure he kept tabs on your romantic life. 
“Congratulations,” he said, though his enthusiasm seemed forced.
It was enough to make you snap 
“Is there a reason you came to see me?” you asked. 
He smiled and walked into the room fully now, a pink bag in his hand and placed it on your desk next to the flowers. 
“I got you a souvenir from when I went to Kyoto,” he said, seemingly pleased with himself. 
Curiosity winning out, you peered into the bag to find a medium sized white box. Taking the box out, you lifted the lid and gasped. 
“It’s Kyogashi! Oh Satoru you shouldn’t have,” you said with glee at him having gotten you your favorite flower sweets.
Caught up in the moment you stood from your desk and hugged him. His chest vibrated as he laughed at your enthusiasm. His arms enveloped you as well and you felt his hands stroke your hair. Pulling back, you saw him looking down at you.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been this close,” he said, the corners of his lips flickering upwards. 
Your face flushed beet red as he referenced your past with him. 
“For good reason,” you said, shoving him away. He reluctantly let you go. Straightening your blouse, you hoped his cologne didn’t linger on your clothes. You wouldn’t want to have to explain that to Nanami. 
“Have you ever told him about us?” Gojo asked, as if reading your mind. 
“No. That’s all in the past. It was a long time ago so there’s no need to bring it up. Besides, you broke up with me. Remember?” 
He appeared visibly hurt at your words, but there was no denying the truth in them. He had been the one who had ended things with you, even if it had been in an unorthodox way.
“Remember what?” Nanami walked into the room, having caught only the last of your words. You seemed flustered but luckily Gojo was quick on his feet as always. 
“She was just reminding me that it’s the two of you’s anniversary,” he said. 
Nanami walked over to you and placed an arm around your shoulders as he always did for comfort. 
“Oh good. That’s exactly why I’m here to take her out for dinner. Otherwise she’ll work herself to death,” your boyfriend said laughing slightly. He peered over at your desk at the box  and asked, “what are these?” 
“Gojo got these for me as a souvenir from his mission in Kyoto,” you replied.
You’d never lie to Nanami, he didn’t deserve that. Plus it wasn’t unusual for Gojo to bring everyone souvenirs of some sort. 
“Oh that’s nice. You deserve so many sweet things, darling,” he said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. He then addressed Gojo, “if you’ll excuse us I made reservations for us tonight so we really must be going.” 
Nanami led you to the door, but not before stopping to grab your purse and drape it over his shoulder to carry it for you. 
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“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you said, snuggling into Gojo’s chest.
The two of you were laying down in a hammock outside, basking in the sun. Since there had been nothing pressing and it was an ‘off day’ the two of you had hiked near the outskirts of campus to set up the hammock and relax. 
“So do I,” he replied, his lips grazing the top of your hair. 
It was a nice spring day, the kind where the warmth of the sun shot dopamine into your veins and made life worth living again. Take into account the added warmth of Gojo’s body and you couldn't imagine a better place to be.  
These getaways between the two of you had been more frequent and a secret from the rest of your cohort at jujutsu high. It’s not that the two of you had intended to make things secret, but you both found comfort and beauty in the privacy your relationship had to offer. 
You felt Gojo’s lips at your jawline, trailing kisses there. 
“Listen, about this upcoming mission…” he began what had been a source of contention between the two of you this past week. 
“I know what you’re gonna say. I’m not staying behind, Yaga said I’m ready.” 
You looked up at him, he was silent for a moment, his mouth forming a rigid line. Snuggling into him more, you tried to break down his resolve. “Satoru, you don’t have to worry about me, I can handle myself.” 
His crystal eyes softened behind his frames and he pressed another kiss on top of your head before speaking.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re ready. It’s not about Yaga thinking you’re ready. It’s just that special grade curses are different. They are on another level.” 
“Well if it’s not about me being ready then what’s it about?” you pressed. 
His cheeks grew pink.
“I just can’t lose you. I can’t stand the idea of you being hurt,” he said. 
It was the closest to a confession about his feelings you’d gotten. He was sweet, affectionate, caring, and very much protective. But one thing Gojo struggled with was voicing his feelings. The fact that he did so now emphasized to you how serious he was about the upcoming mission and the danger it presented. 
“I know, but that’s why you’ll be there to help protect me. Plus there’s Nanami, Yaga said he’d be going too.” 
Gojo nodded, but his eyes had again taken that look where he seemed so far away in thought. You often wondered if his mind was occupied by the intersection of cursed energy and humanity as he always seemed lost in complex thought. But oftentimes when you’d catch him in this rumination, he’d quickly snap back to his carefree self, leaving you wondering if you had imagined it. This time, he let his rumination linger. 
“Satoru, I’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine,” you said, softly inching upwards to snuggle your face into his neck, breathing in his ocean breeze scent. 
“You better be, because I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not.” 
With the conviction he said it, you wondered if it’s the first time in his life Satoru Gojo felt truly vulnerable. 
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“How are you liking your meal?” Nanami asked over a bite of his own steak. 
“It’s excellent. The salmon and lobster are to die for,” you replied. 
The waitress stopped by and asked if the two of you needed anything. Nanami asked for more champagne as it was a special night. 
The thing about Kento Nanami is that he was a lot more loose and laid back than people would think, of course under the right circumstances. Holidays and anniversaries provided those circumstances. Of course there was you, whenever the two of you were in a room together, people saw a side of him they usually didn’t see, a doting and affectionate side. 
“My love, I want to take a moment to thank you for spending these past two years with me. Every moment of everyday you’ve given me something to live for,” he said. His hand reached out over the table to cover your free one, the warmth of his calloused palm made you shiver. You couldn’t help but compare his hand to Gojo, whose skin was soft. 
No, that wasn’t right. 
Why were you thinking of Gojo right now? You love Nanami, you have always been certain of that. 
“Love?” Nanami questioned, worry forming behind his spectacles. 
“I should be thanking you, Kento. You’ve treated me like a princess these past two years,” you replied. 
He smiled, and it reached his eyes. 
“I love you,” he said. 
“I love you too,” you said. 
You loved Kento Nanami and his calloused hands you knew he had acquired from his years of hard work, both physical and mental labor that shaped the foundation of who he was and his beliefs. It was better to leave Satoru Gojo and his soft hands in the past, there was no place for him or them in your life anymore.  He had been the one to make that clear.
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“Just stick by me and you’ll be fine,” Gojo said to you as the three of you came upon a corporate office in the special wards of Tokyo. 
The veil had been cast and the area had been blocked off by authorities so there wasn’t any concern of civilians being caught in the crossfire, or so it would seem.
“Remember this special grade can shapeshift, so it’s best we stick together. From the reports, it’s intelligent so it’s been camping out in this office building and luring victims inside using its shape shifting abilities,” Nanami said, giving you two a rundown in case you hadn’t done your homework.
Maybe other times he’d be justified in doing this, as Gojo was known for winging it, but given your presence, he had made you read the reports with him over and over. 
So you knew that not only was the special grade curse a shapeshifter, but that it had been luring victims all over Toyoko in different places for the past few months. Due to its intelligence, the trail of it had gone cold as it was acting as a serial killer of sorts and had covered its tracks once it had sensed it was being hunted. 
Most wicked of all the curse seemed to have had access to a missing person database and therefore transformed into the missing person and lured friends and family to their deaths. 
It was awful, but it explained why Gojo was so worried, the curse exploited those dear to you. 
“I should go in first, and scope it out. If I see it I’ll exorcise it,” Gojo said. 
So much for sticking close to him, you thought. 
“That wasn’t the plan,” Nanami refuted, “Yaga said we should stick together. Besides, it’s more logical that way. If it turns into you and we’re separated it can cause more confusion.” 
“It can’t copy my techniques,” Gojo said, unconcerned and determined to go at it alone, no doubt his intention was to protect you. 
“We don’t know that for certain. It hasn’t transformed into a sorcerer before. It’s best we stick together on the off chance it can mimick more than appearance.” 
Gojo’s jaw was clenched. Nanami had him backed into a corner with his logic, there was no refuting it. Whether splitting up or staying together, there would still be risks posed to you. 
His eyes locked with yours, but he made it seem as he was talking to the both of you. 
“Stick by me.” 
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“Mmm, Kento” your head fell back in pleasure as he laid kisses down your neck, the door to your shared penthouse apartment just closing behind you. His kisses were heated and lustful, bringing out a side of him only you had the privilege of knowing. 
“I want you, badly.. need you right now,” he said through gritted teeth. 
“Fuck, so take me,” you replied. 
He picked you up, effortlessly as though you were weightless, carrying you to your bedroom. He plopped you down on the bed and you fell back against the silken sheets. 
“You’re so beautiful. I’ve been thinking about this moment all day,” he confessed as he undid the buttons of your blouse. You helped him shrug it off your shoulders until it was discarded to the side. That left you in your bra, breasts spilling out of the tight cups, a lone nipple just managing to peek through the top. Nanami cursed, hardening at the nip slip. He couldn’t seem to help himself as he bent forward to kiss you again, the kiss festering into a passionate make out of tongues, the stream of salvia that connected the two of you even after you broke apart served as evidence for the heated exchange. 
“Ken,” you whimpered, the jolt of heat between your thighs growing painful. 
“I know, all in good time,” he cooed. He groped your breasts, squeezing them slightly so they spilled over in the cups, both nipples fully exposed now. His hands moved quickly to undo your bra, fully removing it now. His lips found yours again, and you moaned into the kiss as he massaged your sensitive breasts. With shaky hands, you began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his muscled torso. The kiss became hungrier as you palmed at his pants to undo his zipper, when your hand made contact with his hard on, he muttered a faint “oh fuck,” against your lips. He gently pushed you back so you were laid down on the bed fully as he positioned himself on his knees in front of you. Quickly, your lower half was undressed panties and all until you were completely naked before him. 
“So beautiful,” he praised once again, his face inched forward and you knew what he was going to do, “and all mine,” he added before his tongue licked at your folds. 
You gasped, grasping at the silken bedsheets to stabilize yourself as he continued to pleasure you. His fingers began to join in and between them and his tongue he was crafting a symphonic arrangement uniquely curated to you and all your sensitive parts. His fingers stimulated your clit while he lapped at your arousal which continued to flood, overflowing and dripping on his chin. 
“Kento, yes..it feels so good,” you moaned. He picked up the speed and as he did your hands went from the bedsheets to his hair, in an effort to be even closer, you pressed his face against your sex. You cried out as you felt the friction from his frames against your vulnerable skin. 
All the white he continued to lap, the lewd noises of your wet skin and his lips permeating the dark room. 
“Ken-I’m so close,” you warned. 
“So cum then, cum all over my tongue,” he panted before resuming. 
His voice, so animalistic, so unhinged and unlike his usual composed self, set you on edge and you felt your toes curl as the familiar sensation of an orgasm overtook your body. 
Gasping for air, you felt your body give out to the sweet release as below Nanami lapped it all up. 
“Tastes. So. Good,” he said each word between laps, savoring it.
By this point, you had fallen fully back against the bedsheets, hands over your head, your ribs and breasts rising and falling as you caught your breath. The view of Nanami, glasses drenched with moisture, hair flopping out of its usual gel style, and mouth puffy and pink made your heart race. And it began to race even more as he stood up, undid his tie, and shrugged off his shirt you had unbuttoned. His glasses soon followed, revealing his stunning hazel eyes. Finally, his pants and boxers were discarded. 
Although you and Nanami had been very sexually active these past two years, it still caught you by surprise how big his cock was. It was long and the girth was impressive, and his pink head was the same color as his lips.
“We’re not done yet,” he whispered, lining himself up with your sex. “Spread your legs even wider for me, love.” 
You did as he asked and the glow of the city lights coming in from the window shining on his skin made him all the more handsome. You felt his mushroom tip fetter its way into your folds easily and you both moaned in unison at the skin to skin contact as he slid his length into you. When he completely bottomed out inside you, he paused for a moment, allowing himself to soak inside of your warmth. 
“You feel so good,” he sighed in complete bliss. Throughout your relationship during your pillow talk and aftercare he had described being in you as being in a domain. All he could feel was you, as though all he was ever meant to do was be inside of you, every moment of his life all the hard work and hours he has put in as a salaryman and a sorcerer had been to lead him to this moment, soaking inside of you, his heaven and his relief. He rested his forehead against yours for a few moments, the two of you savoring the sensation and tension of the unprotected contact that felt just as good as the first time even after two years. Shaky breaths and whimpers were the only sounds in the room. That is, until he spoke again. 
“Tell me you love me,” he requested,”need to hear it again.”
“I love you,” you replied, genuinely. 
“I love you too,” he reciprocated. 
He then began to thrust in and out of you, setting a steady pace. You felt his cock going in and out of you, each time more wet than the last as he coated himself in your arousal, the sounds of slapping skin echoing. 
Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he continued until all you could feel was Nanami. 
All you could think of was Nanami.. 
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“Nanami? Did you hear that?” you asked as the three of you combed through the halls of the warehouse. Gojo led further up front, having requested, no more like commanded, to take the lead. 
Nanami paused, cocking his head to the side, his long blonde hair falling like a curtain in the same direction. 
“I didn’t hear anything, but it’s safe to assume the curse knows we’re here now. It’s best that we all stick together,” he said somewhat pointedly at Gojo.
The corporate office was truly a sad sight, where it was once a place no doubt bustling with business, the lights no longer worked and the few bulbs that remained in use flickered, threatening to go out at any moment. The three of you were on the first floor, having walked through the lobby and several conference rooms, there was no sign of the curse.
Except, you had heard rustling, and you felt the hair at the back of your neck stand up as though you were being watched. 
“Let’s move on to the second floor,” Nanami said before calling out,”Gojo let’s move on.” 
Gojo was crouched down on the floor dipping his finger in a small puddle of water. 
No, not water, upon further inspection it looked like.. 
“Blood. Cursed spirit blood by the looks of it,” he said as the purple liquid dipped down his finger. 
“So it’s been wounded recently? From what?” You asked. 
“Maybe a victim tried to fight back and managed to puncture it somehow. Perhaps there’s still a survivor or it’s taken hostages,” Nanami said, thinking through the logic, “either way it’s vulnerable which means-“
“It’s a whole lot more dangerous,” Gojo finished. He locked eyes with you again, and the look in them made you gulp. “I’ll go on ahead and search. Nanami, you stay with her.” 
Not this again, it seemed as if he was determined to go at the mission alone, and no doubt it was because of you. 
“We’ve been through this. Due to the curse’s ability it is more advantageous for us to remain as a group,” Nanami said. 
“So take her back to the school. We all know I can handle it on my own. Then we don’t have to worry about it changing into one of the two of you,” Gojo said. 
“Satoru, I'm staying here,” you said with finality. 
That did nothing to dissuade him. 
“This isn’t a sightseeing trip or low level mission. You could die!” He shouted. 
His words were like cold water. You knew the skill difference between the two of you, but he had never made you feel inferior before.
“I knew the risks when I came on. We all know the risks of being a sorcerer,” you said, your lip shook a little. 
Regret formed in his crystal eyes and he opened his mouth to speak again but whatever he was trying to say was drowned out by a shriek. 
Your shriek, it took a second for you to register the sound and the fact that it wasn’t coming from your mouth. 
It was the curse. 
The three of you turned and down the hall stood an exact replica of you, a perfect imposter.
Gojo cursed, and you knew this is what he had been afraid of. 
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Nanami planted a kiss on your bare shoulder as you snuggled back against him in bed. The two of you were still naked from your love making and had taken to cuddling afterwards. 
“Your skin is so soft,” he said, as his lips took to the  curve of your neck up to the back of your ear, now making you laugh. 
“I think part of the credit for that goes to you, you spoil me with all these fancy creams and lotions Kento,” you said. 
It was true. Nanami was loaded, filthyfully so, but he was so humble about it one wouldn’t know it. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy luxury he did, but his form of luxury wasn’t branded items to show off to others, it was silent wealth, expensive items he enjoyed for their quality and longevity such as his watches or the rare edition books he was fond of collecting. Most of all, he loved to spend his wealth on you. Anything you even showed interest in was yours, the bathroom was stocked with luxury brands for you to use and he had gifted you more lingerie sets and clothing than you knew what to do with. 
“Spoiling you gives me something to live for,” he said, nuzzling his face into your hair and breathing in the scent, “ask me for anything and it’s yours.” 
You turned to face him, his eyes were so kind as they always were. That was something you had always enjoyed about Nanami, his eyes were kind towards all, but of course there had always been a certain fondness in them that was reserved for you. It had taken you embarrassingly long to notice that. 
“I want you to not work yourself to death. You’re always saying I do that but you’re worse than me. You’re always going away on missions,” you said cupping his cheek with your hand. 
“I can’t do that, dear. You and I both know the responsibilities of a grade one sorcerer,” he said. 
Yes, you both did. 
Perhaps it would have been a responsibility the two of you shared if it hadn’t been for you no longer continuing to practice your techniques and skills. Perhaps if you had only continued you could accompany him on these missions, instead you had opted to remain at the school teaching in class instruction only.
Ever since that day, that mission so long ago.. 
“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said softly, he turned his head to kiss your palm. You dropped your hand, returning it at your side. You didn’t look at him. 
Yes he didn’t mean anything by it, but this was a source of contention between the two of you. It was because of your guilt of not being able to accompany him on missions, your fear of losing him, and most of all the deep rooted shame you had in yourself for quitting. 
Yes you could still practice now, get stronger and better, but was it worth it? 
You had been out of the field for so long and you enjoyed the life you had now with Nanami. It was a life of comfort, stability, but still you wondered if there was more you could be doing. So now every time Nanami left, you worry about losing him. He did have a good work life balance but he was a man of conviction and principles who took his responsibilities so seriously that he wouldn’t hesitate to lose his life in an instance if it was for a higher calling, the thought scared you. 
“You said ask you for anything I want, and that’s what I want,” you said in a small voice. 
He chuckled slightly. 
“No fair, sweetheart. You know I can’t deny you anything,” he said. 
You moved closer, so your face was a mere few inches from his. 
“So don’t, stay with me,” you whispered before kissing him. 
He moaned into your kiss, and you could tell you were threatening all of his resolve. 
“Fine, love. You get your wish. I cut back on the number of missions I take,” he said. 
“But?” You pressed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 
“But?” He repeated.
“Do I have to do something in return?” you clarified. 
He laughed.
“At a later date I’ll ask you for something in return. For now, let me enjoy being this close to you.” 
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The shriek still echoing in your ears, you didn’t have time to process anything as the curse disappeared from in front of you and a black sinking hole appeared underneath your feet. 
Your own hands, duplicate imposter hands, grabbed at your feet and dragged you through the sinkhole. You heard Gojo call your name but it sounded so very distant. 
When you got your bearings straight, you looked around and saw you were in a basement of sorts. The three of you hadn’t even thought to start with the basement! In fact the three of you hadn’t even thought there was a basement as most modern corporate offices no longer had any. It was a minor error, but a critical one all the same. 
“Don’t try to run, it won’t help your friends,” the curse said in your voice. 
It still looked like you, identical down to your shoes. 
“I don’t have to run. They’ll find the basement soon enough,” you said. 
You didn’t move as the curse dragged you by the arm and took you further back into the basement. To your surprise, there was an old automobile there. The curse took you around it, sat you down facing forward. It was then that you noticed some thick rope and a wad of duct tape there. 
“Seems like you’ve thought everything through,” you said. 
Now would be a good time to use your abilities. 
But should you? 
Perhaps the curse only copied what it could see. If you used your abilities would more danger fall upon you? Physical combat would be better, much safer.
The curse tied you up on the car leg while you debated this. You struggled against it and spat in your own face as it held up the duct tape. 
That caused the curse to strike you in the face, and then put the duct tape on your mouth. Then it left you there. 
Did it mean to steal your identity? Gojo and Nanami were smarter than that, they’d expect it. But it was clear the curse was operating on higher levels of intelligence than anticipated, it was scheming even. 
“Stay here,” it spat at you as though you had any other option. 
The curse then went back to the front of the basement. 
You heard racing footsteps, Gojo’s footsteps. 
“I got away but the curse it’s still out there!” You heard your voice shrillish, and authentic. 
“Did you see where it went? Are you hurt?” Gojo asked. 
No, something was wrong.. how could he not tell it wasn’t you? 
Perhaps he was toying with the curse, letting it put its guard down. 
You turned your neck and could see ever so slightly Gojo and yourself standing several feet away. The height difference between the two of you was more jarring from this perspective. 
“I didn’t see where it went. I’m okay but it was so scary,” the curse said, still imitating you. 
Gojo bent down pressing his forehead against yours.
“It’s okay. I’m here now,” he said.
To your horror the way he said it, in the soft tone reserved just for you, served as evidence that he had been duped.
But how?
Couldn't he sense it with his six eyes? What was going on? 
Even more horrific he leaned forward and so did the curse as if to kiss their lips mere inches apart…. 
Suddenly, Nanami ran into the room and without hesitation used his sword to slice the curse in two, purple blood flying everywhere. 
That’s when you began to cough up something sweet in your throat. 
You heard the two young men arguing. 
The last thing you heard before passing out was Gojo screaming your name… 
You woke up at Jujutsu High a few days later, in the medical wing of campus. 
“Hey, there’s our girl,” Shoko said, smiling at you. She was sitting at your bedside.
“Where’s Gojo?” you asked. 
She ignored your question and touched your temple, causing you to relax instantly.
“Do you feel okay? I had to work long on you. I also wanted to keep a close watch on you it was a very interesting case study actually-“ she stopped, knowing her comments would only make you more curious. 
“Shoko. Where’s Gojo?” You pressed. 
She seemed hesitant as if she wasn’t sure how much she was at liberty to say.
“He came to see you several times. I can let him know you’re up. He should be here soon.” 
She then left to do so, whipping out her cellphone. 
It was odd. 
The Gojo you knew would be here, at your bedside. 
But day turned into night and he still didn’t see you. 
For whatever reason you weren’t allowed out of the medical wing on Yaga’s orders apparently. 
Three days past, and he still didn’t see you. 
It was only on the fourth day when you woke up from one of the Shoko induced slumbers via sedation that you saw him standing there in front of your bed.
He looked like he had lost weight even though it had only been a few days. His shades fully covered his eyes. 
“Why didn’t you come to see me? What happened? Was the mission successful?” Your mouth spilled out several questions without even thinking. 
He was silent for a while before answering.
“The mission was successful. Nanami killed the curse easily. It evidently was on the brink of death already.”
“But?” 
That’s when he explained. Truly explained.
The curse was unique in nature in that it had to suck the life force out of another organic being in order to survive. That’s why it had taken on the appearance of the missing children and lured family and friends. It fed off the feel good energy that the family and friends emitted upon thinking they found their loved one. Except here was the twist, the children died because their loved ones believed the curse was them. It was that transfer of energy that allowed the curse to add to its lifespan and in short take the energy from the person it was imitating. It was a leech in nature. 
That’s why when the curse had been killed you had begun to choke as well because it had linked its life force to your own.
“But it had to have tricked you. Surely there’s something else, another ability it has to dull the senses and that’s why you thought it was me,” you said. 
Because this truth was too difficult to accept. Satoru, your Satoru would know you anywhere wouldn’t he?
“That’s just the thing. I’ve racked my mind around it. There’s no ability, no reason why I of all people could have fallen for something so simple,” he turned away from you now, his back facing towards you, “the simple truth is I didn’t see it because I wasn’t looking.” 
He then walked out of the room, despite you calling him to come back. 
You chased after him but he was gone, vanished into the air.
In the subsequent days he was gone and when you asked Yaga, all he said was that Gojo had taken a leave from the school for personal reasons. 
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months. 
Months into years.
It was six whole years before you saw him again. 
By that point you were in your early teaching career and he evidently had gone to the Kyoto school to finish his studies and become a great grade one sorcerer. 
For a while you had dreams of him abandoning you, dreams of that day where everything changed… 
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a/n: if you read the whole thing thank you I always appreciate the time people spend to read my content. Any feedback is always appreciated as well.
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