#will be prints in the future whenever i get my shop back up

[bangaveragewhitewine]

blood red bloom

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, established relationship) 

Halloween, 1992

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder to come up with a prank that will actually scare me, sweet thing.”

Eddie’s voice echoes in your head as you stare at the red inky star in your little leatherette diary.

A late period wasn’t quite what you had in mind, but here you are, sitting on your bedroom floor and staring at the mocking inky red star in your diary.

This Halloween was turning out to be pretty damn scary.

Word Count: 6.7k

Content / Warnings: Pregnancy scare - this is angst-heavy with some brief mentions of Eddie and reader's anxieties of being parents. Discussion of the future. Miscommunication. A fight that's not a fight but they kiss and make up anyway. Brief sex mentions. A reminder that this, and all my fics, are 18+!!!

Please feel free to skip this segment if it’s not your thing!!

Author's note: We couldn't let Halloween pass without an instalment of Happy Hours, could we? This was a toughy, it's been a rough and hectic few weeks, but I hope you enjoy reading the latest snippet! Proof-read by @specialagentmonkey, finished off in the taxis to / from the airports in Dublin and Boston!

Since the first day with a chill in the air, the first fallen crunchy-crisp leaf, your boyfriend had been in Halloween mode. It was your second Halloween together, your first living together after you accepted Eddie’s cute proposal with his spare key in June. Even though he was messy and left the toilet seat up, you loved living with Eddie. 

You loved waking up with him every morning and falling asleep together every night. You loved going grocery shopping together, and you adored how he would sit in the bathroom to talk to you or read his book while you lounged in the bath or did your makeup.

Autumn and Halloween meant horror movies, decorating the apartment and planning your costumes together. Eddie was stupidly talented with carving pumpkins, and you roasted the flesh with thyme and sage and onions for a huge pot of soup that warmed your bellies for days. 

During your first year together, he had noticed how you scared easily - jumped a little or clutched your chest when he accidentally jumpscared you or purposefully snuck up to grab the squish of your hips with a monster-like growl. It always made him laugh, and his apology was always a kiss that quite often turned into something more.

You quickly learned that you could never get him back. 

Yeah, Eddie was jumpy but he possessed a sixth sense for whenever you were trying to scare him. 

When he had challenged you to scare him - to really scare him - you’re not sure that realising that your period was later-than-late was quite what he had in mind. 

A rare Friday night off, October 30th, had started with another failed attempt to spook him. He was almost condescendingly kind when he said ‘ooh, that was a good one!’ after you popped up from that cramped back seat of his Dodge. 

Once you clambered out of the car so Eddie could make it to work on time, he pulled you in for a kiss and cupped your face with such tenderness.

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder to come up with a prank that will actually scare me, sweet thing.” 

He kissed your pouty scowl away with his wicked smile and left you to enjoy your night off. 

His challenge to scare him echoed in your head as you stared at the last inky red star scribbled in your diary. The hardwood floor felt chilly beneath you as you knelt on the ground surrounded by lipstick and pens and detritus from your bag spilled around you.

Thirty-six. 

Your period was thirty-six days days late.

The little leatherette diary fell from your shaky hands. If you hadn’t already been on the ground, you are sure your knees would have buckled. 

Slumped against the side of the bed, you rested your racing head against the navy duvet - the blood-red blooming rose print seemed mocking as you tried to remember if you had definitely written your dates down correctly. Your periods were pretty regular, never more than two or three days out of sync if even that many. 

You hadn’t even thought about your period, or its lateness, until you spied the full box of Kotex next to Eddie’s shaving kit beneath the sink. As the bath filled with lavender bubbles and swirling steamy water, you had pondered on how you liked seeing your things side by side now that you lived together; your dresses hanging next to his nice shirts and jackets, toothbrushes sitting in the same holder, your perfumes and potions lined up and organised next to his new shampoo and conditioner replacing the horror that was 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and body wash.

As you gave a pot of fresh-green facemask the sniff test, the box of period products had caught your eye. 

Eddie had picked them up for you during a particularly bad set of cramps, cramps so bad you had called out of work. He had arrived home with salty Lays and sweet creamy chocolate and the biggest pack of painkillers they would let him buy, and you had cried because it was so kind and thoughtful of him. But that had been well over a month ago… 

As the filling bath turned to white noise in your ears, you had flustered to the bedroom to check your diary. 

The thirty-six (almost thirty-seven) day lag made you feel like you were going to turn inside out. And not because you were cramping up this time. 

The bath was cold by the time you arrived back from a late expedition to the CVS five blocks away, armed with a share-bag of Reeses Peanutbutter Cups and a pink box that promised ‘quick and easy results!’ 

A year in and neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. Moving in together had meant that you and Eddie had endless pockets of time together, and rooms and surfaces to officially christen as a cohabiting couple. Eddie’s car had seen some action when you took a road trip back to Hawkins to visit his Uncle a few weeks ago - the driver's seat, that cramped back seat, the bonnet… 

When Eddie arrived home from work just after 3 a.m., you still had not touched the test or had a wink of sleep. He crept in like your favourite cryptid and dropped a kiss on your head, trying with all his might not to wake you as you feigned sleep. He settled behind you and fell into a sprawling-limbed rest while you lay awake.

In those dark hours, lit only by the red glow of the clock, you imagined every scenario.

The thought of a little one with dark curly hair and big brown eyes makes your heart ache in a good way, especially when you think of this imaginary little person in Eddie’s arms. That ache twisted like a knife when you imagine him not wanting anything to do with that made-up little person, half him and half you. 

You were never set firmly for or against being a mother - of course you got broody sometimes when you saw a cute kid in the grocery store, but equally you had been more than happy to hand back your cousin’s screaming baby when his diaper leaked on you when you visited home back in the spring. 

And Eddie? Did he even want to be a Dad? 

He had a lot of tangled-up feelings there, held them in his chest like a pulled-tight tangle. That’s how he explained it when his own Dad had come up in conversation. He carried that sadness and hurt with him for almost two decades. 

Would he want you to get rid of it, or would he even want you if it was really happening? You tried to be rational, think about how he had promised to love you when you had silver hair and dentures one night when you were both high as kites. Maybe it might be okay, you could make it work… 

Sleep came and went, pockets of light dozing interrupted by your heart thrashing in your chest just when you managed to snatch some peace. 

As Eddie snored softly, peacefully asleep, you glared at the red-glowing clock, its analogue numbers mocking you until 5:55 blurred behind your eyes. Caged in by the weight of Eddie’s arm, with his hand on your tummy beneath your (his) sleep-shirt, you managed to drift again.

The pitiful pockets of snatched sleep make you feel irritable and wrung out the following day. With a steaming mug of strong coffee, you watched the sun peak through the broad silver-grey sky while Eddie slept on, snoring and unaware. 

You still couldn’t summon the courage to sneak the test from your bag and pee on the damn stick. In true Halloween style, it mocked you like Poe’s Tell Tale Heart all damn day from its stowing place in a bag under the bed. 

Eddie was unbearably sweet with you from the moment he woke to find you re-reading the same page of your book for at least the eighth try. 

It didn’t take long for him to figure out that you weren’t in good form - despite your joint excitement for Halloween - so he tried and tried to cheer you up; a late breakfast sneaking smiley kisses over egg and cheese and home fries. With a wide smile, he shared his ideas for a new drawing for a new batch of Corroded Coffin T-shirts for their gig before Thanksgiving with hot sauce staining his mouth until you wiped it away.

You kept getting distracted when he showed them to you and felt awful when you saw the flicker of hurt on his sweet handsome face. You rallied yourself and helped him pick two to show to the guys when they met to rehearse. 

You finally snatched some sleep, cuddled up on the sofa before you had to get ready for work. Eddie hated having to wake you; he was as gentle as he could be, rousing you with light kisses to your troubled brow and warm cheeks. 

“Hey, princess. Time to transform,” he whispered, his fingers itching with excitement to don the black velvet and silver chains draped on hangers in your room. 

Hours later, you and Eddie walked into Jackie’s carrying a tense air between your joined hands. 

You were still the sexiest vampire couple Chicago had ever seen; Eddie in a halfway unbuttoned black shirt and slacks topped with a velvet blazer you had thrifted, silver chains shining on his chest and fake blood smeared like your lipstick on the side of his mouth. Your black velvet dress showed off your curves and made Eddie’s eyes pop out of his skull like a cartoon when he first saw you in it. The bloody puncture marks on your neck dripped onto your chest and cleavage, the perfect blend of gore and sex appeal. 

You felt shitty, had snapped at Eddie more times than you could remember while you tried and failed to make your makeup look not terrible. 

“You look hot as fuck, baby. Have I told you that?” Eddie squeezed your shoulders as he looked at your reflection in the small vanity he had bought for you when you moved in. He was sweet like that. 

“Mhm. Only ten or eleven times.” Tight smile, you met his warm gaze in the mirror. “Not as hot as you, Ed,” you say, pushing off the attention he doled out so genuinely and easily. 

The subtle dark shadows below his cheeks and smudged smoky beneath his eyes suit him, gothic and mysterious. You had spent more time on it than you had planned because he couldn’t stop talking and you had (quite seriously) threatened to stab him with your brushes on more than one occasion. Now you were pressed for time with your own makeup. Clock ticking, you were at least thankful that the shadows beneath your eyes didn’t need much more darkening up. 

“Nah, fuck off. You’re beyond belief. I can’t wait until after work already.” That glow in Eddie’s eyes that usually sparked hot want in your belly made you feel like prey. Sure, you were dressed as his recently-changed victim but you didn’t feel much like play-acting now, or sex for that matter. 

He kissed your head and breathed in your perfume - he loved how you changed it out for the seasons - and the Fall’s scent was rich and warm and sexy. 

“Feelin’ okay?” Eddie had asked when you went silent and spaced out again for a few moments, shoulders tensed. He missed your usually returned flirtation when you give as good as you get and then some. 

“For the hundredth time, Ed. I’m fine. Please just let me finish this, okay? Please. We’re gonna be late.” 

Since then it had been pretty much radio silence.  

Eddie stewed, not rising to your bad mood because he might say the wrong thing and make things worse. In the car, he had bit his tongue and held back the suggestion of a weekend away, the idea to book some time off around Thanksgiving and just go somewhere together, alone. He wasn’t sure he could take another unexplained sad sigh or an away-with-the-fairies gaze when you hadn’t even heard what he had said. 

So he said nothing and scared himself with his own spiralling ‘what if’.  

Instead of eking out the last few minutes before work with Eddie, sharing a cig and trading kisses like you usually do, you leave him to enjoy his cigarette without your dark cloud mood. 

“Hey. You’re forgetting something.” Eddie raises a brow at you. 

“Oh, thanks.” You hold your hand out for your bag he had carried from the car. 

You lean up and peck his cheek, swiping at the mark your dark lipstick left behind. 

It wasn’t the proper kiss he had been angling for, but it was better than nothing. 

“See you later?” he tries. 

“Yeah, if I can get away from the bar. It’s going to be mental busy…” Resisting the urge to rub your eyes and ruin your makeup, you offer a small smile. “Be good. Love you.” 

“Yeah, love you too.” 

Eddie watches you go, his heart hurting in a way it hasn’t since he finally mustered the courage to kiss you in that same dingy back alley. Yeah, you two had your little arguments over the last year, didn’t always agree and got in funny moods with each other, but this felt different. He didn’t like it one bit. 

The bar is the fullest you have ever seen it, everyone decked out in their Halloween-best. Your arms ache from shaking cocktails, but the special menu you had curated is going down a treat. The pain is worth the tips and the compliments, the recommendations passed between high-top tables and clusters of costumed customers. 

The music is loud, the atmosphere sparky and fun, and yet it isn’t enough of a distraction, or enough to buoy you up when you’re feeling so low. Not the compliments on your costume, or the questions about whether you and the hottie bouncer were matching on purpose. You forced your smiles and laughs, genuine love for your vampire lord on the door made it easy to answer those probing questions. You tried to get out of your head and lose yourself in the best night of the year, but every time you would remember the last inky red star in your diary, the full box beneath the sink, the test you were scared to take. 

You weren’t necessarily avoiding Eddie, you had filled waters for him and Jeff and the new guy Trevor, but had barely had time to look for him in the crowd, never mind checking in on him. Your mood had transferred over to him, and your guy twisted tighter with extra added guilt. 

It was well after midnight before you took your break; the bar had been rammed with orders and while you could have slipped away, you threw yourself into work instead. 

The need to stretch out your legs and hips and crack your back for good measure became undeniable and you slip away with a glass of ice-and-lime heavy soda water for a breath of cold air. 

You’re mid-sip when Eddie pulls you into the small staff bathroom, spilling your water down your arm and onto the busted tiles. You yelp as the door clicks, pure fear until you realise it’s him

“What the- Eddie!”

Eddie’s gaze bores down on you, looking like a very pissed-off sexy vampire. 

“You fucker! Scared the shit outta me, Ed.” You shake chilled water from your arm as you glare at him. He was lucky not to have glass in that pretty, pissed-off face of his. 

“What the fuck is up your ass today?” he asks, arms folded. 

Your skin prickles all over, hairs stand on end. 

“You’re in a foul fuckin’ mood. What’s up? Did I do something?” Less accusatory now, he just looks hurt.

“Eddie, it’s fine.” You will your voice to stay steady as your stomach drops.  

“It’s not. You’ve barely spoke to me, every little thing I do has annoyed you.” “It’s not you…” 

That sounds way worse and you see him visibly wince. 

“Ed, it’s not your fault, baby. I’m sorry.”

He sighs, shoulders deflated. “Then talk to me. Please.”

“Ed…”

“Am I not making you happy? Is that it?”

“No! Jesus, Ed. Never! You make me so happy..”

“Then what?! Please just talk to me.” His voice breaks. 

“I… fuck.” You sigh, breathe deep. Your eyes strong as you speak, say it out loud, “My period is late.”

His brow creases, confused, before folding high under his bangs. Eddie’s eyes are wide, frantic. “Oh.” 

Silence settles, no more voices echoing on the tiles. 

“Yeah. Oh.” 

“Fuck… Are you..? Are we..?”

There’s a sweetness in how he asks, a scared look in his eyes that you recognise from the mirror. It makes your tummy twist and your heart ache. Why had you been so scared?

“I don’t know.” Your voice is cracked and broken. “I don’t know.”

His arms open out to you. You don’t need a second invitation. You practically fall into his arms, gripping him as tight as you can. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispers. Eddie’s heart hammers hard in his chest. “We’ll figure it out.” 

As he holds you close, his eyes cast upward to the grotty ceiling. He has no idea what he’s doing, but right now you need a hug so that’s what he will do. 

“I’m sorry.”

His big-ringed hands hold your face, looking into your tired eyes. “Why sorry? Pretty sure it takes two… if you’re. Y’know.”

You sniffle, nod. “I know. I don’t know if I am..” 

“You need to piss on a stick or somethin’, right?” 

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, despite the tears in your eyes. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Okay. Okay, you can do that. I’ll even hold the stick if you want me to.” He’s dead serious too, not just trying to make you smile. Though it is a bonus, and he melts into a little grin to match. “There’s my princess.” 

You cuddle back into him again, “Sorry I was a bitch all day.” 

“You know I don’t like that, baby.” He frowns and cups the back of your head, stroking gently with his thumb. “Knew there was something wrong though. Wish you could’ve just told me.”

“I…” Your voice gets caught in your throat, words lodged and stuck like they choke you. “I was scared.” 

Though your voice is muffled against Eddie’s jacket, he hears you and squeezes you tighter. His eyes squeeze shut too. 

“You don’t need to be scared on your own. I can take it, I’m a big boy,” he promises, repeating it so you know it’s true and real. “We’ll figure it all out.” 

His sweetness makes tears flood down your face, that dam holding back every conflicting emotion finally broken. And Eddie holds you. He simply holds you tight and safe and doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know either. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to kiss this better, doesn’t know what he wants or what you want either. All he knows is that you need him like he needs you. 

“Fuck, my makeup,” you sniffle, face creasing more when you realise you’re still mid-shift. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he promises, kissing your forehead. “Okay so, we’ll work our butts off for another few hours and then we can go home and swing by CVS?” 

“I already bought one. It’s at home.” You look down at your toe-to-toe boots before looking into Eddie’s eyes. “Bought one last night when I realised. Too chicken to take it.”

He nods, pinches your chin with sweet affection. “Okay. Well, drink your water so you can piss on that stick, yeah?” 

He’s smirking when you hide your face in his neck again, groaning in something like embarrassment. “I’d do it for you if I could. But I can’t, so drink up.”

Eddie lifts your glass from the sink ledge and tilts it to your lips. Despite the warmth of his arms and the stuffy little bathroom, the water makes you shiver as it cools you from inside out. 

Hand in hand, Eddie walks you to fix your makeup at your locker as he distracts you with a few of his little anecdotes from working the door. He catches your eye in the mirror in your locker as he tells you about a table of drinkers he heard raving about your cocktail menu. 

“Can you make me one later?” he asks, coming to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Course,” you murmur, patting deep Merlot-red lipstick on your pouty mouth. 

“Can I get some of that?” He raises a brow in the mirror, and smiles, his teeth glinting, when you tilt your head back to press a peck against his mouth. 

A few kisses and the squeeze of his hands on your hips centres you again, helps the tension loosen in your shoulders. 

“We need more fake blood.”

“We definitely do. Want me to bite you a little more, my pet?” His voice is wickedly low against your lip; it makes you shiver. 

Sexy vampire couple had been an easy pick for you both. Eddie had got really into it when you arrived home with the press on fangs - a hookup from your friend who worked in theatre production and went costume shopping with you.

“You’ll get carried away again, Drac. I’ve gotta go back out in a sec.”

He squeezes your hips and behaves himself as you dab fake blood against the corner of his mouth, letting it drip down his chin, before adding more to your neck and chest. 

“Hot.”

“We are.” 

He hugs you from behind again, one hand on your tummy, so he doesn’t mess up the blood. “S’gonna be okay, I promise. We’ll figure shit out. I’m behind you no matter what. Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d be fucking lost without you, Eddie.”

“Right back at you, sweet stuff.” 

A well-aimed kiss saves any blood transferring onto your face before Eddie walks you back to the bar. “If you need a sec, just take it. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more.” 

He smiles and steals a final kiss before patting your velvet-clad behind as you step right back into taking orders. 

You don’t see the moment he takes, ducking into the back again to process what was going on. You pour cold beers as he sinks against the wall, breathing deeply so he doesn’t spiral into panic.

He doesn't know how to be a Dad, didn’t have a map or footprints to follow. Wayne was a great substitute, but Eddie was nine years old and grown beyond his years by the time he stepped up to try and fill the gaps made by his no-good brother. 

Ringed fingers push and scrape against his scalp, tugging hard enough to bring him back to earth. The pain anchors him, reminds him to breathe again. 

He doesn’t know what to do, how to feel, how to be what you need. But he does know one thing. 

Running away isn’t an option, not when he has you. 

It’s almost 4 a.m. before you can leave with Eddie. It’s almost 4 a.m. and he keeps you tucked safe and warm beneath his arm as you walk toward his car. You can see your breath bleed into vapour in the now-November air. 

You feel like you have been run over by a semi-truck as you fold yourself into your seat. Everything hurts and yet you’re somehow wired and wide awake, even on the pitiful amount of sleep you managed last night. 

Tired eyes stare into the streetlight above the car until you see spots. Brought back into orbit by the squeeze of Eddie’s hand over your fishnets, you share a tight smile with him. 

“Okay?”

“Ish. Tired. Need to pee.”

You had been holding it in. No more excuses, or avoiding the inevitable. 

You help Eddie click off the little fangs on his already pointy canines and do the same with your own, tucking them into their boxes and into your bag. Shiny gold plastic medals sit on your chests, your prizes for the best costumes among the Jackie’s crew. 

He turns the key, squeezes again before hooking his arm works the headrest to reverse out of his spot. 

You’re both carrying the weight of the unknown. It doesn’t feel any lighter. Not when you have caught Eddie chewing his black-polished nails and the skin around them, seen him zoning out and pretending he was fine. 

Until you know more, have an answer, you can be not okay together, hand in hand in the darkness. 

Once you’re on the road, he squeezes your hand and keeps a hold of it as music from the radio fills the silence. 

“You hungry?” Your voice is the first to breach the fragile peace. 

“Kinda. You want fries?” 

“Not really but if you do, it’s my turn.”

He smiles, slight and soft, and squeezes your hand. “There’s some spaghetti left. I’ll heat that up.” 

You squeeze back, it’s enough to say ‘okay’ as he sails through green lights and empty streets toward your cosy little apartment. 

The walk from the car to the lift to your door, apartment number 8 with its handcrafted Halloween wreath, feels like wading through syrup. 

Eddie doesn’t let go of your hand from the moment he helps you out of the car; not when you press the button for the lift, or when he fights with the sticky lock that you have been meaning to call maintenance about. It locks easier from the inside, the bolt slides in easily to double-lock it safely. 

Eddie takes your jacket to hang side by side with his own, matching leathers that make you smile through the pressure at the back of your eyes. 

“I wanna clean my face and then do it,” you murmur, fiddling with the strap of your bag. 

“Okay. We can do that. Clean faces and pyjamas.” Eddie nods, a held-in breath puffing his chest up with false confidence. 

He eats cold spaghetti from a Tupperware container by the fridge as you strip out of your clothes and change into fuzzy leopard bottoms and a holey She-Ra t-shirt once the fake blood is swiped from your chest. 

The pink and white box from under the bed comes with you to the bathroom. 

Eddie joins you at the mirror with oily rich red spaghetti sauce slicing through the fake blood around his mouth. You clean your face as he strips down to boxers and pulls on his soft sleep hoodie that definitely has a concoction of questionable stains; toothpaste and your sleep-drool for sure. 

Red and black stained makeup wipes and cotton pads fill the bathroom bin and Eddie lets you comb and scrunchie his hair as you ignore the pressing need to pee for a few more moments of normality. He closes his eyes as you rub cleanser into his face as you had your own, gentle touches and swipes of wet-warm cotton until he’s shiny-clean and human-looking again. 

With a layer of moisturiser on, there are no more distractions. The boxed test can no longer be ignored. 

“Will I go?”

“You can come back in after I pee. We have to wait like..” you check the box for an answer, “Ten minutes.” 

Eddie nods, leaning down to kiss you once. “You don’t need me to hold the stick or anything?” 

“I have to pee in a little cup-thing and drop it onto the stick. Chemistry shit,” you shrug, cheeks warm. 

“Oh yeah, rules me out then.” He drops one more kiss to your lips before awkwardly taking his leave. 

You feel less alone when you know he’s lingering close by. 

Eddie doesn’t realise that he’s picked up stress-tidying from you until the bathroom door creaks open and you find him crouched amongst a clutter of unorganised tapes. 

“Can you time ten minutes on your watch? Or the egg timer?” you ask, hanging against the doorframe.  

The tapes are shoved back into a nonsensical stack - not organised by artist or chronology as he had planned to do - and Eddie scurries to grab his old Casio watch before joining you in the bathroom again. 

He slightly panics when he sees you sitting on the floor, but crouches to join you with cracking ankles. 

“Old man ankles,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

“Mmhm, getting more like Wayne every day,” he murmurs back, dropping his hand in your lap for you to hold. 

Cradled between your palms, you lift it to kiss the side of his thumb. 

“Wayne is great. Just keep your hair. Please.” “Deal.”

Silence settles across the room and you watched the way Eddie’s socked feet bounce nervously. 

“Eddie?”  “Yeah?”  “What are we going to do?” 

He turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair, bumping the side of his face against your wobbly scrunchied bun. 

His voice is quiet. “We don’t know yet.”

“I know that. But it… I’ve been going crazy thinking, Ed. I know you have too.” You squeeze his hand. “Would you want me to get rid of it?” 

That idea plucks something painful in his chest. The knot of tangled emotions feels heavier than ever. 

“No. Only if that’s what you really wanted. I’m not gonna make you do anything, especially not anything you don’t want to do.” His murmured words are warm on your head and your heart. 

“I feel like I’m being pulled apart. Like… I’m just so confused about what to do, Eddie..” His arms wrap around you, hugging you close. 

“That’s okay. That’s okay,” he promises. 

After a few beats of silence, you feel like you can breathe deep enough to say the words that have been rattling around your head. “I… I do want kids. Some day. With you.”

He nods, agreeing before going quiet again. He thinks, tries to choose his words carefully. 

“If that day is like.. nine months away, is that okay with you?” he asks. 

“That’s the scary bit.”  “Yeah.” 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be a Mom yet. What if I do it wrong?”

Eddie gives you a sad smile. “That’s how I feel too.”

Your foreheads rest together, eyes closed. 

“What if I’m never ready? What if I always feel like this?” you continue, leaning your cheek against Eddie’s steady palm. “I’m so happy with you, Eddie. What if this changes us, fucks us up?”

Dry lips press against your forehead, his thumbs swipe your cheek soothingly as you admit the fears that he has been holding too.

You hug him again, squeeze Eddie hard. 

“My mom and dad had me by our age.” Eddie’s voice is a whisper against your cheek. “And… it went so wrong, that I’m scared I can’t do it right.” 

You squeeze him tight, brushing loose hairs back from his face as his truth spills, unwound from that knot in his chest.

“I just wanna… I want to do it right. For us. For a baby. I want them to feel so fucking loved and happy. I’m so fucking scared, but… I know what to not do. I don’t want to be like him.”

Your heart breaks for that hurt little boy. You had seen him in photo albums and yearbooks, seen him with your own eyes when Eddie had bad days. He’s with you now, looking lost under the shitty bathroom light.

“You won’t be like him. You’re not him, Ed.”

“What if I am? And I just don’t know it?” There’s a frantic smashed-broken edge to his voice.

You crawl onto his lap, a knee on either side of his thighs so you can hold him properly, see his face. Swiping the beaded tears on his black lower lashes, you return that kiss to his forehead. 

“You are not your Dad. You just said it, you know what not to do yeah? That’s so important, baby.” You stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. 

He nods, wiping his face with his sleeve. His fingers drop to press against his chest like he is massaging the knot to free up his words. “I don’t want to let you down either.”

“You never have, Ed. Never ever.” 

His head rests back against the bath as you hold each other. Both scared, but it feels less utterly impossible and all-consuming. 

“I think… maybe, it’s good that we’re kinda scared. Because it means we care.” Eddie looks up at you, smooths his hand up your side. 

“And babies are kinda scary.” “Oh yeah. Absolutely terrifying.” “Cute though.” “Oh, for sure. That one in the park last week, with the bobble hat..?” “Cute as fuck.”

You share a smiling little kiss before he brings you back for another long holding hug. 

It’s easy to get lost in your head, trying to add up your very minimal savings with the cost of a baby, a bigger apartment.

You had both agreed that while you liked your jobs, you didn’t want to be there forever. Eddie wanted to get some more experience with music technology, maybe take a few courses and start teaching guitar lessons again to make extra cash on the side. 

It’s early morning now; your routine is all over the place with your late shifts and sleepy afternoons.

After a few moments of silence, Eddie speaks again, bringing you both back from the meandering paths in your minds. 

“I’m gonna marry you, y’know.”

You smile, knowing that you both wanted that happy ending. “Yeah? You gonna make me Mrs Munson?”

“Yeah, for sure. Knew that since the day I met you, baby.” He rolls his eyes, playful and pink-cheeked to distract from how raw he still feels. 

The swell in your chest makes you sob-laugh. 

“You gonna say yes?” he asks, just in case. “When I ask, I mean. This isn’t me asking, by the way. That’ll be way more romantic.”

“Okay.” You roll your eyes at him. “When you ask me, yeah. I’ll say yes.” 

“Okay. Cool.” “Cool.” 

Another smiling kiss, noses bumping each other’s cheek as you imagine your future together.

You have this feeling in your gut that this man holding you, letting you hold him, will be a great Dad someday. Eddie thinks you will be a great Mom; with you by his side, he feels like he can do anything.

“Ed?” you murmur against his lip. “They have to look like you or I’m gonna be pissed. Whenever that is.”

“Nah, get outta here. Poor kid.” He pokes gently at your ribs with wiggling fingers, stops you from squirming away with another hug. 

“Been thinking about a little baby with curly hair and brown eyes,” you admit quietly, mumbling against his neck.

“You been spending too much time in those photo albums with Wayne.” 

“It was one afternoon. Your Mom had hundreds of photos of you, Ed. It’s sweet that he kept them, and started his own albums.” 

Your fingers fiddle with the drawstrings on his hoodie as Eddie loses himself down that same path of practicality, lit by glowing reminders that he has to grow up someday soon. 

“I’m gonna get those fliers for guitar lessons printed next week. Get some cash together. I have some amps I could sell…” 

“Ed, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know but.. we can’t have loose wires and heavy shit around with a baby, baby.” 

He smiles at the word-play and your heart swells with how much you adore him. 

When your lips meet again, the tinny ring of the timer beeps on Eddie’s watch, eating up the distracted peace you had both found. 

“Want me to check?” he asks, seeing the shining fear reflected back at him when he looks into your eyes. 

“Yes please.” 

You slip off his lap and stand, holding out your hands to help Eddie up before you perch on the side of the bath. 

“One line is negative, two is positive,” you say, the pink example lines from the back of the box etched into your mind's eye. 

“Okay.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Pauses to cup your face and kiss you before going any further. 

“I love you.” His eyes are sparkling, the set of his mouth more serious.

“Love you.” 

“This doesn’t change that, okay? S’a fact.”

You nod and steal one more kiss before letting him go to the counter. 

Eddie picks up the stick, checks under the light. You watch his face, see the shadow of conflicted confusion. You know then that it’s negative. 

“One line,” he whispers, looking up at you. 

You nod, coming over to stand with him. You see the one line, solitary and stark. 

“Okay,” you whisper, tucking yourself under Eddie’s arm. 

You can’t decide if it’s relief or loss you feel; either way, it pushes you over the edge of the precipice you have been teetering on all day and you sob. 

Eddie’s hands smooth over your back in soothing strokes, up and down, as your tears soak into his hoodie. He’s not sure what to say, not quite sure how he feels. Burning pressure pushes at his eyes as he lets his cheek rest against your head. 

“I don’t know how I feel,” you manage in a small voice after a few moments. 

Eddie swipes your tears, the dripping snot too, and thinks you look beautiful. One day, he knows you will shed happy tears caused by two pink lines and he will kiss their salty joy away with a smile. 

“We don’t need to have an answer. I think we got carried away thinkin’ huh?” 

You feel bone tired, wrung out. “Yeah.”

“Let’s sleep on it.”

There’s a lingering question about your late period that you can’t fathom yet, maybe the test was a dud? Maybe your iron is low, your hormones are off. But at almost five a.m. on that chilly Sunday morning, it can wait until Monday. 

You had felt every single emotion since the evening before when you realised and now that you have an answer to the question that had terrified you, thrilled you too in some small way, you felt like a popped balloon. 

“I’m really tired.” Your voice sounds pathetic in your ears and it makes you grimace, feeling mad at yourself for getting so worked up.

“I know, baby. Let’s go to bed, okay? I’ve got you.” Eddie whispers his promise against your temple and bends his knees to lift you up. 

“Ed…” you start to complain but you’re too tired to fight, so you wrap your legs around him and hold on. 

“Shh, let me.” 

Eddie is so gentle, it makes your heart hurt. He lays you down and makes sure you are cosy, leaves ever so briefly to get some water and flick off the bathroom light before joining you in bed. 

With the lights off, you seek each other out, hold each other close. 

You feel utterly consumed by that confusing feeling, the sad relief.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart.”

“No, I... I got us all wound up and now I feel so stupid.” 

Eddie is a steady and sure anchor as your body shakes in the dark. 

“You’re not stupid.” He holds you, whispering your name a little firmer to try and bring you back to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Please, don’t beat yourself up.” 

He sows kisses along your hairline as he makes his heartfelt promises. “I meant what I said. I want the future with you, all of it.”

You just nod, promise him that you want him too, forever. Slowly the tears subside, leaving you feeling beyond exhausted.

Eddie fights sleepfulness to make sure you’re okay, already at peace with the fact that you had so much ahead to look forward, to plan. 

He thinks of the antique shop windows, packed with trinkets and curios and glittering gems that you’re drawn to, like a magpie, every time you have a free afternoon to wander in the city without worry. You’re easily sidetracked by their beautiful mystery, and Eddie loves watching your awe. 

He thinks of a shiny sparkle on your finger, a little ceremony or a flight to Vegas for the hell of it, and of tiny hands to hold and teach. 

He thinks it will be okay. 

Lulled to sleep by Eddie’s stroking hands, the warmth of all of his adoration he wraps you up in, you feel peaceful and calm, and not at all scared. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️ 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bouncer!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #bouncer!eddie munson x bartender!reader #bangaveragefic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fic #vampire eddie munson

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the day - Here all along

Soap met Simon when the man was on leave. Beautiful, mysterious Simon had walked past Soap's coffee shop a few times, before he mustered the courage to come in.

Meanwhile, thinking the huge man must've been stalking or creeping on one of his pretty female clients, Soap had stomped out to confront the man- only for the man to awkwardly apologize and ask him to dinner. The twist gave Soap such whiplash he...

... said without realizing what was happening.

For three blissful years Simon would come home to him every chance he got, sometimes even just for 3 days between missions.

He told him things he legally was not allowed to, but Soap was his 'home' - a place where he was just Simon, not Ghost or a soldier or a killer or a victim. A man who loved with his whole heart and wanted no secrets between them. Something neither of them had ever had.

They cooked together, Simon talked him into getting a dog named Riley, they made future plans and talked about him retiring.

Then Simon comes home from a bad mission. He was put on medical leave for wounds that were not all physical but refused to talk about what had happened- what had rattled him so. He wasn't himself - cold, blunt, quick to anger, and distant in a way Soap's never seen him in their years together.

Then Simon finds the rings Soap had been hiding.

Simon had been impatiently digging through his art supplies looking for tape when he found the box.

When Soap came home from work it was to Simon sitting in the dark, the box on the table.

His home had never felt as cold as when Simon's voice demanded "what's this."

Soap fucked up, but he wasn't even sure how. He stuttered something about where did he find it when he noticed there was a pile of his sketches too - torn out of his journals, clearly not too gently. All the ones of Simon's face.

"You KNOW why I can't show my face! You KNOW how I feel about this! I refuse to take photos with you so you do this???" He tosses the sketches across the table.

"They're all I have of you when you're gone so long! I didn't-"

"And the rings!? You ALSO know how my parents' marriage went so why the fuck did you think I'd want that? Or did that just not matter either?"

Soap stares, the tension that had been on Simon's shoulders since he arrived a few days ago now turned on him. Soap swallows hard. He had never for even a second felt scared of Soap. But he saw it now... Saw 'Ghost' overtake Simon.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll burn the sketches and get rid of the rings. I'm sorry, baby. Let's just forget this?" He tries to step forward.

"This was a mistake..." Simon whispers and it feels like a knife to the gut.

"...Si, love, what are you?"

"I said this was a mistake."

Simon gets to his feet and it's then that Soap spots the packed bag. Si throws it over his shoulder as he makes for the door.

"Simon, no! Baby, please - I'm sorry! Please, don't leave like this!" He reaches for him but Si shrugs him off and doesn't slow down.

His world collapses as the door closes behind the man he had given his heart, soul, and future to.

Simon doesn't return his calls or texts. Texts apologizing, begging, texts angry and hurt, texts reminding him he's loved and he has a home here whenever he's ready.

Then the number is disconnected.

Then he gets a letter in the mail that ends with "Our deepest condolences" and a pair of dog tags.

Five years later. Soap has tried to move on, but just couldn't. He still has the rings. Wishes he kept at least one sketch. His shop does well, Riley is getting old, and so is Soap. He keeps busy, and sketches less. Even after all this time when he puts pencil to paper his hand wants to draw Simon.

Then torn, crumpled pages on the floor with boot prints on them flash in his mind and he puts the pencil back down.

This morning he sat in his little kitchen and pages through the local paper when he feels his blood run cold.

Last week's festival was the highlight of the moment, the newspaper covered in photos taken at the event. But in the background of one looms a painfully familiar figure.

Soap grabs his phone and rings the paper. "Photo three, page two- at the fountain - when was that taken?!" The journalist is baffled - all of them last week.

That can't be. It can't be! But he knows that figure, those shoulders, those curls. he's in the shadows but outlined, angled towards where Soap's little trailer stand was.

Soap pulls the dog tags out of his shirt - always around his neck all this time. Is Simon.. alive?

And...near?

Soap looks at the shadows all the way to work, peeking around all day to try to spot a man that shouldn't be there - convincing himself he isn't crazy.

At closing time he had enough. He prints a page and sticks it to the door when he locks up.

"Si, if you're reading this grow a pair and come home."

Later that night there's a knock at the door. A familiar tall man, new scars and silver creeping into blind curls, but just as beautiful as he remembers. Unsteady hands hold a bouquet of his favorite flowers.

"Is this still home?" He asks

"Ours. Always." Soap smiles through the tears.

#simon had a bad mission and had to relive some bad memories #the only way he could get out of the military was Laswell and price letting 'ghost' die so Simon couls retire #but a day hadn't passed that he didnt regret leaving Soap like that #but he still hated himself for dragging soap into his twisted life and putting him at risk just for loving a dangerous man like ghost #he was planning to just lurk and watch over soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish

[somediyprojects]

DIY Zippered Throw Pillows

Project by Brett Bara:

Throw pillows are another fantastic way to incorporate cute textiles and DIY flair into your home without a great investment of time or money. If you’ve ever gone into a fabric store and wanted to buy everything because it’s just all so gorgeous, then pillows are a great way to put those fabrics to work in your decor. Bold or loud prints that would be too much used in large scale (like in curtains) can be just right for a little pillow pop on a sofa or bed.

I’m going to show you how to make a zippered pillow cover, which is easier than it sounds, I promise. It looks super-professional AND has the added bonus of being easily changeable—I love the idea of making tons of different pillow covers and just swapping them out whenever you want a little change in a room.

The best part? You can make the pillow shown here in less than an hour! –Brett Bara

A Word on Zippers

Ok, I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but installing a zipper is REALLY EASY. (There are many ways to install a zipper —some more refined than others—the method I’m sharing here is basic and very simple!) BUT, if installing a zipper feels like it’s just too much, don’t give up. I’ll give alternate instructions at the end for how to make a pillow without a zipper. Everybody happy now? Let’s get started!

What You’ll Need

½ yard fabric (if your pillow is larger than 16”, you’ll need more fabric)

1 pillow form (buy this at a craft store or upholstery shop)

1 all-purpose zipper about 4” shorter than the edge of your pillow

Thread to match your fabric

Seam ripper

Sharp scissors

Straight pins

Tape Measure

Sewing machine

Zipper foot attachment for your sewing machine

Selecting and Preparing Fabric

Almost any type of fabric can be used for a throw pillow, but for beginners I recommend starting with medium-weight fabrics that are smooth in texture, like cottons or cotton-linen blends.

I’m using a Japanese print from the fantastic Etsuko Furuya for Echino line.

If your fabric is machine-washable, wash and dry it before sewing. This will pre-shrink the fabric, which is necessary to prevent the seams from puckering during future washings.

Finally, thoroughly iron the fabric before beginning.

Cutting

Cut two pieces of fabric that are the size of your pillow form plus 1” in length and 1” in width. So, if your pillow form is 12×16”, you’ll need two pieces of fabric that are 13×17”. This allows for ½” seam allowance on all seams.

Installing the Zipper

Place both pieces of fabric together with the right sides of the fabric facing each other and all corners aligned. (Be sure to situate both pieces so that the print pattern is facing in the same direction.)

Center the zipper along what will be the bottom edge of the pillow, since you’ll want the zipper to be on the bottom edge of the finished pillow. (Here, my fabric is flipped with the bottom edge facing up, just to make it easier to work with). Place a pin near each end of the zipper, just INSIDE the metal stops at each end.

With a ½” seam allowance, sew the two segments on the outside of each pin. (This should be a short space of just a couple inches between the pins and the corners of the fabric.) Reinforce these seams by back-stitching at the beginning and end of each seam.

Next, change the stitch length on your machine to the longest length, which will allow you to baste the next seam. (Basting is sewing a long stitch which will later be removed; the long, loose quality of a basted stitch makes them easier to remove than regular stitches) With the stitch length set to long, simply sew the space in between the two short seams you just made. (Do not back-stitch to reinforce basted seams.)

Iron this seam open.

With the wrong side of the fabric facing up, place the zipper right-side down, aligning the zipper teeth directly over the seam. Pin it in place.

Change your machine’s presser foot to the zipper foot. Consult your manual for help with this if necessary; usually the feet snap off and on rather easily.

A zipper foot (shown here on the right) can be different for every sewing machine model, but it often looks like half of a standard presser foot (shown on the left). It allows you to sew right along the edge of the zipper teeth neatly and easily. The zipper foot has a little sliding part that changes it to a right or left position, so just slide it accordingly depending on whether you are sewing the right or left side of the zipper. (That means you have to pop off the zipper foot after sewing the right-side seam, slide the zipper foot thingie over to the left position, then pop the foot back on the machine. All this only takes a second once you get the hang of it!)

Note: Be sure your stitch length is back to normal length for the remainder of the sewing. Starting at the bottom of the zipper on the right side, with the zipper foot in the right-side position, sew down the side of the zipper. When you get near the end, stop the machine. Leave the needle in the work, but raise the foot, and gently move the zipper pull back behind the needle. Then lower the foot again and sew to the end of the zipper. Backstitch at the end of this seam.

Next, change the zipper foot to the left position, and repeat this process on the left.

And your zipper is installed! (That wasn’t so bad, right?) The seam is still basted closed, so from the right side, use the seam ripper to gently remove the basted stitches. (They’ll pop out really easily; just pick out any remaining thread pieces that are left dangling.)

Change back to the standard presser foot. Fold the two pillow halves so that they are aligned with right sides facing each other and all corners and edges meeting. Pin in place. Sew around all three sides with a ½” seam allowance. (The fourth side, of course, is the side with the zipper installed.)

Here’s how to sew around the corners: when you reach each corner, leave the needle in the fabric and raise the presser foot, then pivot the fabric 90 degrees, lower the presser foot again, and continue sewing.

Clip the fabric at the corners. (Removing the excess fabric here helps give you a nice, sharp corner once you turn the pillow inside out.)

Turn the pillow cover inside out, ironing the seams flat.

Insert the pillow form, and you’re done!

NOW FOR THE NO-ZIPPER PART

If you’d rather skip the zip, just use your sewing machine to sew the two pieces of fabric together around three edges, plus about 2” on each side of the fourth edge. Clip the corners and turn right-side out, iron the seam flat, then insert the pillow form. Using a needle and thread, hand-sew the opening closed. Of course, this pillow cover won’t be removable, but it will still be lovely!

#diy #crafts #home decor #x

[hillbillyoracle]

An update since I haven't been writing here much -

I haven't been posting much because so much of my writing efforts are directed toward zines and similar projects I'm hoping to be releasing soon.

I finished my zine simple practice about the bare bones of my practice and my recommendations to beginners after 15 years of exploration back in September. I'm still working on edits.

I also plan on releasing the decan oracle, the 3d6 oracle I use on here sometimes, in the future too.

social sobriety is moving from the ideation to outlining stage.

I have several more (go date yourself, divine empathy, constellation of cards) that are partially written but are just slow going.

Whenever I restock my shop, I'll have anywhere between 3 and 5 new zines to add. Which I knew seems crazy but I'm trying to seize on this energy while I have it.

I really want to stock physical copies again too when I reopen, though I'm struggling to figure out covers. I initially wanted to find someone to do risograph printed covers but I have no clue if it's worth making the minimum order at most places. In the past I've used plain paper covers, no cardstock.

Would love to hear how important zine covers are to you in the comments.

I do feel like I should do more design work than I have in the past though because I'm hoping to do some eventing in the future and I know covers can count for a lot there. If your state touches Kentucky there's a shot I'll be a fest in your area next year.

So anyways - that's what's up. I made the call to divert my energy into longer form projects that take longer to put together. This also means patrons will be seeing read only digital copies start to pop up probably at the beginning or next year unless I get things to print sooner.

#update

[checanty]

The other week both my ancient (10 years!) winter coat and my beloved creepy tote bag (7 years) decided it was a good time to break. I have to admit I have been toying with the idea of getting a new coat already, especially as it’s growing pretty threadbare in general, but I also feel very strongly about making the things I already own last and let’s face it: I can get another 3 years or more out of that coat. And I do still like it. It’s just old and worn and looks like it. (But I’ll keep an eye open when I go thrifting from now on...) By tote bag has a special place in my heart as well because I ordered it from my own Society6 shop back in the days when I was new to being a pro illustrator and seeing your own work on a physical (and useful!) object is always very exciting! At the time I would have loved to order a bag for each of my artworks, but thankfully I did not, even though it was more money constrains than awareness for environmental issues that held me at bay. Nowadays I think a lot more about how our actions impact our planet, both because I love the natural world (which we imo mistakenly separate from our human ‘civilization’) and everything living in it (apart from ticks), but also because I’m worried about our--let’s face it: my own--future. I know that especially over here in the wealthy west we’re consuming we’re consuming far more than is sustainable. Thusly, whenever I’m promoting my print (and merch) shop, I’m a little bit torn. I of course want people to buy my art so I can make a living, but I also want to promote making conscious consumer choices aka not buying stuff on a whim or to make yourself temporarily feel better only to regret your purchase later, but being sure you actually want and will treasure something or really need something before clicking ’buy’. Anyhow, I’ll be using my tote bag until it fully disintegrates (and then I’ll probably use it to stuff a pillow :D). Some years ago I stumbled upon the concept of ‘visible mending’, which was primarily appealing to me because I’m pretty bad at sewing and not being able to make something look ‘as good as new’ kept me from pro-longing my clothes’ lives. However, most of the cute ‘visible mending’ examples feature nice embroidery and let me tell you: I also cannot embroider at all and ‘the mending has to look stylish’ is putting just as much pressure on myself as ‘it has to look new’. My takeaway, however, was that it’s okay if people can see that my clothes had holes once (and now very amateurish stiches). Caring for my belongings and making them last, reducing the amount of resources I use and not supporting fast fashion is part of my value system and I’m ok if people notice.

So now when something tears my measurement of mending success is whether or not I can use it again. Yes, I could have gone the extra step of at least buying some darker yarn to match my bag, but that extra step would have taken me weeks (not kidding. this stuff ends up on my ‘to do’ and will just never be done) to accomplish and my bag would have started to accumulate dust. Now it’s fixed and can go back to carrying groceries for me. I also sewed my coat button back on and the entire procedure took less than an hour and both items are back in use, hooray! Anyhow--I guess here’s a link to my Society6 shop. Please only buy when you’re willing to keep the purchase forever and ever!

#am I a lifestyle influencer now #visible mending #when I imagined writing this I thought it would be very meaningful and have a point #but I'm really just rambling #still figuring out how to make 'please buy my things but also don't buy things' work #as a marketing strategy

[ladyswillmart]

8 Doug Rattmann or 3 Arlen Askew pls. OR a character you haven't wrote at all for 8

I know the object of this was to do microfiction but GUESS WHAT? You get a whole-ass short story! Congratulations! 🎉🌈

I picked 8 - Sunbathing 🌞, ft. Portal's Doug Rattmann et al.

Share and Enjoy!

---🌟---

Not to bring more math into this, but most folks can agree that 50,000 is a nice, round number, one that reasonably applies to a plenty of arbitrary amounts, discrete or continuous. But the further the three-man Aperture Science Surface Expedition Crew sallied forth towards their intended destination, the more they began to wonder just how applicable that particular number was to the particulars of Time. Specifically, a particular time, a particular date, a particular year with too many digits to display properly on most digital watches.

People just didn’t plan that far ahead. Even Aperture Science, peppering the terms and conditions for every new GLaDOS build with very authoritative reassurances of her longevity, phrases like in perpetuity and ad infinitum and ‘til the cows come home, failed to foresee any situation at all whatsoever where the cows actually would come home, and GLaDOS would need to be able to print out a year with more than four digits.

Much less a century with three. Life In General was feeling very much like a high school basketball scoreboard right now.

“So yeah, this is it. Michigan of the 522nd century. I guess,” said Doug, rustling up as much enthusiasm as he could on half a jam sandwich and a cup of Apercaff*. He dozily bunted the dull rubber-capped toe of his sneaker against the broad side of yet another empty pop can, sending it clattering down the sun-bleached remains of W. Umbrage Avenue.

The trio had just hiked across the prairie in front of the Umbrage Dollar Chimp discount store. It used to be a parking lot, lined curb to curb with cars, scooters both legal and unlicensed, pick-em-up trucks and refugee shopping carts from foreign supermarkets. Now it was a scabrous plain of depreciated asphalt, streaked with lush braids of ragweed and dandelions gone to seed, Mother Nature’s repo men. But it wouldn't feel like a proper nature hike until Chell eagle-eyed a row of vending machines by the store entrance, still stuffed with gum, trinkets, rubber bouncy balls, neon slime, nickels, dimes, quarters…

No matter how far they’d stray into the future, it was nice to know that the price of a Homie remained unaffected by inflation.

Back at present—whenever that was—ATLAS squibbled inquisitively as he trailed the bouncing pop can, the way he had for the last dozen or so pop cans that met a similar fate at the end of Doug’s habit-possessed foot.

“Right. Hate to say it. But I think one of us has to say it and I’m already running my mouth so it may as well be me,” he continued, resignedly. “This place looks a lot like the Michigan of the 20th century. Doesn’t it?”

Chell shuffled along somewhere around his 6 or 7 o’ clock, paced and pensive. Doug was usually content in his silence, but when he was on a ramble he did it like an old pro. She chafed her hands, then stuffed them back into the pockets of her woolen wrap skirt—whether or not the world outside was ready for the maxi-skirt to make a comeback, it was happening today. And today been a pleasant enough day for it—for sunbathing, though such pretty blue skies could be misleading. The crisp breeze blowing through them unabated made her incrementally more grateful for the radiant heat of the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device strapped to her back.

Of course, she said nothing.

Doug gently chattered on.

“Then again, I don’t know what I was expecting, really. Eh? Ha ha. Fewer beer cans, more dinosaurs?”

Only the distant complaint of a migrating loon broke the ensuing silence.

“Giant chickens?” Doug tried again, mumbling to himself. “They’re basically dinosaurs, and y’know at least one of ours had to’ve gotten out…”

Chell shrugged it off and resumed her silent inventory of the information at hand: Umbrage, MI was a loosely incorporated community established approximately six miles due north of the Aperture Science main facility, commemorated by a tiny red dot on the old gas station map of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula that ATLAS kept in his cranial storage compartment.

To Chell, who grew up elsewhere, it was just another Dad Ramble: Whenever they passed through the place (always en route to anywhere elsewhere) he would commence a Dad Ramble about the mid-1970’s, and how the big heads at Aperture founded this small town as one of many solutions to a serious problem with employee punctuality. With necessity as a mother figure, Aperture’s experimental urban planning department invented Umbrage to give their fellow employees and test subjects a place to live, a quick commute and a Dollar Chimp for all their off-brand scented toilet paper needs. Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that the downfall of the Aperture facility would ultimately eliminate the need for such a place.

But something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right and Chell became more and more dissatisfied with each attempt to emphasize the correct word in that sentence. Hoping it would quell her frustration, she focused her observations to the things that were right, or at least not wrong.

Spectacular weather. Cool, if slightly warmer than anticipated. Unbroken blue skies as far as anyone could see. Fresh air, so new to everyone’s lungs that it felt like a lovely heartburn. Normal readings on the Geiger counter.

Birds. Insects. Rubbish.

No people. No vehicles. No misplaced shopping carts. Wrong, getting wronger.

No bodies. Back to not wrong. For now.

From the onset of this sojourn she occasionally spied the same squint of scrutiny in Doug’s left eye. Until now he would keep his own questions to himself:

“So what year d’you think it is, eh?” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his snorkel parka and looked skyward, sighing.

ATLAS parsed the question, but only whmm’d in response as his central optic dilated. They didn’t ask questions like that on Jeopardy!.

“GLaDOS says it’s been fifty thousand years, but I think even fifty is a stretch.”

Chell cleared her throat, mounting a partial retreat into the comfort of her knit scarf before speaking. “I agree with that hypothesis. Guess. Whatever.”

“Eh—?!” Doug snapped a glance backwards, startled to the point of stumbling. To date, the only words she’d ever spoken to him stayed mostly along the lines of Yeah, Nope, Screw it and Dibs on your jam sandwich. And most of these happened this morning.

“Y-you do?”

“Sort of. I mean I think you’re right,” she pressed, carefully. “But if you are right, something’s wrong. I dunno.”

“No no, that’s the bunny.” Doug nodded, uneasily. “Say GLaDOS is right and we spent fifty thousand years in stasis like she said. Sure, all the people would be gone by now. But then everything else would be gone too. None of this would be here at all, eh?”

Waterfalls could erode sheer mountainsides into lakes if given fifty thousand years to do it. Jungles could morph into deserts and vice versa. Rising oceans could carve new coastlines, effect mass extinctions, birth new civilizations and drastically reduce the cost of certain beachfront properties. In fifty thousand years, days would be longer by one SI second and mankind would’ve likely done a runner, especially if faced with the prospect of spending a lifetime of one extra seconds in Umbrage, MI.

All of that, and the Aperture Science Surface Expedition Crew was still expected to believe that the price of a Homie wouldn’t have fluctuated at least a little bit.

“Yeah, right on. But this place makes it look like it’s only been a couple decades at the most,” Chell went on. “Like, it’s totally abandoned but there’s no graffiti, no busted-out windows or anything like that. It’s like everyone just left all of a sudden. Maybe they were beamed into outer space, who knows.”

Somewhere off to an unseen side, ATLAS tottered about the curb obliviously, kneeling to harvest another pop can out of another filthy storm drain.

“Well, the aliens must’ve taken all the vehicles with 'em because I haven’t seen so much as a busted shopping cart in a ditch since we started,” rounded Doug. “I mean, look at the roads.”

“They look like your vegetable garden.”

“You could grow zucchini in these cracks.”

Chell stared at him. “Please don’t.”

“Whmm,” said Atlas, approaching the duo from behind. The mechanoid had been stuck in this activity loop since their departure, scuttling about the scrub, picking up and storing any bits of rubbish that happened to pique his interest. For a mechanoid who had never seen the greater world beyond the agency of management rails and reassembly machines, there was an awful lot to take in.

Doug turned and observed him for a moment; the way the lid to Atlas's rear storage trunk bulged like that of an overfull kitchen trash can did not escape his keen eye.

Oh well—no need to pry any further. He knew this problem would resolve itself eventually. Doug let it go with a light sigh. “Eh? What's that you got there?”

Atlas held his treasure up to the glory of the midday sun. It was another aluminum soda can, the same color as the sky, with its brand name emblazoned across its breadth in conspicuous white block letters:

“Dr. Breen's Private Reserve,” Doug read, quizzically, quickly correcting himself, “No! Dr>Breen's Private Reserve. Huh.”

Chell glared at him. How did he make that sound with his mouth?

“Whmm…?” Atlas probably asked the same question.

“Dr. Breen. Dr. Breen…” Doug repeated the name to himself, quietly, hoping to hit upon some vein of forgotten data.

“Like, Dr. Wallace Breen. Right?” tried Chell.

“Oh yeah. You think so? Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, I know that name,” she said. “Why do I know that name?”

The two lapsed into synchronized silence, impenetrable but profound, and cold like the light of a long-dead sun, billions of miles away, at last piercing the crust of the sky, only to be hidden by fathomless daylight.

---

*Apercaff, “Aperture Science's most digestible instant coffee substitute”. In fact, the ad campaign featured contemporary superstar-of-a-sort Pia Zadora dressed in the livery of an Apercaff can, shimmying around the Aperture premises' many employee break rooms, crooning I'll be your substitute, whenever you need me... While excising a nice chunk—tens of hundreds of dollars—from the company's seemingly bottomless advertising budget, this advertisement remained an Aperture Laboratories Closed Circuit Access Television exclusive. Miss Zadora herself continues to deny any involvement with the company.

#thanks for the submission! #portal #doug rattmann #chell #dr>breen's private reserve #i'll probably put this in the collection i have going on ao3

[eleni-cherie]

ok nobody's gonna see or care this but I'm gonna rant bc I am sick of my life and maybe someone can relate: so long story short, I'm a 27 year old graphic designer who was working 2 years at a big e-commerce shop until the new asshole supervisor didn't want to continue my contract that expired bc of his hurt ego bc I (along w pretty much everyone else bc he liked to pick fights w ppl from all departments bc he got into everyone's business) dared to argue w him BC HE KEPT CHANGING HIS MIND EVERY TWO MINS AND KEPT CONTRADICTING HIMSELF ALL THE TIME. so I lost my job last October and ever since I'm unemployed. I live in germany (Berlin) so I get unemployment money, but it only lasts for a year and it's already the end of July and I still can't manage finding a job although I've probably applied to 90 jobs by now of which only about 10-15 turned into job interviews - or the new trend "getting to know you meetings". of which only 1 invited me for a 2nd interview. now I get there's sadly so many designers, the job market is kinda oversaturated and for one job probably 20-30 ppl apply. but then sometimes this isn't even the problem. I had an interview for what seemed to be my dream job so I was super excited for this but then when I met the two guys doing it, they were very underwhelming. I mean little to no reaction to what I was telling them about myself and at the end they only asked 3 quite superficial questions. that's it. meanwhile others for companies I'm less suitable for, ask me like 20. then there's this other case, where they give you tasks and I don't mind tasks but one time I'd have needed the whole creative suit for them and like - hello? I'm unemployed and don't have the extra money to spend 60 euros every month on Adobe? I only an old Photoshop Version and that's it. then another time they gave me tasks that were only 40% graphic design related (but very vague descriptions/no real info) and 60% marketing/copyright related and like sorry, but I only have basic marketing knowledge and I'm not a fcking ad writer? there's this trend nowadays, they say they want a graphic designer but what they really want is a graphic designer / marketing expert / social media manager / copywriter / photographer / editor / etc. but still w only a graphic designer salary, so they don't have to pay five different ppl. like FCK YOU!

and thing is, in my desperation I even applied to random jobs (which said "No experience needed" in the description) like vendor or barrista. even in a copyshop where I thought I should fit in bc of my knowledge of print products, but either no response at all or I "lacked sale experience". bc Idk how it's in other countries but here you need a certificate for anything. even for a shop vendor you need a 3 year long apprenticeship. for a moment I contemplated going freelance or self-employed but a) I got no fcking clue how and what I have to do and b) taxes and insurance system in Germany is insane, I read an article and was overwhelmed.

So yeah, I'm getting fed up and sad and mad mostly also very anxious about my fcking future bc it honestly seems like I'll end up just moving back to my parents at this point. idk what to do anymore. I try and try and try, but nothing happens and I'm just done. the pressure is overwhelming and the sad thing is, I purposely decided not to visit my relatives/my grandparents this summer (the live in greece) thinking I "might find a job" and even if not, I don't have the extra money for plane tickets! they're extremely overpriced. and it's sad bc whenever I talk to my grandparents they say they miss me and how they're worried about me being unemployed. and my grandparents aren't the youngest anymore either (83 and 89) and I haven't seen then in a year, so that only saddens me more on top of feeling like an overall loser.

#young adult #adult life #real life #work life #personal rant #feeling lost #feeling depressed #Greek #i need a job and money #jobsearch #job seekers #the universe hates me #self pity

[mlobsters]

supernatural s5e6 i believe the children are our future (w. andrew dabb, daniel loflin)

girl why are you watching cujo an arm length's away from a big old tv, back up!

while i pause to look up the imdb to see if i know any of these people, i kinda like this season's little title sequence with the whispering. little more ominous than the wings, which were okay. it's all so short so not like it makes much of a difference but. sets the mood a wee bit.

okay another logistics question i think about periodically, especially since sam burned all his fake ids and such when he bounced earlier this season, if they're giving different names all the time then like. is there a stockpile? do they reup with new names and who prints them? they have a seemingly endless supply of not only names but organizations.

getting all my feelings off my chest in this one, i also think they use too many references in this show! there's so many. "that'll do, pig" really? babe? anyway i just think a lot of time they stick out like a sore thumb.

Because don't be so pleased with your own, like, self-referential cleverness? - jessica stanley, twilight new moon

that's right i'm quoting twilight to make a point. anyway that's what i think of whenever there's too many obscure references that sound completely unnatural in the moment.

and again with the episodes being songs but not having the songs 😂 i guess that's just what they're doing now. but now i've got the greatest love of all stuck in my head.

this guy gets around on scifi shows! he was in two episodes of xfiles, an episode of millenium, eureka, the 4400, fringe, the second xfiles movie, v, izombie (i've seen a lot of the small roles people have parts in izombie while doing my imdb stroll but i've never watched it), aah and he was in an episode of riverdale this year! and a whole bunch of other stuff. little parts, but i think it's fun that he's done so much scifi in particular.

the x-files s5e11 kill switch (that's the one with killer ai hehe written by william gibson and tom maddox) patrick keating as donald gelman

the magicians s4e1 a flock of lost birds - patrick keating as shop owner (he was in it for about 5 seconds but hey he was a hedge witch!)

DEAN Yeah, with the sense of humor of a nine-year-old.

SAM Or you.

now that made me laugh, because it's true :p

SAM So we tell him the truth. You say Jesse's destined to go dark side—fine. But he hasn't yet. So if we lay it all out for him—what he is, the apocalypse, everything—he might make the right choice.

CASTIEL You didn't. And I can't take that chance.

wow, cas is more pissed at sam than i would have anticipated. so he's mad because he told sam to stop with the demon blood and ruby etc and he didn't and things went pear-shaped. but i mean, zachariah's role in it all? would it have mattered even if sam did things differently?

huh. kid asks if cas is dean's friend, dean says no, cut to sam for a reaction shot. whatcha doing, show. and always nice to see dean with kids working his magic.

and the kiddo has been in 3 episodes of the boys, that's cool. fun to see someone go back and work with a creator on a different series :) (i've only seen a couple episodes, would like to go back to it at some point)

i don't see how this plot is going to resolve in any meaningful way unless the kid somehow vanishes or gets smited. smote? wishes his powers away?

vanishes it is.

DEAN Yeah. You know, I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. The more I think about it...the more I wish Dad had lied to us.

SAM Yeah, me too.

3 votes for wishing john winchester was a better parent.

#supernatural #spn 5x06 #spnwatch #patrick keating #hiky #spnhiky #the xfiles #the magicians #daniel loflin #andrew dabb

[jaderimehardt]

Opened my Etsy Shop!

Hello! o/ I mentioned in last night's blog post that THIS post was coming today, so here we are!

It took a while to gain the courage for me to do this, but I finally opened my Etsy shop!

With my Etsy shop open, the path is open for me to place Resin pieces in it whenever I desire to. All my products will be in one place. And like before when my shop was on RedBubble, all items in my Etsy are still using my own self-created art/graphics with no use of AI.

I use a completely outdated freebie version of Photoshop CS2 for my art. I show some of my layer work here on my Tumblr if anyone is ever curious enough to browse through my posts or follow. I might make it a habit to show more of that in the future because the world is becoming more accustomed to using AI and society is becoming split on the matter.

But enough on this controversial topic, I just wanted to make it clear that I do NOT use AI and I'm not a fan of it in the art world.

I knew I wanted a Print-to-Order on-Demand "Partner" and that was something I was looking heavily into for the longest time. Actually I think this was causing me the most anxiety, because this is important! This is where quality of products comes in. I do my homework guys. I research thoroughly.

I found one I'm very pleased with, and it's Printful. Look forward to future blog posts similar to my "RedBubble Product Review Posts", because I've ordered items from Printful with my graphics and I'll be doing reviews on their items. I'll try to do them more often too 👍🏻 (assuming life doesn't get in the way and I have funds to do so, lol)

So far I've added 38 listings to my shop. I don't want to overcrowd it. I feel for the amount of designs I have and the amount of products Printful has available for me to utilize, this is balanced. From here I'll work on new designs.

If there is something OLD that you may have liked (in my RB shop) and is no longer available (in my Etsy shop), I apologize, but I have to put the past behind me and move forward.

There is a fear of "Will this work for me, or not?" on Etsy, because I need to pull in traffic and their rating requirement system is harsh- basically need 5-stars otherwise you drop out of their search engines entirely. But "nothing risked, nothing gained".

I'm putting this at the bottom of the post because it's more on the ranting side, but RedBubble upped their tier fees again which also inspired much of this change.

I mentioned this in a Tumblr post a couple days ago, but to break it down and put it in perspective:

An Artist in "Redbubble Standard" tier who earned a 25$ paycheck in a month used to get charged an 11$ fee. That's 43%. Couldn't change their tier. It progressively scales worse, and all us RB sellers thought that was bad.

Now with their new system, that they tried to play off as "This will include a fee increase of less than $1 for most artists.", is significantly worse. (That's literally how they phrased it in the e-mail)

If you make 25$ a month in "Redbubble Standard" tier, you get charged a 17$ fee. That's 67%. And it continues to rise at an insane rate- in the 70%+ range.

They have a form you can attempt to submit, trying to "get a real person to reevaluate your shop to be placed in a different tier"- but that doesn't work. I tried it. Pretty sure that inspires false hope and it's bogus. I didn't even get an automated basic reply back. Not a "you submitted a form!" or "you've been denied." or "your evaluation is in progress.", nothing.

RedBubble products were okay quality. At times the quality wasn't that great in my opinion but people liked the items I felt that way about and economics is all about supply & demand 🤷🏻‍♀️. I was fine selling their items because the pricing was on par with the quality. The saying "You get what you pay for." comes to mind. But would I go out of the way to buy their items? No.

And I'm going to apologize again if any or all of this sounds negative or sarcastic or moody... I'm just saying things like I see it 😅🫠

Thank you everyone who has been supporting me all this time! 💖 And to anyone new! 💖

(I know the point of posting on this website is to tag all the things, but I feel bad and weird about tagging all the things 😖)

#jade.blog #etsyseller #etsyshop #accessories #clothing #octopus #ffxiv job stones #konpeito #space #ginkgo #mugs #journals #totebag #bomberjacket #stickers #galaxy #night sky #milky way

[rainsmediaradio]

Young Thug - Bring Me Out Lyrics

Young Thug - Bring Me Out Lyrics Intro: Young Thug Wheezy outta here Yeah Chorus: Young Thug Woke up in a mansion Silk Dior pin stripe couch Call the car man, he told me meet him at the spot Droppin' off some shit you ain't got Ha, now I'm out I done got so rich I think my cars bring me out It ain't 'bout no thot, my cars bring me out Bentley under the car port, shit got rained out I done got so rich I think my cars bring me out Verse 1: Young Thug I was chillin' at the spot on a bedside's couch I wasn't even gon' do nothin', don't care 'bout the sun out (Yeah) Fuck you, lil' bitch, don't let my car bring me out (Yeah) I done got so rich I think my car bring me out (Yeah) Verse 2: Future I done got so rich, I let a foreign bring me out (Uh) Fuck her in the car and told her, "'Least it cost a housе" (Yeah) I done got so lit, I promise I'll nеver see a drought (I promise) I don't know the time, I know my watch two-hundred thousand (Two-hundred) Changin' up the climate, whenever you get through, I'm ballin' (When you) Change it up, my bitch down, my old bitch stalkin' I don't go outside without a rifle and a forty (Pluto) Takin' up the drip and the murder rate in Georgia (Yeah) Mr. Have-His-Way, turn a dime to a quarter (Yeah) Walkin' with a limp, I got racks all on me (Yeah) Probably in the Royce with the stars in the sky This ain't 'bout a thot, I let my cars bring me out (Out) Wrap the cash up and vacuum seal, it won't rot I can bag her, she want the dick 'cause I'm toxic (Toxic) I can spazz out and throw my bitch in Givenchy Her pressure, Baguettes, make everything iconic Homicide, make sure you stick to the strip One of a kind, fallin' asleep on a pill (Pluto) Top of the line art, gotta splash through the crib Freestyle off the top and I can make me a M Chorus: Young Thug Woke up in a mansion Silk Dior pin stripe couch Call the car man, he told me meet him at the spot Droppin' off some shit you ain't got Ha, now I'm out I done got so rich I think my cars bring me out It ain't 'bout no thot, my cars bring me out Bentley under the car port, shit got rained out I done got so rich (Yeah), I think my cars bring me out Verse 3: Young Thug Benz after Benz, I'm on my Maybach shit My opp got this one so I done gave it to my bitch Huh, got a Birkin on my motherfuckin' wrist Think I'm lyin'? You can dive in this bitch just like a fish If it still got the odds, it's a perfect dish Give it to my kid, I'm 'bout to eat this whole wig Gave her nine racks like a motherfuckin' Sig If you make some mills in the pandemic then you big Take the Porsche away (Yeah), fillin' up a safe (Yeah) Got the Bugatti (Yeah), fuck a pool party (Yeah) Pourin' weed in her pussy like I'm Bob Marley (Yeah) All my dawgs got it (Yeah), we don't do no barkin' Nigga put me out, so I bought the shop (Yeah) I put my cars in this bitch, now it's a parkin' spot We had more oil in the city back when it was a drought They thought I got rid of it, I had brang the Wraithy out Verse 4: Future Livin' legitimate, I'm swervin' in a foreign car Cheetah print, leather Goyard It ain't 'bout a thot, I let this money do seducin' I turn two-hundred on a dash to a movie I done got so rich, fuck two bitches in a coupe I'm paranoid, hundred rounds on me too It ain't no cap in my rap, I got proof Took me a nap and had on three mill' in jewels (Pluto) Chorus: Young Thug Woke up in a mansion Silk Dior pin stripe couch Call the car man, he told me meet him at the spot Droppin' off some shit you ain't got Ha, now I'm out I done got so rich I think my cars bring me out It ain't 'bout no thot, my cars bring me out Bentley under the car port, shit got rained out I done got so rich I think my cars bring me out Outro: Young Thug It ain't 'bout no thot, my cars bring me out Read the full article

#YoungThug

[tryst-art-archive]

Context, pt.7

Dissolution of Life Plans

While the situation with my former-FWB was the key drama defining 2012, the issue of my future was also looming and omnipresent.

As mentioned before, in that summer I did a graphic design internship at a magazine publisher (that no longer exists) that did hobbyist magazines, and I absolutely hated it.

It wasn't really the work--although I felt like I was pretty bad at it--so much as the environment and how it made me feel out-of-place in the way I'd felt out-of-place as an 11-year-old at a new school. In hindsight, I think it's probably for the same reason: gender dysphoria that I didn't know I had.

The company, which we'll call MM for convenience, was 99% women and required business casual attire. I didn't own any of that, so I went shopping with my mum to get some. This yielded a variety of tastefully colorful skirts that rode up whenever I walked, meaning I was constantly aware of them. I walked from the subway to the office, and it wasn't exactly a short walk.

I remember being physically, viscerally uncomfortable. The way my memory of it feels matches the feeling I now recognize as gender dysphoria.

Culturally, MM did not consist of My People. Some of this was relatively superficial, but other parts were glaring. For example, on an occasion when we were all stuffing envelopes for some kind of promotion, I made a joke about how I would have Tetris Effect about the envelopes.

My coworkers didn't know what I meant.

I explained what Tetris Effect is: when people play Tetris for a long period of time, they wind up seeing and "playing" it behind their eyelids and in their dreams.

One of them asked me, "What's Tetris?"

I'm sure I looked shocked. I tried to explain. There was no recognition. I gave up.

Another issue was that I lacked the lifestyle and financial security of my coworkers. For lunch, the other girls would often bring salads with homemade vinaigrettes, all in fancy salad-specific tupperwares that they'd shake to properly coat the salad with the dressing. Otherwise, they'd bring leftovers from meals earlier in the week that were tidy, well-made, and healthful.

I brought homemade meatballs without spaghetti--one of the very few things I had any will to cook--PB&Js, or, most commonly, Lunchables purchased from the convenience store adjoined to the building.

The issue was, I didn't have much money in part because I didn't make much and in part because I had a very unfortunate and increasingly rampant therapy shopping problem. I never missed rent payments, but I was often the last to pay my roommates back for my portion of bills, and I was constantly buying things I couldn't actually afford. Somewhere along the way, I had an interaction with a bank teller in which I misunderstood a question and wound up signing up for a credit card out of raw social anxiety. Once I had that card? Well, I lacked the self-control to not use it.

Most of my money came from my job at my college's print & copy center and mail room--operated by the same contractor--which I typically worked at during the summer as well, since I was living in town anyway. However, I couldn't work my usual job while I was working the internship, and the internship was unpaid. For someone who lived paycheck-to-paycheck, there weren't actually enough savings to sustain me, but I did it anyway because my college demanded the internship and insisted I would need it to succeed in the world later.

So, the lunch situation became a source of immense shame. I felt inadequate every time I sat down to eat with my coworkers, and I felt deeply uncomfortable every time I got dressed to go to work. I couldn't bring myself to eat Lunchables in front of them, and so I worked through lunch or else ate at my desk by myself, no doubt convincing them that I was antisocial.

I have a pretty concrete memory of the bathroom at that office. I went there to not have panic attacks, but I couldn't stay long because it was a single-occupant bathroom. I probably looked like I had bladder problems.

By the time the internship ended, whatever self-confidence I'd had going in was destroyed--which really wasn't anyone's fault but mine--and I'd become convinced that if I didn't get out of the publishing track I was on, I was doomed to spend the rest of my life feeling that unbearably out of place and miserable.

For a time, I was determined to bear with it anyway, per the life plan involving my then-FWB which I hadn't looped him in on at all. When our arrangement ended, I no longer had a reason to persist with the publishing path, and I thought a lot about quitting school--maybe to go into biology, which I'd considered as a direction back when I was applying to colleges.

However, by then I was already in the midst of the first semester of my senior year of college. I had literally 1 semester of my expensive-ass college left and I was beyond done with school. I'd always hated school, and changing schools to pursue a new major, aside from being expensive, would mean more years of school. It simply wasn't an option. (Still isn't. If I ever go back to school, you can safely conclude I've been replaced by a doppelganger.)

So I determined to finish my degree--so that I could stop being in school--while having no idea what the hell I was going to do with myself after. It stressed me out, but on the other hand it wasn't like I usually had a life plan.

V-video Games???

It was at this point that I finally realized that human beings make video games.

That probably sounds absurd, but it really hadn't occurred to me that Making Video Games was a Job that I could Have, even despite living with a game dev at the time.

I don't remember exactly what triggered the realization, but I do remember putting together that I'd spent four years learning how to make books, magazines, movies, plays, and so on. I had done production of entertainment media from a number of different angles--writing, editing, copyediting, designing, being an extra, being a set hand, etc, etc--a whole bunch of times. That I'd put a little barrier in my brain between "video games"--an entertainment media--and everything else was pretty silly.

That barrier broke down, and I switched my internal focus. I'd see if I could get into the game industry, despite having not even the faintest of clues how I'd do that.

Fortunately, I knew some game devs, so I began to ask some Questions, unknowingly setting myself on a path that I am still walking to this day.

#context #info #me #college #carrer #entertainment industry #unpaid internship #gender dysphoria #depression #10s #2012 #Age 21 #game dev

[saywhatjessie]

Not just one, but TWO requests?! Oh we are popular today.

I've gotten at least one tattoo a year ever year since I turned 20, so starting in 2014. I took all of these pictures just now so the ones that look old it's because they are old lol.

HERE WE GO

IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

Interrobang!? Baby's first tattoo. She started meaningful but not too meaningful. It's my favorite punctuation symbol on the inside of my left wrist. It only took twenty minutes and to this day it's the least amount of money I spent on a tattoo but I think that's because I got lightheaded and they had to give me a lollipop.

Squiggly line I went with my friends to get tattoos before a fan convention in 2015 don't worry about it we're moving on

Lake House Coordinates Matching tattoos I got with my sister for my college graduation showing the coordinates for the lake house we had as kids that we since had to sell. The most visible whenever I worked as a cashier and the one I have had to explain the most.

L'amore e l'arma (Pretend there's an accent on that e I don't feel like looking for special characters.) It means "Love is the weapon" in Italian. Love is the weapon is a NeverShoutNever song lol. This was a last minute tattoo for the last minute tattoo GISH item in 2017. It doesn't really mean a lot to me but it looks sexy when I wear tank tops so like. No regerts.

Tattoo of me getting a tattoo This is everyone's favorite. This was the 2018 GISH tattoo item. Some people tried to find clever ways to get around the wording but I'm like fuck no I'm committing put my fucking face on my leg. It's one of the funniest things I've ever done, it looks fucking sick, and I'm still mad to this day that it's not in the GISH hall of fame like lOOK AT IT IT RULES

Three of Wands This is a twofer! The second tatoo of 2018, it's my Forever Unfinished because the artist doesn't tattoo anymore and it's also the one I got done in someone's living room! Everyone needs at least one tattoo from someone with a tattoo machine that's done in someone's living room. Anyway, it healed like shit and there's supposed to be watercolor in the middle so I'm always seesawing between asking someone else to finish it or just getting the whole thing covered up. It's on the inside of my right forearm so that's like prime real estate. IDK, dude, it will look like this for the forseeable future.

Cat paw print Back to basiccs - and I mean the most basic - this is my cat's paw print on my ribs. Done by the same tattoo artist in the tattoo of me getting a tattoo, which is kinda neat. Yes, it's supposed to look like that: I took my cat's paw, inked it, and put it on paper and she just did an exact recreation. I think it's cute. He's not dead or anything, I just love him.

finger rings Yes, I SOMEHOW got a tattoo before everything shut down in 2020. I had no way of knowing things would shut down - I got this bitch in January - but I was SO RELIEVED when we started quarantine that I'd gotten my 2020 tattoo so early. It was extremely lucky. Anyway, each line represents one of my siblings. On my middle finger because it looks dope and also because they're my siblings so flipping them off is a standard greeting lol.

Destiel mixtape Ayyy lmao. This is the tattoo that's gotten the most internet attention for obvious reasons. Tattooed literally the day before the first Valentine's Day after November 5th. Like we were about to have a Destiel wedding and I walked into a tattoo shop like "Can you do this?" And they were like "I can do this right now." I regret nothing. I am mentally unwell lol. Just you wait, though: this baby's gonna extend out into an entire fandom sleeve. I have more than just SUPERNATURAL brainrot and I'm not afraid to show it.

Arachne: Goddess of Spiders I had one condition for this tattoo: I wanted her to be creepy as shit. I'm so sick of tattoo artists making monsters hot. Like if you wouldn't fuck a monster that looks like this, you're weak and your bloodline will not survive. The Arachne myth was the thing that first got me into Greek Mythology in third grade so I of course had to honor her. Also, I'm gonna get an Athena tattoo on the other side of my arm so like the ~dichotomy. This is the tattoo that all my tattoo people friends say is their favorite. It's techincally interesting and the first one that really fits on my body and also it's hilarious that I'm very sunshine and rainbows but I have this creepy bitch lurking on my arm. Everyone loves the Spitties (spider titties) but it's important to note that when my sleeve is down, all that peaks out is the Spidussy.

Sword and Olive Branch Finally we're all caught up! Yes, these are techinally two tattoos but they are a set and so I'm touring them together. I got so many guessed for the meaning behind this - war and peace, Athena theming, Things Gays Like - and while those are all good and in character for me, the most boring and true reality is that these are the two main elements on my family crest. My mom is Scottish, so a claymore. And my Dad is Italian and our family for generations owned an olive grove. It's literally just narcissim lol. The olive branch goes on my Greek mythology sleeve arm for obvious reasons and the claymore is on my fandom arm because it can double for a lot of swords in a lot of fandoms. I can multitask. They're still healing as you can tell from this pic but they look sick as hell. The olive branch is my first color tattoo so that's exciting :)

More tattoos will come in time and when I get more money but twelve tattoos at 28! I'm pretty pleased with that.

#Tattoos #looketh at my face #tattoo tour #tattoo tour 2023 #ask me mo questions #I actually got an anon how cool

[micugrowthspotlight]

10X Interactive Bootcamp - Day 2 Insights

Continuing my top insights from the 2022 10X Interactive Bootcamp, we will recap Day 2. If you are wondering where Day 1 is or what even is the interactive boot camp, check back to yesterday’s edition from 11/8/22. Day 2, moving on from the overall business cycle and emphasis on marketing as a senior function to sales, we explore the sales cycle in depth. As you may remember, the business cycle starts with an idea. We then create offers, market the offers & ideas, and then sell and close.

To kick things off, there are six steps to the sales cycle; (1) Greeting, (2) Qualifying, (3) Demonstrating the Product, (4) Making a Proposal, (5) Close Offer (6) Follow-Up. We explored each step in detail back on 9/22. One of the critical points Grant made during boot camp is the importance of knowing the exact step of the sales cycle you are in with your prospect. It is vital to recognize the step to understand what comes next, and if an objection or other fault appears, you know precisely where to reevaluate before advancing again.

A perfect example of this lesson would be: You are in the midst of a sale, and the prospect likes the product, model, features, etc. as you present the proposal, they suddenly take issue with the price and ability of the product to solve their need. What do you do? First, you would ascertain if this is a valid objection or a complaint. Then, once the objection is confirmed, you need to handle it to proceed. Here you have numerous resources. One is to revisit your knowledge of the sales cycle and recall each step taken with the prospect.

Did you greet them? We’ll assume this went well because here you are three steps later and still in communication.

Did you qualify for their need? Yes, that’s how we ended up with the proposal.

Did you demonstrate the product? Indeed, they loved seeing the product in use, the feel of the controls, and the special features.

So what went wrong? Is this prospect the problem? If this is your reaction, as I would have before training with 10X principles, then I redirect your attention to the qualifying stage. Remember, the most dangerous objection is unspoken. Is something missed when qualifying, such as a critical requirement? Reevaluate and dig further, asking hard questions (not yes or no answers), and always get an answer to each question. Most likely, step two faltered, creating an issue for you in the proposal. Correct the situation, re-submit the proposal to them to advance another step in the sales cycle, and close the offer.

There are also 10 Truths of Sales Conversions which you can draw on whenever a circumstance arises that makes you question the sales cycle. Use these to convert more leads from selling to closed deals.

Always Agree with the Buyer

Be Transparent

Maintain Clear Intentions (tell them your intention)

No One Thing Can Ever Blow a Deal

Provide a Written Proposal 100% of the Time

People Shop Price, They Don’t Buy It (sell with value)

Use Hard Questions

Ask for the Decision (Have you heard enough to make a decision?)

The 2nd Sale is Easier than the 1st

Always Use a 3rd Party (statistics, testimonials, case studies, competitor information)

The following section covered in depth during boot camp is closing the deal. As we know, you market to break through obscurity to gain leads we sell to, but all is lost if the deal doesn’t close. Here Grant provides seven requirements for closing the sale. At 10X HQ, every salesperson must always have the seven printed and on their desk. Without all seven, you don’t have a deal.

Decision Maker (may be different from check signor)

Wherewithal (means to pay in cash, credit, or access to financing)

Sold on the product (it will solve their problem)

Believe in You (trust you will serve them, exist in the future for support)

Confidence in the Product or Service

Written Offer

Urgency (Why now?)

Even if you have obtained all seven criteria, objections tend to arise in the close. The ability to overcome objections in the closing separates rain makers from average salespeople, and complete competency will turn you into a closing master. While experience and practice matter, knowing the five categories closing objections fall into will help your career.

Product (don’t like it, don’t believe it will solve the problem)

Time (I don’t have the money right now, next quarter is better)

Stall (often a read hearing for another of the five or is a polite way of saying maybe)

Money (don’t have the wherewithal)

Unspoken (most dangerous)

Wrapping up Day 2 of boot camp, we are left with knowledge about the sales process, sales truths & requirements, and an overview of objections. Where can you find exactly how to master this material and access this resource when you need it most? Cardone University!

Learn More

10X

-Gary, Micu Jr.

President, Micu Growth Consulting

10X Certified Speaker, Coacher, and Mentor

Grant Cardone Licensee

#10x #10xmichigan #grantcardone #Youtube

[moonchu-art]

home. insta / shop

#will be prints in the future whenever i get my shop back up #prob march or something #hope yall are okay!!!!!!!! #moonchu #watercolor art #watercolour painting #artist #traditional art #wave #ocean art #home art #mountain art #landscape painting #cloud painting #cloud art #plants #plant lover #plant art #indoor plant #rubber tree #krimson queen #artists on tumblr #Women Artists #illustration #surreal art #whimsical art

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

[filterjeons]

private show | jjk

✦ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

✦ summary: throughout your relationship, you never thought jungkook would ask a certain type of action from you. however, you take it into consideration...without the intention of him nearly catching you

✦ rating: M, not suitable for minors

✦ genre: smut

✦ word count: 7.4k

✦ warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, tsundere!reader, rough & unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!!), dirty talk, degradation bc im a whore for that, masterbation, voyeurism, oral (f receiving), fingering, orgasm denial

Honestly, you didn’t know what you did in your past life to earn a man like Jungkook but you weren’t complaining one bit anyways. By just one look at you, people assumed you weren’t the type to have a boyfriend and you would spend the rest of your life alone. Luckily, you managed to prove them all wrong by being with someone who loved you for the way you were instead of your money. 

It was a blessing and a curse to be born into a rich family of doctors who expected you to be the heir of the family hospital. Despite having your future already planned for you, you fell in love with playing the violin after being introduced to it when you were young. The feeling of holding the violin against your jaw as the bow ran across the strings to produce a classical melody that you’ve familiarized yourself with throughout the years. 

You would much rather be at a violin recital in a beautiful dress playing one of Bach’s sonatas than being cooped up in your room studying biology. However, your parents didn’t feel the same way. 

When you were about 6, you ranked second at a competition against tons of kids who were in their later-preteens but that wasn’t enough to prove to your parents how much you loved music. They took it as a sign of failure because “it’s not being first” and always used that argument against you to emphasize on how you have to be at the top of your class. 

“Mommy! Guess what, I got second place! Second out of a bunch of bigger kids! I didn’t expect-” you squealed, kicking the back of the limo’s glass partition. Instead of candy, you were buzzing with excitement due to how well you placed in your county’s music recital. But what you didn’t know was that even a place close to first was never enough. “Why didn’t you get first?” 

As those words ran through your ears, you felt your blood run cold and the eyes that were dancing of excitement and joy started to dull. You clutched your certificate tightly, tears starting to swell up. 

“That’s because there was a sixth grader who was better than me and she was really good, she can play the piano-” “You see, if you can’t get first then you shouldn’t pursue a career in music. It’s too hard and competitive for you anyways. How about you focus on your studies, especially since you’re going to take over the hospital when you’re older.” 

Up until last year which was your freshman year of college, you obeyed them by devoting your time to studying and only treating music as just a hobby while you hide your feelings along the way. Now that you think about it, you barely had friends during high school since every break period, you were always alone in the music room and you were too stubborn to go up to people. The only reason why you would talk to someone is to work on a group project but it ended up being that you would do all of the work while they slack off. 

Everyday felt dull and uninteresting, especially since you’re being put in a fate that you don’t even want. But like some stupid cliche, it all changed ever since you met him. 

You didn’t even intend to meet him, hell you barely knew he existed. But the night of your chemistry midterm, the apartment next to you decided to have a party which most of the school is invited to and blast loud music that could be heard from the next town over. 

It couldn’t get any worse as you were already stressed from college and your parent’s crazy expectations and you were definitely not failing otherwise you’re dead meat. Normally, you would just try to sleep it out with earplugs but since you barely ate anything but coffee and granola bars and you were tired from the 24 hour studying, that was your last straw. So you did the thing a person would do in your situation: marching over to the party in your purple star-printed nightgown to give them a piece of your mind. 

Already at the door, you could feel people’s stares burn into you, due to why you came to the party when you didn’t bother interacting with people and why you were in your pajamas. Maybe people were going to talk about you on Instagram but you didn’t care, you just wanted to ensure that you have enough sleep so you could at least pass. 

Unfortunately for you, you must’ve looked extremely stupid because you were wandering around the same area like a drunk man. Random people did offer to get you a drink but you declined; after all it was a school night. Eventually you gave up trying to even bother talking after seeing the host, local frat boy Jackson Wang, surrounded by the rest of the partygoers in a beer pong game. 

Frustrated and exhausted, you hauled yourself up to a seemingly empty room and collapsed onto the bed. Not only did you enter a college party in your pajamas but you wasted precious time studying over something idiotic like this. With all of these negative emotions inside of you, screaming inside a pillow was the first thing that came into your mind. And unfortunately, someone had to be the witness of your near mental breakdown. 

“Woah, is everything okay?” a velvety voice chuckled, patting your back slightly. Well, another reason why your night is absolute shit. You turned your face up to chew off the mysterious person but for some reason, your voice was all caught up in your throat. 

He was different, different from all of the boys that ever interacted with you. Despite you being a complete loner, the guys in your high school tried to hook up with you but you were never interested. They stunk of axe and the only reason why they’re “popular” is because they were on a sports team. Besides, you were too busy in your academics to even think about dating. 

You couldn’t really see him but the guy who’s in the room with you looks better than every single guy in your high school combined: his long dark hair in a mini-ponytail contrasting with his cute bunny-like face. 

“Wh-who are you?” “Jeon Jungkook. I’m a member of the boxing team and my family owns a records shop downtown. What about you?” 

“I-i-” “Aren’t you Y/N, the smart girl who doesn’t talk to anybody and spends her time either studying or in the music room with her violin?” Thank god the room is dark because your face was burning up badly. Barely anyone knew you and if they did, they had bad things to say about you because you were so quiet and boring. However, what he said was a fact and you shouldn’t blame him for having an impression on you due to what other people said. It hurted nonetheless though, especially since he was a part of a sports team. 

“Yeah, that’s me. What do you want? If it’s homework answers, then fine!” you snapped, immediately standing up and walking away. You were absolutely done with this night, all you wanted to do is sleep so you have some sanity tomorrow. 

“You sure are feisty. It’s cute,” he said with a cocky grin stuck on his face. Oh, how you wanted to slap it off. 

“If you’re asking me out, I’m not interested!” you fought back. Although you were one step out of the door, something about him made you want to stay. Like you wanted to talk to him. 

“I didn’t say anything about that but if you want it that way-”

“No! I-I’m sorry for acting all rude, I’m just having a really bad night and I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone,” you mumbled, turning on the light. Oh how it was a bad idea..

Now that you could really see his face clearly, your heart felt like it was about to explode. He was dressed in a simple all-black T-shirt and jeans with combat boots to match. What really captivated you were the tattoos on his hand and up to his elbow, each symbol and design etched out beautifully which must’ve taken hours. 

Although you were at least wearing clothes, you felt exposed due to the stupid pajamas you have on. He somehow sensed your embarrassment and gave you a small smirk which made it ten times worse. 

“Well, do you want to explain why you were screaming in a pillow earlier?” Normal you definitely wouldn’t spill her feelings to a hot guy she just met five minutes ago but with him, you felt safe. Like for one night, all your worries and feelings are immediately gone and it’s just you and him. 

Was this the stupid shit they call “love at first sight”? 

“My midterm is tomorrow and I can’t sleep from all of the noise so I came here to yell at the host of the party. Jackson Wang, fuck you and your decision to host a party today,” you sighed, settling yourself next to him. You would expect him to immediately laugh and make fun of you since it was something a lot of people did to you whenever you cared about your grades. Instead, he looked at you with understandment and listened to what you had to say. 

“Honestly, I don’t even know why I went to this stupid party in the first place,” he replied, making you snort out a laugh. As you were trying to collect yourself from his statement, Jungkook’s mouth turned up into a small smile. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that. Anyways, I guess I should get going since I have a big day ahead of me,” you smiled, feeling a small weight being lifted off of your shoulders. As you trudge out the door, Jungkook’s arm stops yours for a second. 

“Do you think I can have your phone number? Not for dating but you sound like a really cool person to be around and no offense but you seem lonely.” “Thanks for the compliment. But here you go,” you said sarcastically, scribbling down your phone number on a random piece of stationary in the drawer next to the bed. Maybe this is all a fever dream, maybe you’re hallucinating due to how little sleep you’ve gotten during midterm week. 

“I’ll see you soon…” he waved you goodbye as you gave a final look at the door. He was interesting but now isn’t the time to be distracted! You’re pretty sure that if you pinch yourself, you’ll be back in your dorm since this is just a dream? “Also, d-don’t take it the wrong way! It’s not like I like you or anything! I just wrote down my number because you asked nicely! We’re never going to date!” Not only did you pass your midterm but your last line to Jungkook in the stuffy college party would become your famous last words. 

It’s been years since you and Jungkook met at that party and a lot has changed then. You started to grow feelings and date him a few weeks after your midterm, eventually making the relationship official in a month. After a few months into dating, he introduced his parents to you first. They were a sweet family with amazing home cooked meals which you were dying to recreate and luckily, they accepted you with open arms. 

However, him meeting your parents wasn’t that smooth. Now that you look back on that day, not only were you permanently deciding to be with the one that you love but it also felt like you were breaking free out of the shell that your parents trapped you in because you didn’t want to go down the path they set for you. 

You shook your head to yourself, not wanting to be reminded of the painful past. Now, you were a violinist playing in recitals and companies and Jungkook was running his parent’s record shop. You were happy and you didn’t care about what your stupid parents think. They can simply ask someone else to run the hospital and it’ll still be fine. 

As soon as the practice track ended, you turned off the metronome and packed your violin away. The apartment that you and Jungkook shared was average-sized, a notable difference from the mansion you used to live in but it was better. You were with the person you love and that’s all you could ever need. It may sound corny but a simple life with him was all you ever wanted. 

After you pack away your violin, you impatiently wait alongside the door for Jungkook to get home. Right now, he has boxing practice for a match next week and he wanted to stay with his teammate Taehyung to be the best that he can but he’s stopping by for a day. You’re not into boxing but like the good girlfriend you were, you attend most of his matches (some conflicted with your performances) and cheer him on. 

Although you miss having him by your side, you’re also aware of how much boxing means to him as it was a break from the hectic life of owning a music store. Another positive in your new life was the amount of music there was, a good break from the science and math that filled your childhood. 

You heard some jiggling among the door locks and surely enough, Jungkook’s handsome face was in your view. He was wearing a black sleeveless shirt and some blue jeans, a very simple outfit after spending most of his time at the boxing gym. 

“Hey baby,” he cooed, giving you a hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

“Hi. I’m so happy you’re back, I was starting to worry that you forgot about me,” you joked, carrying his boxing bag to your shared bedroom with him tagging behind. 

“You know I would never forget about you,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the back of your neck. Instead of wriggling away like you normally do, you allow yourself to relish in his affection since he wasn’t a person who did it often. 

“I missed you..” you mumbled, turning around and kissing him. He returned the kiss more passionately, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. The sudden action made you forget about everything, focusing only on him. Unfortunately, with your senses locked on him, it caused you to fall onto the bed, your head nearly hanging off of the edge. Jungkook used your weakness to have more control over the kiss and you, carefully grabbing the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Even though he always controls kissing you, his lips are also full of love and longing due to him being gone for too long. 

“God I missed this,” he mumbled, breaking away to remove the buttons of your blouse and kissing the side of your neck. You whined from his touch, feeling a bit embarrassed due to how much time it’s been since the two of you were together. 

“What is it baby girl, are you nervous? Come on, we’ve known each other for years and I know you can take anything I give you.” It was true of course but for some reason, it felt like the first time you had sex with him. 

After your shirt has been taken off, you unconsciously cover your chest with your arms. You didn’t know why you’re acting so self-conscious, especially since you’ve been a challenger to him in bed. 

“Hey, are you okay? We can stop if you don’t want to-” Jungkook asked softly, reaching over to take your hand. 

What’s there to be nervous about? It’s just Jungkook and like he said, you’ve known him for too long. Besides, don’t you have too much pride to act this way? You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked back at him with a seductive smile. 

“You were taking too long to take off my shirt. How boring,” you said coyly, tapping his nose playfully. He returned your gaze, his eyes darkened with lust and desire. 

“Well then baby girl, how about you take off the rest of your clothes since you seem like you want to do it,” he muttered, sitting up with his attention completely on your chest. One thing you were infamous in your relationship for is being a brat, a mix of you being submissive but not backing down completely. Even though you liked being a good girl sometimes, the rest is just you on the receiving end. After all, you won’t back down to a challenge, nonetheless if your challenger’s your significant other. 

If a person only based off of what they saw, they would think that you were the one taking absolute control due to the aura you give off and your harsh personality. However, at least between you and him since you were one to keep your private life a secret, he is the one with the reins and you were completely fine with it. 

You unclipped your bra, throwing it at some random place in the room and revealed your exposed breasts. He ogled at your body up and down, his familiar lustful gaze running through his eyes. 

“Hey, what are you staring at?” you barked, slowly starting to feel awkward. Unlike you, Jungkook had no shame when it came to your bedroom activities and there were times when he would just stare at you while you’re completely bare. How embarrassing...but it’s no big deal. 

“Watch your mouth you little brat. Do I have to punish you on my day back?” he said darkly, his tone immediately making the back of your hairs stand up. Your face softened, heat forming in your cheeks as you twirled a random piece of your hair, a random habit that you’ve done since elementary school.

“I-I’m sorry.” “Sorry what, baby girl? You’re smarter than that.” “Sorry..sir.” After that word was uttered in your soft and obedient tone, Jungkook could feel his dick growing harder by the second. Hearing you give up all of your confidence and letting him control you never failed to turn him on. 

“Now take off the rest of your clothes, sweetie. Or are you going to continue being a dumb little girl and keep playing with me,” he growled softly, leaning back on the bed frame. You felt like acting up some more but he truly was scary when he’s upset and you didn’t want to make his visit back bad because of your behavior so you simply did what he said. Even though you wouldn’t admit it to the world, you also love obeying Jungkook. 

You quickly unzippered your jeans, pulling them off along with your panties and kicking them out of the bed. The warmth from the clothes were immediately replaced by the chilly air from the air conditioner, your nipples standing up and goosebumps filling your body. It was humiliating, especially since Jungkook can see you so clearly. 

“My precious sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning over you and you could feel his hardened member alongside the roughness of his jeans as he slowly grinded into you. 

“Ahh…” You didn’t know what to say, except you knew you wanted more. Jungkook’s mouth was latched onto your nipples, sucking them harshly while his other hand was massaging and flicking on them repeatedly. You felt your eyes roll back to your head and your pussy dampening, even though he wasn’t doing anything yet. 

“You like this baby?” he asked gruffly, tugging on your nipple teasingly as it sends sparks of pleasure inside you. You only let out a whine in response as he broke apart from your chest and slowly made his way down your body. 

All of a sudden, he inserted one of his long fingers inside of your core, sending vibrations throughout your body. You squealed from the intrusion as your body tried to familiarize itself with his finger, your walls clenching around his digit. 

“Damn, have you gotten tighter since last time?” He started to thrust his finger in and out of you at a moderate pace, trying to get you used to the feeling. As if one isn’t enough for you, he suddenly inserted a second one to stretch you out. 

Your mind was a haze, not paying attention to anything that was happening around you and focusing on the pleasure that Jungkook was giving you. His fingers attempted to reach the spongy section of your g-spot, the place that absolutely had you in hysterics. Surely enough, his fingertips grazed over it and you could nearly come undone at any second. 

While he added an additional finger and completely filled you up, you could feel his smooth tongue on your clit, flicking and sucking on it feverishly. High-pitched moans and mewls were coming out of your mouth embarrassingly as you tugged on Jungkook’s long locks in order to steady yourself of the pleasure. 

You could feel him curl his fingers and touch your g-spot, sending sparks within you. At this point, you were barely in a stable mindset due to how good he was making you feel. You felt a knot building up in your stomach, your orgasm coming close to you. 

“Are you gonna cum now baby girl? Do you want to cum for Sir? Yeah, I know you do, I could feel it coming,” he said tauntingly, his fingers and tongue abusing your cunt and the vibrations among it made the sensation feel even better. 

“Y-yeah, I’m gonna-” you whimpered pathetically but to your dismay, he completely stopped by sliding his fingers out and removing his face. With your release dismissed like it was nothing, you felt annoyance build up on you as your body shook from the denial. 

“What the hell? Why did you stop?” you groaned, your eyes shooting sharp daggers at Jungkook. If looks could kill, he would surely be dead within two seconds. But all that’s on his face were your liquids and a cocky smirk that you want to wipe off instantly. 

“Because I want you to cum on my dick first. It’s been so long since I’ve been inside you, y’know?” he said casually, pulling off his shirt like it was nothing and revealing his impressive 6-pack. One thing that you were always in awe of was his figure. Jungkook was a really athletic person, always finding time out of his day to work out and maintain his muscular body. You didn’t mind if he didn’t have abs but it neutralized his cute face that could easily kill anyone. 

“It’s been a while, yeah? You ready kitten?” Jungkook kicked off his jeans and his boxer that covers his massive bulge was immediately in your vision. You could feel your thighs rubbing together as you were craving him inside you. 

“You’re calling me kitten now?” you mumbled shyly as he sat on the edge of the bed, palming his hardened member. 

“Yeah because you’re my cute kitty, aren’t you? Do you want to take off my boxers for me?” he smirked, knowing how excited you are to see him like this again. Like there was no tomorrow, you yanked it off impatiently and his dick sprang out, hitting his abs before standing up instantly. 

“You’re excited, aren’t you? Don’t deny it,” Jungkook teased, stroking his member teasingly before setting you down on your back and hovering above you. 

“I want it,” you mumbled impatiently, getting excited with the thought of him fucking you until you can’t walk again. He chuckled at your reaction, slowly slipping himself inside you. You shrieked from the sudden movement and tried to make yourself comfortable even though this wasn’t new to you. 

“Alright baby, let’s go,” he said gruffly, slowly pulling out and slamming it back inside within the next five seconds. You let out a scream as he picked up the pace into the all-too familiar rough and fast one. 

“Damn, you’ve gotten way tighter since the last time I’ve fucked your brains out. Feels so good for Sir,” he groaned, his dick completely filling you warm and deep to the point where it could nearly reach your guts. “Does my baby like that? Like getting dicked down where I can feel her in your stomach?” “Ahh, oh my god!” You could only moan and whine in response, pathetic noises coming out of your mouth as Jungkook’s dick hit every surface of your pussy. His veins already made it even more pleasurable and you could feel the tip grazing upon your g-spot, making you even more sensitive. 

It hasn’t been long but embarrassingly, you could feel your orgasm arrive once again due to how good his dick was thrusting into you. As he continued to drill your abused cunt, you could feel your legs tremble at the sensitive feeling and the impending sensation of your orgasm starting to grow in your core. 

“S-sir, oh my god-” you mewled as Jungkook used his force to flip you on your stomach, your face covered in the pillows. You couldn’t feel him inside you for a second but suddenly, he slammed inside you with no remorse and continued fucking you at that fast pace. 

Your cunt throbs as you prepare yourself to cum all over his dick. Jungkook could sense it too by the way your walls started to tighten around him, making it even more pleasurable than the last time you two had sex due to how tight you were. You were praying that he doesn’t deny your orgasm again but there were times where he was that cruel. But you’ve behaved enough to not warrant that type of treatment. 

“Is my baby gonna cum now? Go on, come for me, I want to see you come undone on my dick,” he chanted lowly, his pace fastening due to his orgasm coming in soon. Like his words set off a reaction inside you, you screamed out his name and squirted on his dick and stomach. Using that as fuel to keep going, Jungkook thrusts even faster than before to catch his own high as you try to calm yourself down from your own orgasm. 

“Ahh, Jungkook-” you whined from the sensitivity but you kept holding on so he could cum too. The way his sweat dripped off of his forehead and complimenting with his dark locks nearly made you want to cum again. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh shit,” he moaned out, his thrusts slowing down and surely enough, you could feel his dick spurt out his seed inside you. He started to pull out and stroke himself, spurts of his cum filling up your pussy to not waste a drop. 

You and him started to breathe heavily from the intense fuck as you gingerly pulled up the sheets to cover your body. It’s not like you were embarrassed of him seeing your body, it was a habit you did after you have sex with him.

“Did you miss me?” he smiled, lying down next to you and covering an arm around your waist. You nodded, snuggling up next to him on the neck of his crook. There weren't any words spoken from the both of you for a while, instead you were just enjoying the presence of him next to you because after today, he’ll be gone again. 

If you had it your way, you didn’t want him to go but he really wanted to participate in his boxing match and what kind of girlfriend were you if you didn’t support him? Still, you loved every moment with him and he was the one thing you absolutely loved in your life. 

After a moment of silence, Jungkook broke the silence by facing towards you with seriousness in his eyes. You were worried that something may have happened, so you braced yourself with the worst that could happen. But surprisingly, his words were a bigger shock than any other disaster you could think of. 

“Y/N, do you mind if I ask something of you? I hope you don’t find it uncomfortable or invasive.” “Sure, what is it?” You should’ve known from the cheeky smirk he gave you that he was going to request this type of stuff. 

“I want to see you touch yourself. I think you’ll look so hot fucking yourself with your fingers while all I’m doing is just watching you.” “What the hell?!” 

You were lying if you said you didn’t think about it a lot, especially since Jungkook left the house today this afternoon. Now that he wasn’t there, the apartment felt lonely again and you automatically missed him. 

However, the thought of him also brings you back to the conversation you had after you two had sex after a while. 

“You’ve never touched yourself? I figured that something like that would come easy to you!” “Well- you know I have dignity right! It’s already embarrassing enough that I’m your submissive!” 

“You’re right, it’s already hot seeing you act all whiny and needy for my touch.” “Shut up! Stop making fun of me!”

You shook your head, trying to get rid of Jungkook’s words. With the intent to clean your room to take some stuff out of your mind, you walked to the shared bedroom and started to rearrange random knick-knacks that were placed in peculiar locations. 

While you were wandering around, your eye caught sight of a black duffel bag that was in a hidden corner of your bed. With curiosity, you approached it to check to see what was inside. It was heavy and filled with boxing gloves and other equipment, meaning that it was Jungkook’s. 

He must’ve forgotten it when he left today, you mused, holding the glove to your chest. A normal person would immediately contact him and give it back but it was like a living piece of him, having its name and scent. You can’t believe you already miss him that much to hold onto his boxing gloves for some comfort. How pathetic. 

The smell of him already reminded you of yesterday, when he touched you and made you feel so good. You groaned to yourself as you feel your panties dampening just from the thought of Jungkook giving you pleasure. 

“Y’know what, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? Alright Jungkook, I’ll do it,” you muttered to yourself as you slowly grazed your fingers to your lower region. You could already feel the slick coming out of your panties, signalling how wet you were. 

You were a smart person but frankly, you were confused on how to touch yourself especially since this was your first time. Memories of the way Jungkook inserted and thrusted his fingers inside you flashed through your mind, giving you an idea on how to start. 

You slide your panties off to your ankles and slowly insert your index finger inside of your core, letting yourself get familiar to your own fingers inside of you. It sure felt different than when Jungkook did it, it wasn’t enough to completely make you feel undone. You pumped another finger inside, giving you something inside at least but it was no better than Jungkook’s touch.

“Ahh, Jungkook,” you moaned softly, flicking your own clit with your fingers which makes the pleasure at least a bit better. You would rather have him with you but it was enough to fill up a small part of his absence. Remembering every time he fucked you harshly was enough to quicken your pace with your fingers, your walls clenching around them and your orgasm closely approaching. 

Your other hand groped your breasts, flicking your nipple and massaging them while the other was thrusting in and out of your needy cunt. You were completely in your own euphoria, the world completely fading away from you. Unfortunately for you, that euphoria is only short-lived. 

An annoying sound ran throughout your room, the culprit being your cell phone. You groaned with disappointment as you attempted to pry your fingers out of your pussy and your orgasm fading away with every time the ringtone chimed. 

With your slick-covered hands, you read the text and your blood started to run cold from the words that were displayed on the screen. 

[Jungkook ♡]

- Hi babe, I’m coming home bc I forgot my boxing bag.

- Sorry that this was sudden

- Actually, I’m outside the apartment rn

You’re fucked. Absolutely fucked. But lucky, you still had a minute to spare to make it seem like you weren’t doing anything. You put his boxing glove back in the bag and wobbled downstairs to the front door. The door locks started to jingle and you immediately opened them just for him to take his bag and go. You love him with all of your heart but now’s not the time to chat with him. 

“Hey Y/N, do you have my bag?” he asked across from you, looking as good as ever. You forced a smile and shoved his bag in front of your face.

“Yeah, it’s this one right? So, here it is so you can get going now! Goodbye!” you grinned, sweat dripping down your face. 

Jungkook looked puzzled on why you were acting that way but decided to go along with it. “O-okay, thanks.” 

“Of course! Now, you should get going now! Your boxing rehearsal isn’t going to wait forever, is it?” you chuckled, trying to push him out of the door but he didn’t budge. After taking a quick glance at you (more specifically your legs and the amount of slick dripping down), he decided to stay. 

“Woah, woah, there’s something going on. Let me in,” he said stubbornly, pushing against you to get inside the apartment.  

“What are you talking about? There’s literally nothing going on! You should go back to the boxing place!” you argued but he wouldn’t listen. Jungkook grabbed your hand and pulled you upstairs into the bedroom and set you down, looking straight into your eyes. You immediately blushed as his eyes held such confusion and hunger inside. 

“Don’t lie to me, only bad girls lie. So tell me baby, what exactly is going on?”

Surely he didn’t know right? You still have some time to lie because there’s no way he knows. 

“I was taking a nap before you texted me.” 

“Without your panties on and a shit ton of slick dripping down your thighs?” he asked with confusion, pulling up your skirt and revealing your soaking pussy, throbbing due to the atmosphere. At this point, you were absolutely stuck in a corner as Jungkook stared at the way you’re completely aroused. 

“Ahh, um..” “Are you cheating on me, Y/N?” His eyes were now full of sadness and hurt and you could immediately feel your heart start to break. 

“N-no! Of course not! I would never cheat on you, you’re the one who I love! It’s just because..” you tried to get the idea out of his head, holding his hands tightly. Jungkook’s face brightened up a bit before being replaced with suspicion.

“So, what’s up? What were you doing while I left?” There was absolutely no talking yourself out of this because Jungkook would find out either way at this point. But at least it’s better than making up a stupid lie, right? “I..um..remember how you said you wanted to see me touch myself yesterday?” “Of course.” “Well...I was doing that..” you mumbled with embarrassment, avoiding his eye contact. Jungkook’s ears picked up what you said and his face lit up with excitement and desire. 

“Say that again for me?” he smirked, loving how soft and shy you were now.   

“I..was touching myself while I was thinking of you,” you said a bit loudly but it was still so embarrassing. You had no idea why he was all so happy right now but it made you happy nonetheless.

“Do you think you can show me?” he grinned, staring up into your eyes. 

“What?! N-no! It’s private right? You see, it’s private for a reason! Now you got your bag and figured out why I was acting weird so you can go now!” you snapped, heat automatically filling up your body. 

“It’s okay, I can skip practice today. This is important, why didn’t you tell me?” “It’s not something I should tell you.” “Anyways, you’ve been a bad girl today. Touching yourself while thinking of me, you’re so naughty. So your punishment is to reenact what you did before I came back and I’m not leaving until I see you touch yourself. But don’t worry, if you need help then I’m always here,” Jungkook purred, his dominant persona on. You gulped down a lump down your throat but you weren’t ready to back down to him yet. 

“No I’m not! I’m not giving up my dignity just yet!” “Come on, little girl. I know you were fucking yourself like a little whore while you were gone. Did your tiny little fingers fill you up completely, better than my cock? I know you didn’t because even though you’re a whore, you’re still such a slut for my dick.” His dirty words made you even more turned on than normal with even more slick running down your thighs. You knew it was better to obey, especially since he’s talking like this. With that being said, you scooted yourself with the back of your head hitting the bed frame. After a minute of hesitation, you lifted up your skirt which revealed your whole pussy to him. Jungkook stared intently, noticing every little twitch that it made as it’s longing for something to be inside it and how wet it has become. His lips were curled into a smirk as your fingers started to graze over your folds. 

Taking a deep breath, you inserted two of your fingers to aid the throbbing in your core. It felt  different than when you did it before, maybe due to Jungkook staring at every little movement you made.

Despite your initial refusal, having him watch over you turned you on even more and the throbbing only continued to get worse after you slowly started to move your fingers. You didn’t know how much it turned you and him on, judging from his erection in his pants. 

“Ahh, oh my god,” you moaned, adding an additional finger and groping your boobs with your other hand.

Jungkook’s mouth was in shock, shocked at how you can look so sexy touching yourself even though it was your first time. His dick was begging to be released in his now tight sweatpants but just watching you like this was more than enough.

He’s never admitted it directly to you but surprisingly, he’s such a voyeur and seeing you wrecked with only your fingers or even a toy could make him cum as hard as him actually fucking you.

“J-Jungkook, please…” you mewled, rocking your hips against your small hands in an attempt to hit your g-spot, where only your boyfriend knows. 

By now, you’ve inserted your whole hand inside of your core and it still wasn’t as satisfying as Jungkook’s long fingers inside you. You should’ve been embarrassed that his vision was at you masterbating but frankly, you didn’t care anymore.

“Shit baby girl, just like that, fucking ruin yourself,” he grunted, slightly stroking his hardened member through his sweatpants. 

“I want your mouth on me,” you cried, slowly starting to feel the same ecstatic feeling of your release. The way his eyes were set on you alone brings you closer to your high as you’re practically grinding on your hand. 

Luckily, Jungkook heard your wish and immediately brought his face down to your core, taking your fingers out and licking your clit like there was no tomorrow. His face was completely buried with the goal of eating you out and getting your cum out of you. It wasn’t a thought that ever crossed your mind but you never realized how much better Jungkook made you feel and how the throbbing seemed to go away after he was with you. His face was absolutely covered in your juices and adding to his warm mouth were his long fingers. 

“You like that don’t you, you slutty little girl?” he hummed, the vibrations of his mouth making you even more closer to the edge. You gripped onto his arm tightly, your fingernails dragging along his muscles due to how much he was giving you. 

You felt his fingers curl against you, hitting your g-spot and bringing you closer to your climax. It felt too good and you were craving to be ruined by him. Jungkook stared at the way you were shoving his hand amongst your tight little cunt, grinding on it as you try to reach your high and the squelching sounds it made. 

Within seconds, you were close to your orgasm and you were trying to chase after it feverishly. His tongue and his fingers were too much for you, even though you received them last night. They made you feel so satisfied and full, always filling you up to the edge and the way he was hitting every spot nearly made you cream all over his fingers. 

Unfortunately for you, he immediately pulled his fingers and mouth away, completely denying you of releasing. The hot feeling and intensity disappeared instantly and was replaced by the familiar throbbing as you let out a groan of disappointment. This was the second time you’ve lost your orgasm and you just wanted to release on him once more. 

“Why did you stop? I was going to-” you growled, your face heating up due to the increased temperature inside. 

“You’re not going to cum when I’m away. Is that a rule you can follow?” he said sharply, licking every remain of your juices off his face and wiping the excess with a tissue. 

“W-why?” “Instead, I want you to send me a video touching yourself but not cumming until my match. Is that an order my little girl can do?” 

You absolutely hated the fact that you won’t be releasing for a while but you didn’t want to get him mad. All you can do is just accept your fate and nod. 

“There you go, don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel so good once I win,” he grinned, kissing you passionately. You could immediately taste yourself on his lips and felt his hardened member upon you. There were more things that the two of you would’ve done but he wouldn’t allow that to happen. 

“Well then, I’ll be off. You’ll behave, right?” he parted cheerily, grabbing his bag and leaving the apartment like he didn’t just completely ate you out and denied your orgasm for the second time. As you heard the door lock, you’re left with your skirt drenched from your juices and the aching feeling between your legs. 

Oh the things that Jungkook does to you. But what would happen if you gave him a little surprise during his boxing match. Surely, you weren’t that submissive and besides, it would be fun to tease him..

“You did great man!” Taehyung cheered, high-fiving Jungkook as soon as his match ended. He shared the same with a bunny-like smile and went inside the locker room to clean up to see you. Not only did he win but he’s going to be staying with you for a while now. 

With a bright spirit, he unlocked his locker and opened his phone to a text message from you. There was an attachment with a seemingly innocent message but once he opened the video, it only fueled his desire. 

[Y/N ♡]

- I miss you so much 

Inside of the video was you fucking yourself with your fingers, high-pitched and incoherent whimpers coming out of you and from the looks of it, it was like you’re about to reach your climax. 

Within the last few seconds, it cuts to you creaming all over the bed and licking your juices off of your fingers seductively with a cute wink at the end. All of that just to rile and tease him. 

Shit, the things that this girl does to me, Jungkook sighs, feeling his member starting to grow inside of his pants again. They were simple instructions yet you can’t obey properly. Maybe it was due to you being a brat and wanting to be put in your place again. 

Well, if there’s one thing that you and Jungkook know, is that you’ll certainly not walk the next day.

a/n: honestly, i’m not too proud of this but i hope you liked it regardless! let me know what you think and have a great day <3

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