#& now he's friends w a white girl christian i want to see them do something interesting w it beyond just using the aesthetics

[torahtot]

watching sex education and im at the part where it's like getting really into eric's christianity and im just. i feel like on the one hand ok in his case it's not TOTALLY bland & it is somewhat interesting but on the other hand? i srsly cannot watch another show decide christianity's only problem is homophobia and These Gay Teenagers Found Acceptance At Their Church isn't that sweet problem solved let's wrap up and move on. like idk maybe they'll prove me wrong and actually do something interesting but im sick sick sick

#i do hope at some point in the show they actually talk abt what specifically black christianity means to him #bc it is obviously A Thing for him. he goes to an african church & has a painting of black jesus above his bed he talks abt black jesus all #the time #& now he's friends w a white girl christian i want to see them do something interesting w it beyond just using the aesthetics #if he could talk abt how christianity came to north africa & nigeria specifically & if he cares abt that or not & why that would go so hard #LOL that will not happen though #also there isn't a single other religion in the show.. olivia's family gives us a tiny flash of another culture for a few minutes in one #other episode but that's it #im banking on u eric ur my fave don't let me down.

[rainchyna]

DATING EDGE IN 90S DATING EDGE IN THE 90S DATING EDGE IN THE 90S DATING EDGE IN THE 90S-

to our lord and saviour, adam copeland.

⌗ ˚ ͙◌˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝟗𝟎𝘀˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

warnings! [fluff, language, smuttish, 90s and 00s]

— edge knew that he was going to make you his the second he saw you, he's never laid his eyes on someone this beautiful. he always wanted to approach you but he felt anxious, which had him confused because he had no problem talking to other girls but you made him nervous for some reason.

— you ended up talking him first because you'd always been interested in him. gorgeous, tall and blonde. “hi! I'm y/n, nice to finally meet you. you're edge, right?” his name never sounded to so pretty coming out of someone's mouth, “y-yeah, i'm him, i mean edge, yes, that's my … name” and he shook your hand “are you okay? you're shaking” “shaking? w-who? no one is s-shaking” wow he thought, he looked like a total looser.

— you smiled at him showing your pearly whites and he could've sworn his heart skipped a beat. “man, you're really cute. i wanna see around more, okay? i gotta get goin' though i have a match” you said as you began walking away, “i-i'll definitely come see you, g-good luck” he said, you smiled at him again before heading to gorilla, and that's when christian came and stood next to his friend, “wow, i didn't realize how much of a looser you are, adam” “shut up”

— after that edge spent all his free time trying to get close to you, trying to make you laugh, even if that meant saying the cheesiest pickup lines ever and overtime you developed tight knit friendship.

— you did everything together

— you were at each other's rehearsals, pitched in ideas for your performances, hung out during breaks and basically during every free time you had, even if it's for a few minutes. you both were kinda somewhat to an extent addicted to each other.

— everyone knew that you two had something going on

—like you just looked like you had something ... going on

— edge quickly noticed that you were friends with basically everyone, he's seen you hanging out with chyna, y2j, christian, hunter, shawn, diesel, the hardys, the whole roster was friends with you, but he could never blame them, you were the funniest most adorable person and your personality was a 10/10. every time he'd see you talking to another person, jealousy would tug at the strings of his heart and that's when he realised that he's knee deep in love with you.

— now that that realization hit him, he spent the next couple weeks avoiding you, doing anything to stay away from you even though the need to see you and hear your voice was gnawing at him from the inside.

— you immediately noticed that he stopped talking to you, edge had become your favourite person, and that person has now stopped talking to you. you wanted to confront him about but you didn't wanna seem needy so you went to christian, who basically word vomited everything to you. from adam being nervous to talk to you to him being full on in love with you, and to say that you went looking around for him around the whole building was an understatement.

— and when you finally found him, you wasted no time in running into his arms and kissing him. you had spent months denying the strong feelings you had for him, so much it was pissing you off because it was you rejecting a love you could've deserved, and now here you were finally in his arms after missing him for so long. you pulled away from him, a noticeable pink adorned his cheeks. you smiled at him for a second before punching his arm. “whyyy” “for avoiding me, you asshole” and you kiss him again.

— now that you were dating, his jealousy was at new heights. he wanted no other man near you. you were one of the prettiest, most talented stars in the company, he knew it, you knew and everyone else knew it. he'd seen the way other talent had looked at you, no one could have you but him, but also he wants everyone to know that you're his. he will literally show you off every chance he gets, would drop your name a l o t during interviews and podcasts, even during promos.

— you sleep with him holding you against his chest, his and your hair everywhere. little snores sometimes, will drape himself over you and beg for five more minutes when you try to wake him up. when he eventually wakes up, you always take photos of him because his eyes are barely open, his cheeks are pinkish and swollen from sleep and his hair makes him look like a zombie. even though he looks like a mess, you think he's the cutest hooman bean.

— you were always together, adam had developed some sort of obsession with holding you, he's keeping a hand on you 24/7, backstage, in the ring, at ring side, even in public you literally have to swat his hands away, even though you loved getting his attention.

— he is really affectionate, giving you kisses all the damn time, a fuck load of them, seriously he has a problem with knowing when to stop kissing you, all over your face, down you neck, everywhere. the sheer number of times christian walked into you making out is embarrassingly hilarious.

—he adores you so much omg :(

— he has a fantasy about bending you over his desk and fucking you in his locker room even though you could potentially get caught, the idea lowkey gets him going.

— has an obsession with leaving love bites on you, where no one can see them though because of your ring gear.

— him laying down on your lap and you playing with hair :(

— maTCHING LEATHER JACKETS OMG SCREAMINGGGG

— needs to see you in his clothes, something about the cologne that he uses lingering on your skin because of you wearing them does something to him,,, makes his brain go error 404 then <3 <3 <3

— you were each other's number fans, always watching each other's matches, rehearsals, comebacks, wearing each other's merch, just doing the absolute most to support each other.

— fans always questioned what your relationship was until you were put in a mixed tag team match together, everyone could see the undeniable chemistry and it was all confirmed when edge kissed you after the bell rang.

— a fan favourite moment that went viral was video of you trying to eat some candy, but your knuckles were badly scratched up and every time you'd try to reach into the bag, it would harshly rub against your cuts. so adam took the bag and fed you the candy because he wanted his baby to be happy. the video resurfaces every 1-2 years on twitter.

— has to hold your hand out in public.

— having to deal with fact that he never shuts up about how much more fabulous his hair is than yours, because that mane is absolutely gorgeous.

— calling you his wife before even getting married, like have y'all seen that one skit where this guy is talking about saying girlfriend vs. wife ??? that's him.

—"no hear me out, would you rather be called just my girlfriend ORRRRR 'mrs copeland, my wife, wifey baby', which one?"

— you calling him a loser, and him calling himself 'your loser'.

— back hugs and neck kisses are a must. you will just be standing there and he will come behind you and hold you against his chest, then gives you little kisses up your neck and on your cheeks and temples :(

— definition of “you think i'm scary? wait ’til you see my girlfriend”

— "me or christian?" "christian." ":/"

— being the wrestling power couple.

— will cuddle you. he must cuddle you, any position, it doesn't really matter. loves laying his head on your chest but will die before admitting it, he immediately falls asleep the second you run your hands through his hair. lives for you stroking his cheek when he's asleep :( giving him little forehead kisses makes him smile in his dreams :(( will wrap his arms around your waist tightly to feel you as close to him as possible because he loves nothing more than your body’s warmth and scent :(((

— 10/10 boyfriend, highly recommended.

#wwe x reader #wwe headcanons #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagines #edge x reader #wwe edge x reader #adam copeland x reader #rainchyna

[dreamties]

Slashers x S/O W/ Red Angel Wings

A/n- Y’know, when I first got this request I thought it was awfully specific, but after watching Carrie it’s making a lot more sense lol 

Decided to add a few other characters just for the heck of it! :)

Let’s just ignore the fact that wings probably don’t work like this,, at all. 

Characters: Carrie White, Billy/Stu, Norman Bates, Michael Myers, and The Lost Boys.

T/W: None that I know of- just let me know if you’d like me to add any! :)

Carrie White

You know Carrie from around school. About her overtly Christian mother, and how shy and secluded she was. And how strange and weird other people saw her. You never bought into that schoolwide belief- you just thought no one took the time to get to know her. 

(part of you related to that- though most people would have thought you were cool to start out with...and then have less than kind reactions when they saw what you were hiding)

You’d interacted with Carrie only a handful of times throughout your high school career- mostly in group projects, or letting her know she had dropped something, or simply trying to spark conversation. She had always been very nervous around you though- almost more so than others. (You’d later come to find out it was because she liked you)

It’s the first time you see each other alone- outside of class. It’s after class and Carrie’s been held behind- by one of her teachers asking her about this and that. While you’re hanging out at the back of the school, there’s no sports that day, so you don’t have to worry about any onlookers. Except Carrie, who decides to head out the back way. Thinking there would be less people she’d run into- less of a hassle.

And she doesn’t know what to do. 

The way you're framed in the light, you look like you're glowing. You look unreal, and so holy and beautiful. You’re so beautiful. but then she spots your wings. They're fitted tightly on your back, flitting open, and spreading out so beautifully- you're standing centered as they flare out. And she's shocked and unsure.

 Oh, she'd be mighty frightened.

 She's shaking and crying, and she's got her mama's voice running through her head. This is what happens when you don't follow the rules exactly. When you come into this world so impure.

And oh, your wings! She let's out a gasp, eyes widening. They're colored crimson- the Devil's color. And she's sure you've come down from the Heavens or- or come from down below...come to mock her. To punish her

She knows you know what she's done. What unknowing sins she's committed. [ my poor girl hasn’t actually done anything though :( ]

 And you look at her, confused. Then your eyes soften, and your wings slowly close behind you. You gently smile, “I’m not here to harm you, Carrie.”  

She begins to calm at the soft sound of your voice, and your pleasant aura. She’s still shaky all over, and part her says to run and hide- but you have your arms out wide, offering her to join you. And she gulps down nervously- maybe this was her accepting her fate. She slowly walks over to you, allowing you to wrap her into a hug. It’s feels so good to have your arms wrapped around her- she feels overwhelmed by the amount of positive emotions sprouting from your actions. You let her stay there, crying in your arms. “It’s okay, Carrie.”

After she gets passed the initial meeting, and the two of you start dating- which takes a lot of time for her to get used to you. Not because she doesn’t think you seem like a good person, but she’s skeptical, given how people have treated her in the past- plus she’s still dealing with the after effects from all the religious abuse with her mother :( 

She starts associating you (and your wings) as almost...protection!

Her favorite thing is to have your wings wrapped around her as she sleeps. She feels safe in them.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Y’all meet at a Halloween party.

It’s Billy & Stu’s favorite holiday, and they always go all out for it! With the costumes, the decorations, etc- maybe even a bit of hidden bloody fun for just the two of them.

You’ve always kept your wings well hidden- folded against your back, underneath big coats. But tonight? Ohh, tonight! You’re able to have them out, allowing them a good stretch. When people ask, you can pass it off as just crazy good mechanisms.

And well, the boys see your “costume”, and they get wicked excited about it! They’ve never seen someone with a costume like this before- it’s so realistic! And the fact you chose blood red, over the standard angelic white? Very impressed by your talent and ideas.

They start asking all these questions about it, cause it’s like, legitimately one of the coolest costume they’ve ever seen. How can you not think giant wings- that move- aren’t cool?? 

But then like Stu excitedly asks if it would be okay to touch it- and you get oddly quiet after that one. “Well, they’re fragile, y’know?”

Stu pouts, “I can be careful.”

You give him a skeptical look, “I mean- just be careful, like you said.”

“Woah, they feel so real!” Oh, if he only knew. “Billy, ya gotta check this out!” He says, nearly shouting, as he nudges his shorter friend.

Billy rolls his eyes, but gives you a look to see if it’s alright. You simply nod, smiling at him- feeling more at ease. As Billy’s admiring them, and finally leans in to touch them- another guest at the party harshly bumps into you. The force of it accidentally knocking their drink out of their hands, drenching your shirt. 

“Aw shit,” you mumble to yourself. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave for the night.”

Stu frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving quite yet. He’d been enjoying your company quite a lot, and he’s certain that Billy did too (even if it didn’t seem like it). “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he all but blurts out.

You can’t help but laugh at his offer, “Are you sure?” Stu eagerly nods.

 You’re in Stu’s bedroom changing, and you’re about to slip on his sweater, when the door is knocked open (not on purpose, of course). “Dude!”

They quickly apologize, but then take notice of your wings- exposed as what they truly were. They stare in awe and bewilderment. You’re still freaked out, and yet still try joking your way out of the situation. “Just, really good prosthetics?” 

It takes a bit of explanation on your part, but the boys accept you for what you are pretty quickly. As strange as this all might be. Stu will have a lot of questions for you, and Billy’s somewhat unsure of it for a while. 

Established Relationship Fun:

Okay, okay!! Soft idea!! When cuddling, sometimes you’ll wrap your giant wings around the three of you. so warm and cuddly.

when watching horror movies together, Billy’s always intensely focused on the screen(almost scarily so- but then again this is one of the faces behind Ghostface we’re talking about so...not too surprising), to the blood and carnage. But he always finds his hand idly playing with your feathers, even if you have them closed behind you. He’d never admit it, but he finds them comforting and extremely calming. He can just forget about all his little problems, and just stroke your feathers (plus, you enjoy it when he does that!! And he likes that it makes you feel good!!)

Norman Bates 

You’d be really nervous at first to tell him, because early on in your friendship/relationship, he introduced you to his hobby- taxidermy. And it kind of scared you seeing your feathered friends in such a state. But...Norman would never harm you. 

(Now...his mother on the other hand? Would be more than willing to discard this freak of nature)

(Norman won’t let that happen to you though- he promises) 

Norman is such an absolute darling. He couldn’t judge a single soul for who or what they are- and yes, that does go for your winged-body, too.

He’d be extremely surprised and intrigued though- he’d be all blushy and happy though that you felt safe enough to tell him!

He finds your wings just absolutely gorgeous though.

He’ll often get sorta shy about handling your wings at all. But he’s very careful with them.

And if you get hurt, he’ll be more than glad to help you patch up (while also being upset you got hurt :( ) - since you can’t really,, go to hospitals at all. Who knows what the general public would do if they found out something like you existed.

On that note- Norman will always be there to help cheer you up when you feel bad about having them. Like, it’s gotta be strange being the only being with wings surrounded by humans- and only humans. Norman’s very good at cheering you up though! He’s very soft and sweet about it. One of the few times he’ll touch your wings. He treats them delicately, as if they’ll break upon his touch if he’s not careful enough. Presses gentle kisses to them, and reminding you how much he loves you.

Michael Myers

You meet Michael during one of his hunts.

You never bring out your wings, unless you absolutely have to.

He’s surprised and a bit confused when he sees you, standing in the streets, giant red wings splayed out. The street lights reflecting your wings into pools of red on the ground. He watches intently, as you push yourself into the air with a loud whoosh. He nearly startles.

But besides this initial reaction, he’s fairly indifferent.

Michael knows no human should have wings like that, or even wings at all. And part of him is curious to know more, so the next time he sees you, he doesn’t try to attack you.

The Fun Stuff??

Michael would definitely be a little rougher with your wings than some of the other slashers. 

Mostly because a part of him recognizes you’re not entirely human, so he equates that to you’ll be able to handle more.

He’s still pretty careful though- because he would never want to hurt his S/O.

Michael enjoys killing alone, and he sure doesn’t need protection- but sometimes, when you convince Michael to bring you along, he finds he doesn’t actually mind your presence there. He kind of enjoys it. And, again, he doesn’t need your protection- but you can’t help to be worried about him, okay? You’ll use your wings as a shield when his victims try fighting back. If you get hurt a bit? Then I guess Michael will just have to help you patch up afterwards.

The Lost Boys

Aww, they are so hyped about it!

Most of the other creatures they interact with are human, so it’s so cool to them when they find out you’re a fellow supernatural being! They’re not,,, entirely sure what you are (neither are you, tbh), but that’s okay.

They get to fly around with you, which they wouldn’t be able to do with you if their S/O was a human or some flightless supernatural being.

Paul would love playing with your wings!

I mean, they all do to some extent. But Paul will play with them whenever. Even if you’re out in public. Like,, if anyone sees your wings they have ways of dealing with that, y’know?

Y’all sleep in the same bed together- kind of just like,, a constant cuddle pile lol. And you don’t always do this, but when the boys are feeling especially in the mood for it (like,, maybe they’ve had a long night, or they just really need to be as close to you as they can)  and you’ll just outstretch your wings, covering the four of them. The soft, familiarity of your feathers calming even the rowdiest of the bunch

They accidentally stay out too late, and you’ll use your wings to help shade them from the sun, as you make your way back to the cave.

#slashers x reader #slasher #slashers #slashers x s/o #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys #psycho #norman bates #norman bates x reader #norman bates x s/o #michael myers x reader #michael myers x s/o #poly ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface x reader #ghostface x s/o #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x s/o #stu macher x s/o #carrie white x reader #carrie #carrie white x s/o #reblogs are appreciated !! #requests are OPEN

[kimvvantae]

puzzle; 7 (m)

➜  you and jungkook are best friends of a lifetime, even though your personalities are like unmatching pieces of a puzzle. the line between friendship and something more has never been crossed between you two - but that changes after a break up and a drunken night, when you not-so-accidentally cross this line to something much more. what happens when after this accident your non-matching puzzle pieces seem to match in a way you’ve never imagined?

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst, comedy; friends with benefits au; college au

warnings: lots of swearing, a little bit of violence

rating: 18+

word count: 12k

A/N: sweet jesus it’s been so long but it’s finally here! this is the last but one chapter of the series. i genuinely hope you guys enjoy it and i reeeeally want to know your thoughts on it! feel free to leave a comment! if you feel i’m deserving of it lmao

enjoy!

➜  Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

[bby bear]: where are you???

[bby bear]: you'll get late for class 

[you]: i knoww

[you]: the traffic is so heavy today 🤦🤦

[bby bear]: you should have come w me 

[you]: i need to go to the bank

[you]: i told you

[bby bear]: i could have taken u theer

[bby bear]: there

[you]: 🥺🥺 next time i'll go w you i promise!!

[you]: but i'm close

[you]: i'll probably lose the first period tho

[bby bear]: 🤦

You shove the phone inside of your pocket when you notice the pedestrian sign is finally green. The crowd on both sides of the avenue rush, everyone on their fast pace as usual. You're even forced to push some people in order to walk by.

Getting to the other side of the street, you stop in front of the building.

Tall as fuck. That cool kind of building with mirrors all over it, where only cool people wearing cool suits walking around holding cups of coffee on one hand and phones on the other hand talking business language kind of people work at. 

You certainly don't work here. You definitely don't have any stuff to do here. You surely are not close to the campus and you will lose much more than just the first period.

Seulgi will most definitely punch your face when she finds out where you are and what you're about to do.

You confidently walk inside the building, pushing through its glass doors into the pristine, modern and gigantic main hall. Your black boots contrast with the high heels all the other women wear around you. So does the rest of your outfit. Mini skirts and oversized hoodies are not part of the dress code here. You can almost hear their minds asking, what is this person doing here? The clanck clanck sound of their heels clicking against the marble floor is somehow pleasing, though.

You stop in front of the reception counter. A pretty girl opens a crystal white smile to you. Her hair is tied tightly, her uniform was ironed to perfection. "Good morning. How can I help you?" She chirps happily. 

"Good morning. My name is Y/N. I'd like to talk to Irene."

The smile quickly falters.

The girl side eyes her colleague that sits by her side. "Hmm… unfortunately, Miss Irene does not receive visits," she says carefully, still trying to keep her smile. "You must be mistaken."

You can see this girl thinks you're crazy. You quickly realize that people usually don't come at the reception and simply say they want to talk to Irene. But, well, what else would you do? You have to announce your presence somehow. 

"Irene is waiting for me. You can call her and ask if you want," you insist. 

The receptionist looks pale for a moment.

Hesitantly, she takes the phone and dials a number. You can still see that the girl thinks you're lying; she's probably ready to call the security guards. During her quick talk on the phone, you notice she's not talking to Irene, but with her secretary. 

You also see the moment her eyes widen.

She hangs up the phone and stands up, smiling widely again.

"Miss Y/N, Irene is waiting for your arrival," she says, and you notice the slight tone of panic in her voice. "Please, accompany me."

All the other visitors have to show their identifications and take a quick picture on the reception, you notice, but the girl simply ignores this procedure with you, guiding you to the elevator instead. She explains the situation to the security guard and he lets you in. The receptionist still looks slightly panicked. She's probably scared that you'll complain how the receptionist was rude to me directly to Irene, but you won't. Poor girl was just doing her job.

The elevator is big, too. It has a panoramic view of the city as it goes up to one of the highest floors. 

You always thought Seulgi was overreacting when she said how bad she sometimes felt for dating Irene, but now you kind of understand her.

You knew Irene was rich. You can recognize a Gucci jacket when you see one, and you've seen Irene wearing plenty of these. But Irene always acted so normal. Sure, she was elegant - and sometimes even arrogant -, but she was still someone very pleasant to be around. She never looked disgusted to be in your tiny but comfy apartment, she never made faces when she'd sometimes wear some of Seulgi's or your clothes when she didn't bring any to spend the night, she never complained to eat the junk food you'd buy for dinner. She was just… chill.

Because of that, you'd forget that she's rich sometimes.

Being in this massive building where everyone acted as if she was a princess made you remember, though.

Irene is beyond rich. Your standard of "rich" used to be Joy: someone that has a cool, big house in a nice part of the city. Irene partially owns a fucking company. She's so chill that you never even bothered to Google the company's name; you did this today to get the address, and it only made you more shocked.

Seulgi must have felt overwhelmed many times in their relationship.

But you're sure she was much happier back then than she is now.

You're used to their drama. They were already dating when you first met Seulgi, and you saw this cycle repeating many times. This time, though, things are not happening as usual. Seulgi is the saddest you’ve ever seen in these almost three years of convivence. Right after they broke up, you thought she was just being dramatic as usual… now you see that it isn’t simple drama. She’s actually sad and has been in this state for months. She doesn’t go out anymore, stopped doing the things she liked… she even got tired of Netflix. That’s probably the most shocking fact of all. 

Jungkook said you shouldn’t get involved in this, but you’re tired of seeing your friend being so sad all the time.

Their breakup was messy this time. They didn’t talk properly, didn’t make things clear. Seulgi is too stubborn to make a move (she’s totally lethargic at this point, both physically and spiritually), and Irene also seems too stubborn. Since none of them has the balls to do anything, you finally decided to step up and take action.

(Funny how you thought Jimin was annoying for trying to push you and Jungkook together, but you’re doing the exact same thing right now).

Well, look, you’re not exactly trying to push them into each other. First, you want to know Irene’s feelings and opinions on this situation. If you see that she has really moved on from Seulgi, then you’re ready to give your friend all the comfort and support in the world so she finally moves on. If Irene shows you that she still has feelings for Seulgi… well…

The speed in which she replied to your DM is a strong indicative of that.

The way her eyes glint with undeniable hope when the elevator doors open and she greets you is another indicative.

Irene looks gorgeous as always; she’s like a human version of Snow White. It’s kind of funny to meet her in her office like this. She’s almost like a female and hotter version of Christian Grey. 

Her ways of greeting you are polite and… hesitant. You understand why. She probably doesn’t get what you’re doing here in the first place, what you want to talk about. Considering you’re Seulgi’s friend, she must think you’d be mad at her or something.

“Why didn’t you call me, Y/N? My guests never enter from the common hall.” she asked. Oh. Common hall is what that massive hall is called. Almost like peasants area.

“I didn’t know.” you simply say, shrugging. 

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting here at my workplace. It feels too profissional, doesn’t it?” she smiles sheepishly.

Well… it does. You don’t even feel comfortable enough to move around her great office, afraid that you’d accidentally break anything (you’re sure that every little piece in this room is much more expensive than you’d be able to afford). 

“Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. I think it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.” she politely suggests, and you just agree with her.

Irene guides you around the halls. This floor is less crowded, since only Important People with Important Tasks work here - and she’s greeted by all of them as she passes by. Their eyes immediately float to you, and they were surely asking themselves why Princess Irene was being followed by this peasant. 

The cafeteria in question is as pretty and neatly clean as the rest of the building. Soft music plays from the speakers. Irene chooses a more private table by the windows and asks if you want to have breakfast; you politely decline and both of you end up ordering simple cups of coffee. 

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air.

"I… have to confess that I got surprised when I saw your DM," Irene speaks softly. Her eyes are glued on her cup of coffee. "It's been a while."

"Yeah." 

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine." a hundred different scenes pass on your head as she asks this, and you know that you feel anything but fine in the moment, but it's not as if you'll rant about your complicated love life right now. "But I'm sure you don't want to ask about me."

You see a shade of pink flush Irene's cheeks.

"Well… I don't think it would be right to ask about her." Irene says.

"Why not? It's not as if you didn't know I came here to talk about Seulgi."

"But she doesn't want to know about me."

You're left speechless for a few seconds.

It's funny to see the two sides of a breakup. Because of their stubborness, they became completely out of tune with each other. Irene thought that Seulgi didn't want to know about her, when you knew pretty damn well that Seulgi stalked her social media an unhealthy amount of times per day.

You cross your arms and lean your back on the chair. Irene looks hesitant, but you see she's eager to know whatever information you may have. That's not the behavior of someone that hates their ex.

"Can I ask you something?" you say. It's funny how Irene, the owner of pretty much everything around you, looks so cornered by you, her shoulders shrinking visibly. She nods softly. "Why did you guys break up? I mean, what's your side of the story?"

Irene sighs and passes her hand through her dark hair. She looks out the window. She doesn't seem irritated by your ask. She just seems… thoughtful.

It makes you realize that, perhaps, Seulgi's not the only one feeling broken here.

"We're… different." she starts quietly. "I have been trying to keep this relationship working for a long time, you know. Even though we argued a lot and disagreed about many things. But…" Irene sighs again. Sadness shadows her features. "It was getting hard. Seulgi never accepted my help. She knows that money is no problem for me, and I just wanted to help, but why did she act so angry every time I wanted to help you guys?"

Oh.

You don't miss the way she said "help you guys"; she must be talking about the times both of you were struggling to pay the rent. Oh God. You clearly see where their opinions diverge. Irene has always been rich; she saw money as something simple, giving money to others wasn't a big deal. Meanwhile, Seulgi must've felt dependent and it surely hurt her pride. Besides, there were enough people saying that Seulgi was only dating Irene to get money from her…

"And there's more." Irene's voice becomes quieter, more fragile. "My family, they're… very conservative. It was already hard enough for them to accept my sexuality. They never did, to be honest… but they particularly don't like Seulgi, because she's not, hm, on my "social level", as they like to say."

Ooh.

This is more complicated. Seulgi doesn't know what it feels like; her family is very open minded. She told you that, in the beginning, her parents were shocked when she told them that she also liked girls, but they slowly accepted it. Irene, on the other hand… 

"They keep saying that my relationship with her will be bad for the company." She confesses. "They said they'd even accept my relationship, as long as we dated in secret."

"What?!" you gasp. "This is disgusting!"

"I know." Irene nods, eyes focused on the mug between her hands. You have the impression that you see tears welling up on her eyes, but she blinks rapidly to dissipate them. "I… I was willing to go against them, because if they don't accept my relationship, then they don't accept who I am. But… I don't know if it's worth doing this if I'm not sure if Seulgi feels the same about me."

Ouch.

You remembered the night when they broke up. Seulgi came to you, crying, and said that she was tired of being with someone that wasn't brave enough to accept her.

Seulgi, my dear… you know nothing.

You can see that to go against her parents isn't as simple as it sounds. To Irene, going against her family involves reputation, money, and the company itself. It's definitely a big deal. Seulgi didn't understand how serious it is.

And Irene is willing to take this big step for her.

It's your time to sigh. 

"Irene." you lean closer, staring at her seriously. "Do you still love Seulgi?"

She blinks at your direct question. Irene looks down, gulps… and nods.

"I do love her."

You can't hear any hint of doubt on her voice.

That's what you wanted to hear.

"She's not okay." You blurt out the truth. Irene widens her eyes softly and looks at you. You see guilt on her eyes as she hears this. "I came here because I'm worried about her. She doesn't act like herself anymore. She even got tired of Netflix."

Irene widens her eyes in shock. "She stopped watching Netflix?!"

"Yes." You nod seriously. "And she still loves you, too."

Irene freezes when you say this.

Now, you're sure of the tears welling up on her eyes.

"I…" she stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. "A-Are you sure?"

You can't help but giggle at her; Irene looks shy, almost like a teenager - scared and excited to know that her crush likes her back. You feel your own heart warming up at the sight.

"Of course I'm sure."

A smile wants to make its way up to her lips. "B-But what do I do? I can't just walk up to her like this. I don't want to start another fight…"

"Irene, believe me. Seulgi will listen to anything you have to say, as long as you're being honest. Tell her about the situation with your family. Prove to her that you're willing to stand for her. I mean, if you're still willing to…"

"I am!" Irene exclaims in a heartbeat. "I am. As long as she's with me, I feel like I can do anything."

You feel yourself smiling. Irene's eyes are shining like diamonds.

"But you also have to try to understand her." You say seriously. "Seulgi is not wrong for wanting to be independent. She's finishing her studies, she wants to build a career for herself, and she wants her own money. I know you're trying to help, but you have to respect her. Also, I'm sure she doesn't want to be a burden for you."

Irene nods vehemently. "Okay. You're right. I get it."

She doesn't hold her smile back anymore as a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks so immensely happy… it's a delightful sight. And you can't help but feel happy too, because right now, more than ever, you see that Seulgi found something rare and precious in this world.

True love.

And this fact itself is enough to make you feel that coming here was worth it - even though Seulgi might want to kill you afterwards.

"But hey, Irene," you call her seriously again. "I'm doing all this because both of you stupid asses couldn't, but if you make Seulgi cry again, I will kill you. I know where you work now."

Irene laughs at your very serious threat. She leans forward and holds both of your hands. "Y/N, thank you so much for telling me all this. I will forever be grateful. If you need anything- and I mean anything- I will help you, okay? Anything!"

"Alright, alright," you say, shrugging, the slight thought that a millionaire owns you a favor sounding nice. "Now, you better go talk to Seulgi. I can't stand her walking around the living room looking like a zombie anymore." Irene laughs softly. "And… I said I wasn't hungry, but now I kind of want that waffle."

Seulgi looks like a very grumpy zombie when you meet her in the corridor.

"Where the hell were you?!" Seulgi exclaims. "It's noon!"

"Yeah, I know." you shrug. "The bank was pretty crowded."

Seulgi narrows her eyes. Her hair looks messy even though it's tied up and she has bags underneath her eyes. She's wearing the top of her old orange pajamas. It has an old kitchen oil stain over the chest. Seulgi from months ago would rarely go out looking like this. 

"What the hell did you need to do there anyway? I didn't even know people still go to banks." She whines. "I was getting worried, you know?"

You walk down the corridor with your hands behind your back. You're glad Seulgi is too grumpy to notice the sly smirk on your lips, the way you kind of bounce by her side in expectation.

"Always so thoughtful, Seul. You're so cute, did you know that?"

She side eyes you, the frown deepening. "Why are you complimenting me?"

"What's the problem with complimenting you?"

"Whenever you compliment me it means either you want something or you did something that you know will piss me off."

Sometimes you forget how well Seulgi knows you. 

"Jesus, you're too stressed, girl. I'll pay you lunch, okay? Let's eat at that Italian restaurant you like."

"When you offer yourself to pay for stuff it also means that-"

Seulgi stops in her tracks, completely frozen.

"Irene?"

You step back silently and hold your breath.

This is the moment that might end your friendship with Seulgi if it goes bad.

Irene seems to be holding her breath as well, her eyes round - scared, hesitant, hopeful. 

And they stand there, looking at each other. As if time has slowed down. As if there was no one else besides them in the busy corridor.

If this was a drama, you imagined that the romantic soundtrack would kick in now.

"Hi, Seulgi." Irene says softly. "It's… it's been a while."

It seems that Seulgi's brain is struggling to function. "What… what are you doing here?" the fact that she does not sound defensive or aggressive but genuinely surprised and confused relieves your chest. 

"I came here to talk." Irene says. "Just… just talk. But if you want me to go…"

"No." Seulgi interrupts her embarrassingly too fast. "It's alright. We… we can talk. Just talk."

Their eyes are gleaming and the ghost of smiles appear on their lips.

Your chest fills with triumph as you silently walk back. Not that either of them would even notice you anyway.

You're too far to hear what they're saying now, their soft voices drowning in the middle of the many more people walking around the corridor, but you still kind of hide inside an empty classroom, half of your body peeking outside of the door to watch them. They're talking and smiling timidly. You feel tempted to take some photos, but it's better not to. You kind of feel like an intruder watching them, even if you're this far-

"What are you doing?" 

You almost feel your spirit jumping out of your body when the male voice asks dangerously close to your ear, turning around in a jump to see the source.

Now you don't know if your heart is beating so ridiculously fast because of the scare of because of the view in front of you.

Jungkook looks down at you with a puzzled expression, his hands behind his back, his body slightly leaning on your direction. He's wearing a modern grey hanbok over a black t-shirt and slippers. His backpack hangs from one shoulder. His hair is half tied up in a small bun, curly bangs falling over his eyes. This is precisely what makes your heart almost fail. You've been wondering how he would look like with his hair tied up ever since he decided to let it grow…

He's got no business looking this good. No. Fucking. Business.

But you're a master of pretending you're unbothered, so you just point ahead at their direction with an excited smile. Jungkook's eyes look up to where you're pointing and his eyes widen.

"Oh!" Almost instantly, he kind of hides behind you as well. It's hard to ignore the warmth of his body on your back, even though he isn't close enough to touch you. "Did they make up? Are they dating again?" 

"I hope they will." it's weird how you're both speaking so low, as if they could possibly hear you over the loud chatter. 

"What if they start fighting?" 

"Don't even say that! I put my friendship with Seulgi at risk to get these two to talk!"

You turn your head in time to see Jungkook's eyes frowning as he realizes what's going on.

"It was you?"

"Of course it was."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head slowly in disapproval. "You said you wouldn't get involved!"

"I never said I wasn't going to get involved." you bat your lashes prettily at him, trying to give your best innocent look (unsuccessfully). 

"You damn gremlin."

You whack his chest. "Aw, come on! Just look at them and tell me it isn't working!"

Both of you look ahead again to see them smiling sweetly at each other as they talk. You bounce and giggle excitedly like a little kid. "Look, look! She's blushing!"

Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "But what about Jennie?"

"Oh, Irene and Jennie went out on dates, but it didn't work out in the end. They're just friends." you repeat the exact same words Irene told you earlier. 

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if she cheats on Seulgi, I'll kill her."

You watch as they slowly start to walk away side by side, heading towards the exit.

You jump out of your "hideout" and open your arms in triumph. "I did great this time, didn't I?!"

Jungkook chuckles and leans on the doorway, arms crossed. "Whatever you say."

You're an expert at acting unbothered, but right now it's really hard to do so when he looks at you this way.

He has a pretty lazy smile on his lips. It makes you feel hot inside and your stomach jumps and your heart races. His gaze is intense… but not in the way you're used to. That look isn't his I want to fuck kind of look, it's… it's… shit, you don't know what that means, but it's pretty intense. Why is he looking at you like that?

You just hope he doesn't notice how your legs are wobbly.

It's the first time you see him in person since two days ago, when he slept at your house. Two days after you had sex even though you said you wouldn't. You didn't talk properly about what happened there. To be honest, your brain still didn't process that well. 

Things are awkward between you two - but this time it's a different kind of awkward. A type of awkward that made your cheeks burn while you cleaned yourself and got dressed. A type of awkward that made you feel all fuzzy and warm inside, that made a silly smile grow on your lips every time your eyes crossed his from the other side of the living room, an awkwardness that forced you both to look away and try to pretend your cheeks weren't aching from the damn smile that didn't want to go away. A type of awkward that didn't let you talk about what happened - as if none of you wanted to talk about it, to just keep it engraved in your minds forever, as if talking about it would take all the magic of the moment away.

You don't hate this type of awkward. 

It's not uncomfortable. Not like what has been happening for the past months. Yet, you feel that you need to talk about it - to sort things out clearly and straightforwardly this time… because if the way he's looking at you means anything, then maybe… just maybe…

"I've got good news." Jungkook says suddenly (because he noticed that you've been staring at each other for far too long to not be embarrassing anymore). 

"What?" you fiddle with your own fingers, trying to ease the tension.

"Remember that director I told you about? Mr. Choi?" You nod. "He invited me to work with him."

Your jaw drops, your eyes widen. "What? Are you serious?!"

Jungkook nods excitedly. "Yeah. Well, I'll be like the assistant of the assistant, to be honest, but… he invited me to work with him on his next project. I'll gain some real experience, at least…"

"Are you kidding? This is great, Kook! What the fuck!"

You jump over to hug him, your arms dropping around his shoulders, and Jungkook quickly hugs you back. His low excited giggle right next to your ear makes goosebumps crawl on your skin. 

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" And you couldn't be more honest. Jungkook has always been so  hardworking; he deserves all the success and recognition in the world. You always thought so.

"Thank you," his voice is still low and excited.

He caresses your back. It makes yet more goosebumps crawl on your skin. 

Oh, God. He still smells like baby powder. He always does. You feel tempted to sniff the crook of his neck, just to take a little bit more of his scent, but you hold yourself back. It's not like hugging Jungkook is something new to you. Fuck, after everything you've done, hugging should feel like nothing. But for some reason… hugging him right now feels like a lot.

Feels awkward.

So awkward that you have to remind yourself that you're in the middle of a corridor full of people, and that this hug is taking way too long, so you step back before your brain completely malfunctions. 

"A-And," you clear your throat and put a strand of hair behind your ear, furiously avoiding his gaze. You never thought that Jungkook would make you feel shy like this. Shy and Y/N shouldn’t make sense in the same sentence. "When is this next project?"

"In two days. I think he decided to put me on the crew last minute."

"This means that he really trusts you."

Jungkook smiles sheepishly and massages the back of his neck. "I just hope I won't mess things up."

"You'll do great, Kook. You always do."

He lifts his gaze to you again.

That same look again.

You feel that everything is blurred except him again. No one else is in that corridor. No loud chatter. Just him and his starry eyes, looking back at you, eyes that smile as much as his lips.

God.

You need to sort things out.

You can't just stare at him with heart eyes like this anymore. You need to talk about what happened. This conversation feels awkward because you're both trying to act normal, pretending that there isn't a fucking elephant in the room - an elephant that makes you think of a mattress in the middle of your living room, of sunrays touching his exposed skin, of old pajamas being thrown around and sweat and soft kisses and salty tears dripping down your temples.

You need to know if he also felt that that morning was different. You need to know if he feels the same. Even if he doesn't - even if his heart lays with Yeri or Joy or whoever it might be - you need to know, and you don't care about what the outcome might be. You just can't torture yourself like this anymore.

So you inhale and gulp.

"Jungkook, I was thinking… are you busy after classes?" you ask timidly.

He presses his lips together. "Actually, I am. The boys and I are planning to celebrate the end of the semester tonight."

Mission abort! Mission abort!!

"Why?"

"Oh- it's nothing. I was just…" you can't think of any excuse. "It's not that important anyway. Forget it."

Jungkook looks at you with suspicion. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I'm sure. Nevermind."

He still stares at you for a while, frowning. 

"You wanna come with us?"

"No!" you shake your hands dismissively. You're not having this super important conversation surrounded by all of his friends. "I'm just gonna bother you guys. It's fine, Jungkook. Enjoy your night." 

Jungkook shrugs. He takes his phone from his back pocket for a moment. "Well, I gotta go. I promised I'd pay Jimin lunch."

"Alright."

You start to walk in opposite directions.

“But we can meet tomorrow, right?” You turn around way too fast when you hear Jungkook say, a few steps away from you. He looks hesitant, an awkward little smile on his lips. “I have some stuff to do, but we can see each other at night. After I finish preparing my stuff. We could meet, right?” He visibly starts to look more and more awkward as he speaks. As if his confidence started to vanish. It’s kind of adorable. “You could come to my place. O-Or I could go to yours, I don’t care- I mean, can I?”

Your heart is bouncing crazily inside of you. You don’t notice how you’re mirroring his awkward smile. “Of course, Kook. When did you ever need permission to go to my apartment?”

Jungkook frowns as if he just realized how stupid his ask was. “Guess you’re right. Or maybe we could go out somewhere, right? It’s been a while since we went out, the two of us.”

He’s right. All you’ve been doing for the past months is meet to have sex. You don’t even remember the last time you two did something that didn’t involve getting naked. 

“Sure, let’s go out.” 

You stare at each other for a few more awkward moments (awkward is a word you’ve been thinking a lot about lately). See, that’s not how things would go between you two back then. Neither of you ever needed to ask previously to go out. You’d just usually drag Jungkook out of his house by force when you deemed he hasn’t been taking enough sunlight (fucking Overwatch). Or Jungkook would call you at 3am because he was bored of playing Overwatch and just realized there was only expired milk and an empty box of cereal in the cabinets because the last time he and Jimin bought food was 2 weeks ago and he’d be like “hey, let’s go to Walmart” and you’d be like “what the fuck Jungkook it’s 3am” and he’d be like “but Jimin’s not home I need help” and you’d be like “fuck you” but twenty minutes later you’d both be on your pajamas pushing a cart inside of an empty Walmart as you barely register Jungkook ranting about how he thinks he’s lactose intolerant because he had diarrhea the last time he ate yogurt.

That’s kind of how things used to go back then.

At the same time you desperately want your relationship to go back to normal, you don’t really hate the way you’re feeling right now.

“Right, I gotta go.” Jungkook snaps out of it faster than you and nods. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Again, you turn around and start to walk in opposite directions. Slowly. Hesitantly. Because both of you know you don't want to go. Both of you know you still have a lot to talk about.

But maybe later.

[bby bear]: i kinda want to kill you rn but

[bby bear]: thank u so fcking much

[bby bear]: ily

[bby bear]: bitch

You're smiling so hard that your cheeks might probably start to ache. If Seulgi texted you this, it means things went really well with Irene. 

The chatter in the dining hall is nothing but background noise on your ears as you scroll down your boring Instagram feed, the plate just half eaten in front of you. You’re not really hungry. Maybe the stress of studying for finals messed your stomach. The hell’s finally over, at least, and you’re sure that your grades won’t be that bad (Seulgi didn’t want to do anything, but you at least convinced her to study with you. That’s the only thing that got her out of her bedroom. Her zombie state was kinda the reason why you studied so hard). 

Some text notifications pop on your screen, but you just swipe them away since none of them are from the person you’re waiting for. All of your friends are planning to go out tonight and some of them are asking if you want to go. No, you don’t. Honestly, you’ve not been feeling yourself these days. Past you would always be up to a party. Past you wouldn’t be having lunch alone in the dining hall - honestly though, you don’t even mind being by yourself. Nothing would make you feel emptier right now than being surrounded by random people. Just one person matters at the moment-

“Hi.”

You almost drop the phone inside the plate when you look up to see who just sat in front of you.

Joy.

Your throat feels suddenly bitter. You have to gulp.

“Jesus, I didn’t even notice you come,” you inhale and chuckle. “How you doing, Joy?”

Joy smiles. “I’m fine.”

She’s lying.

There’s something in the way she looks at you and in the way her smile looks plastic-fake that makes you shiver.

It makes you think that she didn’t even want to be here.

Well, you don’t know about her, but you certainly feel uncomfortable right now. You can’t lie that you’ve been feeling kind of guilty these days because you’ve been fucking the guy she likes in secret, but a big fat load of guilt hit you especially after two days ago. Joy went on a date with Jungkook and barely a few hours later you had him inside of you. And, of course, you had rough sex with him inside of her bathroom. All the while you knew Joy liked him and encouraged her to be with him-

Wow, it’s getting hard to look at her right now. 

You really are a bitch. In the beginning you didn’t feel bad because you stupidly assumed there weren’t feelings involved. It was just friends with benefits, right? You even agreed that you could have sex with other people. If Jungkook started dating Joy, of course you’d stop doing it. Also, there was nothing between you two. You didn’t even feel jealousy.

Things changed, though, and at some point you genuinely started to hate this poor girl for breathing around Jungkook. And now you feel guilty because you realized that you like the guy that she told you she had a crush on months ago.

I took a shower this morning, so why do I feel so dirty right now?

A shiver runs down your spine.

The way she’s looking at you… what if she knows-?

“I’m throwing a party tonight,” she says suddenly. “To celebrate the end of the semester. You wanna come?”

You’ve been fucking the guy she likes for months and there she is, being nice and inviting you to her party. You really are a fake ass bitch-

“O-Oh.” You rub the back of your neck. “I, uhm… thanks, Joy, but I’m not feeling very well today. I just feel like sleeping, to be honest.” You chuckle sheepishly again. 

Joy nods. “Alright.”

She doesn’t insist. It looks like she doesn’t even care. As if she’s just being polite.

In fact, it kind of looks that she’s relieved that you said no-

“So, how was your date with Taehyung?” She changes the topic quickly. “We didn’t even talk about it.”

Right. She’s talking about the person you don’t even want to think about because there’s only so much guilt one person can feel at once. 

“It was fun.” You say. “We had a lot of fun.”

It sounds stupid, the way you can’t even articulate your date with him. You’re not lying - you had fun… kind of. 

“Are you dating him now?”

Okay, this is getting strange. Not the question, but the way she asked. You’re 100% sure she’s annoyed by something, and honestly looks uninterested in your current state with Taehyung right now, so why is she asking anyway? 

“No, we’re not.” You admit. 

Joy stares at you in silence as if she’s waiting for you to say something more, but you say nothing else. Joy then nods. This is getting very uncomfortable.

You feel that she’s about to leave, so you pick up the courage to speak again. She touched this topic anyway.

You know it’s wrong to ask. You shouldn’t. But you’re so curious that you can’t help.

“A-And, uhm… what about you and Jungkook? How was your date?” you try so hard to pretend you’re not dying curious to know.

Joy stares at you in silence again. She isn’t smiling.

“He didn’t tell you?”

What? Is there something to tell?!

“No. Jungkook’s kinda private about this type of thing,” you’re lying, of course, because even if Jungkook didn’t want to, you’d usually annoy him with questions about his dates so hard that he’d end up telling everything that happened.

Joy looks away and quirks one eyebrow. “Oh. I assumed he would have since you guys are so close.”

The way she says so close bothers you.

It’s her turn to rub the back of her neck, her eyes glued on the table - only she doesn’t look nervous. Yeah, she’s annoyed. Joy takes so long to talk that you’re about to repeat your question, but she finally speaks:

“We also had fun. Jungkook really is a sweet guy, right? He did nothing wrong. He’s so polite that it ended up annoying me, honestly. More polite than I would have wanted him to be…” Hah, so they didn’t fuck! Great! “Well, he dropped me home and I invited him to spend the night and all, but… He was very polite. He apologized a lot and said that he couldn’t stay…”

Joy licks her lips. Why the dramatic pause? Say it already, come on!

“He’s also a very honest guy, right?” She chuckled, but she clearly didn’t think it was funny. “He said that he thought I was an amazing person, but things wouldn’t go further than this because…”

For the first time, Joy lifts her gaze and looks at you.

“Because he already had feelings for someone else.”

You’re honestly not breathing anymore.

Joy is watching you very carefully. You’re as stiff as a board.

“Not a fun way to finish a date, right?” She says and chuckles, again, it’s clear she isn’t happy at all. “Anyways, I have to go now. Bye.” 

She gets up and walks away before you can even say anything, as if this conversation was being unbearable for her.

Meanwhile, you just sit there. Frozen. Breathless.

He said things wouldn’t go further than this.

Your throat feels very dry out of sudden. Very, very dry and coarse, as if you’ve eaten sand. 

Because…

You take the water bottle from over the table and drink it in one big, big gulp, until the bottle is empty and your shaking fingers crushed the fragile pet bottle.

He already had feelings for someone else.

You get up and take the tray so fast that you almost drop everything.

Your movements are fast as you walk out of the busy dining hall, your heart beating loudly on your ribcage, your breathing irregular and your mind working at 200 km/h.

He already had feelings for someone else.

He told Joy this. He dropped her home and told her the truth. He apologized. He… he said he already had feelings for someone else. Jesus Christ. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

He- He-

He might be talking about Yeri, a little, hesitant voice inside your mind whispers. Well… sure. You’ve been suspecting it for a good while. But… after Jungkook dropped Joy home and said this he-

He went to your apartment.

He went to you.

You feel the need to stop walking and lean on the corridor’s wall. The world around you is blurred.

What is this feeling bubbling up in your chest? A feeling so strong that it’s almost spilling over? This thing that makes you open the widest smile you ever opened and makes you want to jump around the corridor like crazy?

He came to me. He came to me. He came to me. He came to me.

He came to me!

But-

But there’s still the Yeri possibility. 

You need to know the truth. To hear him say it, and you can’t wait another day - not anymore.

You take your phone from your bag and type with shaking fingers.

[you]: hey

[you]: can we meet today?

[you]: i really need to talk to you

Jeon Jungkook is a simp. 

He doesn’t like this word. He thinks it’s annoying how people would call a guy a simp just because he’s treating a girl with minimal decency. 

But, like. He’s a simp. He knows he is. He took a long time to admit this, but lately his pride has been already so crushed and stepped on by a particular pair of feet that he can’t even bring himself to feel anything anymore.

Actually, no. He has been feeling like shit for a long time. It’s just the alcohol anesthetizing him right now.

That’s just his second bottle of beer and he already feels kind of dizzy. It’s been a while since he last drank alcohol, that’s probably why his resistance feels weak. He makes a mental reminder to not drink too much. Jungkook knows that he gets really talkative when he’s drunk and he always ends up saying stuff he shouldn’t - and today especially he can’t end up saying stuff he shouldn’t with that guy around.

If he knew Taehyung would be here too, Jungkook wouldn’t have come. Yes, he knows he’s being childish. He knows he’s angry at someone that didn’t do anything wrong, he knows that jealousy is bad, he knows that technically he is wrong because he’s been dicking down the girl that he knew his friend liked. He knows all that, alright?!

Jungkook throws his head back and sighs, passing his hand through his hair. A chilling night breeze touches his cheeks; since the inside of the bar was already full and they were too many, everyone decided to sit on the outside part of the bar. Jungkook hasn’t been paying attention to anything anyone around him was saying and neither was he interested. He thought that coming here would make him forget about the things that have been troubling him, but in the end he’s just thinking more about them.

I could excuse myself and go home. He thought. I have a lot of things to do anyway. I wouldn’t be lying.

He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and looks at Jimin, sitting on a chair by his side. The look on Jimin’s face already says everything. Jungkook sometimes thinks that Jimin has telepathic superpowers; how does he always know what’s going on before anyone even says anything?

“You alright?” Jimin asks in a low tone, careful not to call anyone’s attention. The younger one nods.

“Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook reassures. 

Taehyung laughs loudly from across the table and both of them end up looking at him. Jimin looks back at Jungkook. 

Jimin sighs. “You know you can go home if you want to.”

“Yeah.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

Jungkook looks at Jimin and sips a bit more of the beer slowly.

“Yeah.”

Jimin smacks his shoulder and goes back to his previous conversation with Hoseok.

How Jimin always seems to know what’s going on… it annoys Jungkook a lot. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. It’s not like Jungkook told him about his feelings, Jimin just… realized. They were doing grocery shopping one day and Jungkook mentioned how last time he went to Walmart you told him that the diarrhea he had wasn’t because he was lactose intolerant but because the yogurt was expired and then Jimin turned around and simply said:

“You like her, right?”

And Jungkook gasped.

Jimin smirked knowingly and just kept pushing the cart. He said nothing else - but it was as if Jungkook had just confessed his deepest feelings right there.

This happened a little bit after Jungkook and Yeri broke up and kind of made him feel offended. How could Jimin say he liked you? He hadn’t even gotten over Yeri, Jimin knew very well. However, it seems that Jimin is not only a telepath, he can also see the future, because he couldn’t be more right.

If Jungkook’s being honest with himself, some months ago he wasn’t really really sure about what he felt about you. As the “Yeri” scar started to heal he got more aware of his own feelings and actions towards you, but it was hard to sort things out because he was always in denial. That desire to hold you close and hug you and take care of you and not let anyone hurt you anymore? Well, that was just his protective side. You have always been one of his dearest people. Jungkook also knew that he had a little possessive side. He was sure that this feeling would eventually vanish.

Maybe he was also frightened because he knew it wasn’t reciprocal. You never even looked at him in a way that might mean you felt something else for him. He wasn’t going to confess something he wasn’t sure of to someone that definitely didn’t feel anything for him and destroy a life-long friendship.

But oh boy, how things have changed.

They changed the moment you hopped on his lap that night inside his car. Jesus, that first week was hell for Jungkook. He was trying so, so hard to forget the messy drunken memories of his night with you - especially because, the moment he woke up and saw the pure face of terror on your face when you realized what just happened, he thought of how much you regretted that and all of his hopes died right there - the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than friends.

Yet, he got to taste you again. Two times were all it took to get him addicted.

He couldn’t stop anymore - and it hurt him much more than he would like to admit. He felt that he was being used, even though he let you do it (and he enjoyed it every time, not gonna lie). He felt worthless, he felt angry at himself because he couldn’t stop and because you were so, so fucking stupid, so fucking blind, he felt sad because he watched as your friendship started to slowly die down, and now he feels jealous and guilty because he’s been seeing how Taehyung likes you - how Taehyung even asked him advice to ask you out - and he didn’t stop fucking you anyway.

That day at Joy’s house? It was ridiculous. Jungkook still doesn’t understand what the fuck happened to him, why he felt so angry. Perhaps he was finally getting tired of how dumb you are, how you can’t see what’s right in front of your face. 

Just thinking about you hurts now. And Jungkook thinks about you a lot. There he is, surrounded by his friends, where he should be talking and having fun, but he’s too busy thinking about you. In two days he’ll start working for Mr. Choi, his first real job. He should be thinking about it. Not about you.

He can’t stop thinking about your flustered face.

You don’t look flustered that often. Especially not around him. 

He thinks this is very intriguing.

What hurt him the most in all this - the thing that made him feel like a piece of shit more than anything - is that he knows you too damn well and he knew that it was never special to you. To you it was just sex, it was just fun; whenever your lips touched you never felt like you were being swept off your feet like he did, whenever you touched him you didn’t feel like just then, in that moment, everything was right - as if the Universe was only created for that specific moment to happen, as if the Universe was expectantly waiting for the moment his fingers ran on your skin freely since the very beginning.

He never felt like this with anyone else. No other pussy has ever made him feel this poetic. 

The fact that Jungkook knew you didn’t feel the same was exactly why he couldn’t stop; this would be the closest he’d ever be from you in that sense - and honestly, after he tasted you, he didn’t want to go back to stage one. You were like a drug. You brought him comfort, you brought him bliss. Having sex with you became somehow of a escapist method. But, just like every drug, you started to make him feel sick… so sick that he couldn’t stand to be around you when you weren’t fucking. 

He drifted away.

God, he even stupidly tried to move on, but Joy was a foolish try. Jungkook felt bad for using her like this - even though he never even kissed her, he felt that he was fooling her anyway. Going on that date with Joy made everything worse, because he was with that gorgeous, intelligent and lovely girl, but he couldn’t feel anything but fucking empty.

He also realized that you couldn’t be his drug anymore. You deserved much more than that. That’s why he drove all the way to your apartment like a magnet. He preferred to go back to stage one if necessary, if it meant that he could be around you without feeling like a worthless piece of shit anymore.

Of course - things didn’t work out that way.

But that morning- it was different.

Jungkook has to sip more of his beer just thinking about it.

It was different.

It was… quiet, very quiet. Much more quieter than he was used to. And much closer than he ever remembered. 

All the times he had sex with you - his body was being pleased, but his soul felt hurt. This time, though, he felt that his whole self was being healed. You didn’t feel like a drug. You felt like a cure.

As if you were connected in somehow of a deeper way.

As if this time, it wasn’t one-sided on his part.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about it. His pessimistic side tried to convince him that he was being delusional or dramatic (he has this tendency to overthink anyways) and maybe he was, but, again… you don’t usually act flustered, especially not around him. And you’ve been looking flustered around him for quite some now, even before that morning. Sure, your friendship became uncomfortable at some point and he realized that none of you knew how to act around each other anymore, but still… 

What about that time you saw a picture of Yeri on his computer?

You looked very, very awkward.

Or how you sometimes seemed bothered when Joy was around. You teased him a lot at that pool party. Jungkook knew you could get kinda kinky sometimes (he knew you liked the thrill of possibly being caught), but that felt like too much even for you.

His pessimistic side once again tried to convince him that he was seeing things. You wouldn’t be acting jealous. You were never jealous of him with any girl. Never. You even encouraged him to be with Joy, right?

What if… what if maybe, just maybe…?

Stop getting your hopes too high, his pessimistic side scolded. You look stupid.

I’ve been looking stupid for a goddamn long time, Jungkook thinks back. His pessimistic side looks back at him with disdain.

Jungkook frowns and looks at the bottle of beer on his hand. This is just regular beer, right? He surely isn’t so drunk that he’s already arguing with himself.

I should probably go home.

Or…

He could go to your home.

You wanted to talk to him earlier today. You looked very hesitant - again, very uncharacteristic of you. It felt like it was something important. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if he knocked on your door unannounced - wait, you never cared. At least when your relationship didn’t involve rough sex. I mean- you didn’t mind not even when you started fucking, to be honest.

Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve never felt nervous over such a stupid thing. I mean, she’s the same dumbass I’ve known my whole life.

You’re probably home doing nothing. That’s also very uncharacteristic of you. Normal you would be at some club or party right now, celebrating the end of the semester. Normal you would probably have tried to drag him along. Or you’d meet some time during the night when you’re both too drunk to be standing and then you’d end up at 5am at the usual Burger King because you’re both hungry, and the Burger King employees would be staring at you both with anger and disgust because you’re both laughing like stupid and talking too loud and they’ve been up all night and can’t stand two drunk costumers this early in the morning.

It sounds nice.

Jungkook remembers that Seulgi and Irene made up, which means that Seulgi most definitely isn’t home.

Which means you positively are home alone.

Home alone, huh.

Jungkook sips more beer. 

This sounds nicer.

But, hey, it’s not like he’s being dirty minded (well, at least not entirely). He really wants to know what you wanted to talk about - and suddenly, he doesn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow. Maybe it’s the alcohol (maybe he really shouldn’t finish this beer), but he wants to see your face a lot right now. Your flustered face. And he kinda feels like holding your face with both hands and kissing you very slowly. And he kinda feels like going very very deep inside of-

You know what? Fuck it.

Jungkook puts the bottle over the table and is ready to get up. His excuse is ready. Nobody’s gonna think it’s strange anyway - Jungkook has actual stuff to do.

But he doesn’t have the chance to move when he notices a person approaching the tables where he’s sat.

He freezes.

It’s you.

You’re looking down at your phone before you lift your head and see the group of familiar faces a few meters away from you. You’re alone.

Jungkook’s heart starts to beat furiously inside his chest. A smile unconsciously increases on his lips. What are you doing here? He didn’t know you’d come. He’s also sure that he didn’t tell you which bar he would come to earlier today. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as a hundred ideas run on his mind in those few seconds; did you feel the need to see him as much as he wanted to see you? Did you have the same idea as him? Were you so eager to see him that you couldn’t wait until tomorrow-?

Your eyes finally cross his.

That’s when Jungkook notices something isn’t right.

You look surprised, then a second later you frown, then you slowly widen your eyes.

He knows you too damn well.

You didn’t know he’d be there, too. You’re surprised to see him. And it looks… it looks like you didn’t want to see Jungkook there.

“Y/N!”

A loud, excited, familiar male voice bursts out.

Jungkook watches frozen in place as Taehyung gets up in a swift movement, holds your face with both hands and kisses you.

Taehyung’s lips are warm against yours. They taste like toothpaste and beer.

The kiss is very brief. Taehyung breaks it alway soon, but still holds your face with his hands. He’s smiling widely.

“You're late, missy!" He says happily.

You're frozen in place.

This isn't happening. 

"I-" you stutter. It seems that your brain went into complete malfunction. "I, uhm…"

Your eyes travel back to Jungkook.

He's just watching. Not moving a muscle. No.

No no no no no no.

This can't be happening.

Jungkook wasn't supposed to be here. You thought- you thought he was going to celebrate with his classmates, you didn't expect Taehyung would be here too. No, no. Just no. 

You see the exact moment his features get as hard as stone. The way he clenches his jaw tight.

You can't breathe.

When you texted Taehyung earlier, you didn’t really like that he told you to meet him at a bar. A bar wasn’t the right place to have this type of conversation - you also felt bad that you’d probably ruin his end-of-semester celebrations - but you agreed anyway because you desperately needed to make things clear with Taehyung before you had that talk with Jungkook. You decided to do this because Jungkook was honest and fair with Joy; you needed to do the same. You left the worst of the impressions when you let Taehyung kiss you that day. You needed to tell him the truth, or else he’d just suffer more - and you couldn’t be a bitch enough to just dump him by text.

But fuck -  you didn’t expect Taehyung would fucking kiss you in front of everyone the moment he saw you!

With the corner of your eye, you see Jimin looking from you to Taehyung to Jungkook very fast, his face going pale as he realizes what just happened. No one else notices that something’s wrong.

Jungkook breaks eye contact with you and gets up from his chair. Jimin looks at him, helpless. You know that expression. He’s angry and- and-

Hurt.

You step away from Taehyung, trying to get control over your body again. It feels like pure frost has filled your veins. “T-Taehyung, I…” Your mouth is very dry again. You clear your throat. “C-Can we talk somewhere else?”

You suddenly hate how oblivious Taehyung is and how touchy he is because it’s clear that he’s moving his arm to hold your hand. What the fuck?! We just kissed once, it’s not like we’re dating!

“Sure. Do you wanna get inside? Wanna get a drink?” He asks with the same happy smile. 

You’re trying to think of something to say, but again, someone else behind him gets your attention.

“You’re going this early, Jungkook?” Hoseok whines, oblivious to the whole situation. Jungkook is putting his backpack over his shoulder. He’s looking down, jaw still very tight. Not a word said - yet you could see exactly how hurt he was. 

“Yeah. I have a lot to do.” He simply says. 

“Aw, come on, man!” Taehyung encourages. “You can stay a little longer!”

If Taehyung was a little less oblivious, he would have noticed the death glare sent in his direction.

“I can’t.”

A shiver crawls over your entire body as the death glare is now directed to you. 

He’s so, so hurt.

Jungkook’s walking away.

Stop! You want to scream. You got it all wrong! Don’t go!

But you don’t have the chance to stop him, and Jungkook doesn’t have the chance to walk away, and Taehyung doesn’t have the chance to understand what’s going on.

Everyone turns their heads when they hear a boisterous, scandalous laughter, and the sound of someone clapping their hands dramatically.

Now you’re sure that your veins are frosted. You shiver again - yet this time, it’s pure fear.

It’s Mike.

A very, very drunk Mike.

He looks the worst you’ve ever seen him; his clothes are a mess, his hair has grown a lot, and he hasn’t been shaving lately. His eyes are widened, red and maniac. He stumbles as he walks closer, everyone on the table - and the people on the tables around - stopping to look as he still claps ironically.

“Oh, look at what we have here!” he’s loud. Very loud. “So interesting!”

You notice that Jungkook isn’t walking away anymore - in fact, he comes back a few steps, standing closer to you. His body language has changed. Jimin has also gotten up; it seems that Taehyung might be starting to understand what’s going on.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve seen in a looooong time,” Mike continues. God, he’s drooling. This isn’t happening. That’s not possible.

You watch as some guys come closer to Mike and recognize them as his friends. One of them holds Mike’s arm. “Come on, man. Don’t start a scene. It’s not worth it.” He says in a rather low voice, but you can still hear it.

Mike gets off his grip aggressively. “What do you mean? Of course it’s worth it!” Mike looks at you and grins like a madman. You feel another shiver run down your spine. “Hello, Y/N! It’s been a long time! How have you been?!”

“Your friend’s right.” Jungkook speaks up. “Get out of here.”

“Ooooooh,” Mike shakes his hands as if pretending to be scared. “Look who’s here, too! It’s the bestie! Jeon Jungkook, the best friend your girlfriend could ever have!”

Pretty much everyone on the outside part of the bar is paying attention to what’s going on. They whisper between themselves, looking at Mike, you and Jungkook. You feel so embarrassed that you might as well faint. You feel that you should have said something already, but your brain is still malfunctioning. 

“Jeon Jungkook, the friend that will want to fuck your girl so bad, but he won’t because he’s a coward!” Mike screams and laughs like a maniac.

Jungkook steps up closer to Mike in a brusque movement, but Jimin’s fast enough to hold him back. At this point, all of his friends have already gotten up from the table, wanting to stop Jungkook from doing anything.

“Shut up, Mike! Let’s go!” Mike’s friends try to stop him as well, trying to drag him away, but even though he’s drunk, he’s still strong enough to stay in place.

“You think I didn’t know, huh, Jungkookie? You think I didn’t know that whenever I was balls deep inside of Y/N you wish it was you? You always wanted to make her scream like a bitch the way I did!”

At this moment, the fear and shame are overwhelmed by anger. Without realizing, you are the one stepping closer, you are the person who Taehyung has to grab the arm in order to stop. “Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!” You hear yourself yelling.

People on the tables around have gotten up - the noise of many chairs scraping the floor getting louder than the worried voices of the people trying to get away from this mess. You hear someone - a guard from the bar, maybe - threatening to call the police, but you can’t pay attention to him.

“Oh, but that’s exactly what you are! A whore!” Mike yells back. “You got so sad that I cheated on you, but haven’t you been doing the same to me?! You think I didn’t see you two inside the car that night?!”

That night… in the car…

Did he... ?

You freeze again when you see Mike pointing at Taehyung. 

“Hm, you’re Taehyung, right? Are you dating her now? Well, be aware of her best friend right here, unless you like sharing your girl! But Jungkook likes leftovers, right, Jungk-?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin isn’t strong enough to stop Jungkook from jumping over and landing a punch on Mike’s nose.

There’s yelling and the sound of tables turning as a whole lot of men try to stop the fight and glasses breaking and Jungkook screaming incomprehensible things as he holds Mike’s collar and punches once, twice, three times, and then Mike’s mouth and nose are bleeding, and Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are trying to get Jungkook off Mike but it seems that not even the three would be enough to stop him.

You’ve never seen Jungkook so mad. It scares you because Mike is too drunk and can’t defend himself - but you’re not scared for Mike, that fucker can die -, you’re scared of what might happen to Jungkook.

So, when Jimin and the others drag Jungkook away as he still tries to free himself violently, you somehow squeeze yourself between them to hold Jungkook’s arm.

“Jungkook, stop!”

The black-haired man looks at you, his eyes red with rage in a way you’ve never seen before. 

You didn’t notice that, in your despair, your eyes filled with tears. This is probably what makes Jungkook stop for a moment.

“Enough! I called the police! Everyone out of the bar!”

A siren can be heard from far.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Jimin yells.

Another mess as everyone grabs their things and to try and run out of the bar - even the people that weren’t involved. You see that Mike hasn’t fainted as his friends grab him out of the bar in a rush.

Jungkook has to get out of here, it’s the only thing on your mind. Jungkook thinks the same apparently, because he’s quick to take his bag from the floor and jump over the bar’s fence to the sidewalk. You assumed that he didn’t drive his way here because he knew he would drink - which means he had to run.

Your only instinct is to follow him. 

You jump over the fence too, much more clumsily than him. Jungkook is already running down the street. 

As you’re about to follow him, you hear someone call your name.

It’s Taehyung.

He’s standing on the sidewalk as customers run out of the bar. And the look on his face crushes your heart.

I am the worst person in the world.

“Y/N, what he said… is it- is it true?” He asks quietly.

You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing coherent comes out of it. The guilt rushes with adrenaline through your veins. You knew he would be hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t.

“I-I’m sorry, Taehyung,” is the only thing you can stutter.

You don’t see what face he makes next - both because you can’t take it, and because you’re already turning around and running down the street after Jungkook.

Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.

You can’t let him go away like this.

You run through the busy streets full of bars. As usual, they’re crowded with people. Some of them look at you running like crazy when you pass by, but you can’t stop running because you can still hear the sirens.

Jungkook has some damn long legs. He runs much faster than you and doesn’t even look back. You can barely breathe and your stomach hurts as you unsuccessfully try to catch up to him. You keep running and running and running until you’re on less busier streets, until the bars are left behind and now you’re on a more residential part of the neighbourhood. As Jungkook crosses an almost empty square, you decided that your body can’t take it anymore. You stop gradually, feeling your entire body scream in pain.

“Jungk- Jungkook!” you yell. 

The black-haired man finally looks behind his back and sees you; he widens his eyes in surprise and stops. 

“Why are you-?”

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as the sound of the sirens get closer. You immediately start to run again and this time - instead of running in front of you - Jungkook waits until you get closer to grab your hand, forcing you to run faster. You two cross the square and run into a stair alley with houses on both sides. It’s quiet here. Jungkook crouches down behind a big trash bin, making you crouch down as well.

You both make as much silence as possible (considering you’re both panting heavily), both sweating, and wait until the sounds and lights of the police siren go away.

After maybe five minutes Jungkook gets up again, dropping his backpack on the floor. He cleans the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt; you rest your hands on your legs, trying to recover your breath. Your stomach hurts as if it has been stabbed. Maybe I should start working out.

You notice that Jungkook’s right hand is hurt; his knuckles are swollen and bleeding a little. He frowns in pain as he analyzes it. “You- you’re hurt.” you stupidly stutter. Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He says in a low voice. “I said I would beat him up if I saw him…”

Out of instinct you step closer to him, worried, and lift your hands to hold his swollen one.

But Jungkook steps back before you can even touch him. He literally flinched away from you.

It feels like an arrow has just buried itself in your heart.

He’s not looking at you.

“Jungkook-”

“No.” He shakes his head again. He’s breathing heavily as if trying to calm himself down. “Don’t… don’t say anything. Please.”

It’s getting so difficult to breathe. Jungkook puts his hands on each side of his waist, staring at something on the floor - clearly avoiding your pleading gaze.

“But Jungkook, I… you didn’t…” why the hell can’t you speak a coherent sentence anymore? That’s why you followed him all the way. You must make things clear, but seeing his face right now makes you hesitate. Jungkook looks genuinely angry; you’ve never seen him like this, ever.

He throws his head back, looking at the sky, and lets a very dry chuckle past his lips. His expression tells you everything you need to know - he’s tipsy, not entirely drunk.

“You know, I don’t even understand why I’m angry.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to himself. “There was never anything real happening, right? We were never real.”

You feel yourself choking on your own words. What does he mean?

“Jungkook, you have to listen to me. I just wanted to talk to Taehyung-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Y/N!” He interrupts and finally gazes you back with bloodshot eyes. “We’re fuck buddies, right? It’s just for fun, right? No real feelings involved. It’s not like we’re supposed to care.”

Tears start to make your sight blurred. Each word of his sound more and more bitter, more sad, more hurt, and it feels like someone has buried the arrow in your heart deeper when you realize that his eyes are getting teary, too.

“Stop saying that. You know it’s not true. You’re the person I care about the most in this world-”

“If you start saying how I’m your best friend I’m leaving you right now.”

You frown and blink, trying to dissipate the tears. “B-But it’s true-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! I’m in love with you! Stop acting like you don’t know that already!”

It feels like your brain and your limbs and your lungs stopped working all at once.

Did he… did he just…?

Jungkook exhales heavily. He looks so tired. He rests his back against the wall in front of you, once again avoiding your gaze.

Something tells you that this should have been a happy moment. Deep down, you feel the pure bliss and excitement and it feels like your heart will combust - because you finally heard the words you wanted to hear the most coming directly from his mouth, you finally understood everything; he felt the same, the fucking same.

Yet, all the happiness is being overwhelmed by worry.

You’re watching him intently. You know the man in front of you better than you know yourself. You’ve never seen this expression before - this mix of anger and hurt have never been directed towards you. You’re scared because you don’t know what it implies.

It’s his breaking point.

He might be giving up on you right now.

You don’t know what to say. For a long moment, you just stare at him as he tries to calm himself down - always avoiding your gaze. It seems that words won’t come out of your mouth no matter how hard you try.

“Since when?” is the only thing you can whisper after a long time.

Jungkook shakes his head and lets yet another lifeless chuckle. “I don’t know.” He says in a low, broken voice.

Your fingers are shaking as you close your hands in tight fists. He needs to hear the truth.

“Jungkook.” Yet again, you hesitantly step closer. Your voice is fragile, pleading. “You got it all wrong. Please, you have to listen to me. Today, I-”

“Yeah, I know I got it all wrong from the start.” He interrupts you again. Shut up!, you want to scream. Let me fucking speak!

However, you can’t speak anymore when you notice the tears dripping down his face.

Jungkook is crying.

It’s your fault.

He passes both hands over his face as quickly as the first tears started to fall and sighs heavily. He takes his bag from the floor and shoves it over his shoulder again, turning around before you can see his face again, before you have the chance to say anything.

“I’m going home. You should go home, too.”

And he starts to walk down the stairs way too fast.

Your body is moving before your mind registers and you try to catch up to him. “Jungkook, wait-”

“Don’t.”

Is the only thing he says without looking back.

This makes you stop.

You watch, frozen in place, as he walks down the stairs. You keep your eyes on him as he crosses the empty square again. He’s almost running.

He wants to get away from you as soon as possible.

You know Jungkook too well. You know that, even if you followed him, even if you insisted, he wouldn’t want to hear you anyway. He’d probably despise you even more. This is what made you freeze.

You suddenly feel your legs get weak and sit down on the stair steps. Not only your legs, actually. All of your limbs feel heavy. 

You don’t remember the last time you cried like this. The unstoppable tears just coming and coming and the sobs barely let you breathe. 

You’re crying because you’re ashamed of what just happened at the bar - how Mike made you feel humiliated in front of all those people. You’re guilty because you weren’t honest with Taehyung and now there’s no way back - you let him believe in whatever he wanted to believe instead of making things clear, and now he’s hurt.

And the worst of all.

You’ve been hurting Jungkook so bad for so long without realizing. You hurt the person you cared about the most. 

All of it is your fault.

God, it hurts so much.

You know Jungkook too well. He’s the person that has been always there with you for better or for worse. You always knew you’d have each other’s backs no matter what happens; he’s a part of you, the most important, most precious part of you.

This time, you genuinely don’t know what will happen from now on.

This time... you don’t know if Jungkook will ever forgive you.

#btswriterscollective #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios

[disasterofastory]

Christian Girl Part 1 (Halfdan x Reader)

Christian Girl Part 1 Halfdan x Reader Warning: Halfdan is alive

After the battle with Ivar and Harald, the others go to Wessex, where Halfdan meets a servant.

The journey was long and tiresome. After the battle for Kattegat, they had to leave quickly, before Ivar found them. Heahmund promised protection and help, and they hadn’t had a better option. Not with Ivar on their heels. How could this happen? Nobody knew.

The heathens' arrival spread like wildfire through the castle. Alfred gave them a few servants, and you are one of the servant girls. They said you need to help them and keep an eye out if they lied and came to harm the King.

You saw them first when they talked with the King about their stay. They didn’t seem so bad, they didn’t look like devils or wild animals like you heard. The women were beautiful, and the men were tall and strong. They looked like they could destroy a village.

”Who should I help?” you ask one of your friends.

Your day is hectic because of the Vikings. You can't even remember when was the last time you had a chance to sit down for a few minutes. 

”The blonde one,” she answers, but you don’t feel smarter. Almost all of them are blonde. ”The man with ink on his face,” she continues when she sees your confusion.

The said man choose this moment to stand next to you with a smirk.

”I think that would be me,” he says.

Oh.

He saw you when you came to the throne room while they spoke to the King. He almost missed you hiding behind the pillars.

He knows he has to behave. He can’t throw you on his shoulder, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have some fun with you. He can see the awe and a slight panic in your eyes when you look at him.

”Oh-okay,” you say after a few silent seconds. Your friend left you the moment he stepped next to you. ”I will show you your room. You can lay down to rest while I prepare a bath for you.”

”It would be more relaxing if you would lay next to me,” he smirks.

You don’t say anything, but your flushed face answers enough. You start walking to the chambers, and he follows you, and it’s worse than if he would walk next to you because you feel his eyes on your body the whole time.

The room you prepared is quite nice. There is a huge bed with lots of blankets, and the view overlooks the forest behind the castle. You are sure it’s beautiful in the mornings.

”If you need something, tell me, and I will try to help,” you say. ”I will fetch you when the bath is ready.”

”So you really won’t stay with me?” he asks.

”I-I have things to do,” you reply. You could hit yourself after your answer. It sounds like if the only reason you don’t join the Viking because you have chores to do.

The bath chamber is hot when you go back with Halfdan behind you. The moment you feel your clothes stick to your body because of the humid air, you know you have to get out as soon as possible. You stand before the entrance, ready to escape at any moment. You know the Viking can’t harm you, Alfred’s men are everywhere, but you mostly worry about what you want to do with the man. Halfdan seems to know your inner battle because he starts to undress with a sly smirk on his bearded face.

”Do you want to join, or you still have things to do?” he asks.

You need all your power in your body not to stare at him, but it’s useless. His pale white skin is tattooed, his muscles stretch as he moves. You stare at the floor when you see he starts to take off his pants, and you don’t look up till he gets in the water.

”I-I can’t,” you reply breathlessly.

”But do you want to?” he tries. It’s fun for him to see you so stressed while you try to do the right thing.

”I can’t,” you answer again. You have no idea why this stranger attracts you so much. You should be ashamed of yourself. This man goes against your every belief.

”Sit,” he orders you without a heartbeat pointing to one of the chairs facing him. You can’t find the strength in yourself to argue.

The water reaches almost to his shoulders, so you feel safe to look.

”Tell me one thing you want to do, but you can’t.”

Sitting before him while he is naked, you have a lot of things in your mind, but you stay silent. How can you call yourself Christian with these thoughts? 

”Oh, come on! I’m sure you have dreams. You want to spend your life like this?” he argues. ”I tell you one of my desires if you tell me one of yours,” he bargains when you don’t answer.

”I… want to learn to fight,” you say the first thing that comes to your mind. The moment you saw the Viking women, you were jealous. They can protect themself, they can kill without a second thought. ”A-and I want to see the world,” your voice is a whisper. You are truly afraid if you say it louder the God will punish you. You are a woman. You have to get married and have kids. This is your duty.

Halfdan's chuckle wakes you up from your thoughts, his smile is devilish. You feel like you can burn yourself at any minute.

”W-what you desire?” you ask him timidly.

”Well… there is a lot of things I want from life. Right now what I desire is you,” he smirks, and you try not to choke on your salvia. He doesn’t play fair.

”See? We can’t get everything we want,” you reply hoping, he doesn’t get angry. But no. He just laughs and leans forward to wash his hair. You take the opportunity to snake out of the room before he starts to wash his other parts.

You help in the kitchen to prepare a small feast for the King and the Vikings. The others take the plates while you follow them with a pitcher. They are already sitting there when you arrive. They look much cleaner after a bath, but you don’t have time to stare at them too long. You have to keep the drinks coming while they talk. You feel Halfdan's stare on you the whole time, but whenever you glance at him he just smiles down on his plate.

When you go back to your room, you feel like the morning was years ago. You are tired, and your soul is heavy with sins.

#vikings imagine #halfdan x reader #halfdan the black x reader #halfdan imagine #vikings x reader

[afictionalwhore]

Little Miss Perfect

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A/N: I have so many plans for this bad boy that’s been sitting in the back of my mind for a hot minute now after a conversation with @jadequeen88. Thank you bby for reading over this!

T/W: dubcon/noncon; religious references and religious guilt; cheating

4.5K words

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There wasn't much at all in your little town in the middle of Nowheresville: population just over 300. The nearest Walmart was at least a twenty minute drive over to the next town, but you had a Dollar General Market to do your weekly grocery shopping. There was a school that ran from pre-k all the way up to high school, where you graduated from with a senior class consisting of a grand total of sixteen. The Dairy Queen down the road from your high school did best in the region, thanks to bored, local high schoolers on Friday nights. Your town also boasted the birthplace of the state's governor years ago, but no one remembered him, having three other governors since his last term. Despite the dullness of everyday life, you were happy. You had grown up best friends and high school sweethearts with the most respected boy in town: Natsuo Todoroki.

Of course, your quaint little town also had a church, as any well-to-do Southern town would. The church was like any other Southern Baptist affair, pristine, white, and much too large for such a small town. A long hallway behind the sanctuary led to a few classrooms, a choir practice room, and a stairwell to the basement. In the basement were the kitchens, a few more classrooms, and a large empty room where church events were held that doubled as the town’s community center. This was where bingo nights for the elderly members of the community were held, and the occasional baby shower or wedding reception could be held there. Pastored by Enji Todoroki, or Brother Enji as the town lovingly referred to him, the church congregation contained essentially the entire population of your small town. Even the local alcoholic your town was very hush about would make his way to Christmas and Easter services. 

Being Natsuo's sweetheart, volunteering at the church was naturally what kept your what would otherwise be boring life busy. There was always something to be done, be it a simple cleaning of the sanctuary or helping cook for the elderly's monthly bingo nights. Not only were you Natsuo's sweetheart, but you were the town's darling, working dutifully every Sunday by Natsuo's side with the church's children. You were a natural, studying early childhood education at a small, private Christian-based university just a few hours away where Natsuo had earned his pastoral ministries degree, aiming to take over the congregation when his father retired. The old ladies of the community constantly hounded you about when you and Natsuo would get married and give the church a baby to dote on. 

"After I graduate," you would say with a smile, dusting your flour-covered hands off on the aging pink apron that had to be from the 1950s before setting a timer for the hawaiian roll sliders in the ancient oven in the church’s basement kitchen. “I want to work a little, give back to the community before becoming a full time mom.” 

This was the only thing you dared fight Brother Enji on. Natsuo, two years your senior, had already been graduated for a year, and Enji had been adamant that you go ahead and marry after he had graduated, as eager as the old women that whispered to each other during bingo nights for you two to continue the Todoroki line. 

But you would not falter, stating that while you had every intention to marry Natsuo and sign your life off as a Todoroki, the least Enji could allow you was your education. You had dreamed since childhood of teaching at the school where you and Natsuo attended elementary together. You loved children, giving your all to the church children you worked with multiple times a week, but you were not at all ready for your own. You were just barely twenty-one years old; Natsuo a young and hopeful twenty-three. The thought of having children now scared you and Natsuo both. It scared you more than saying “no” to Enji.

You may not have had the loftiest goals of your small graduating class, but you were sharp and knew that education was not something Enji would take lightly. Surely, Enji wanted an educated woman as his first, and perhaps only, daughter-in-law, seeing as Shouto was likely to move across the country for college and never come back, and Fuyumi had no intentions of marrying. Touya, Enji’s oldest son with piercings and tattoos as numerous as stars in the coal dusted skies and his hair dyed black to match, was another situation entirely. 

Everyone, Touya Todoroki included, believed that he would have left by now. Touya had tried to leave, fleeing to a state university the moment he had graduated from your pitiful high school. Unsurprisingly to you and the rest of the congregation, Touya, with his undeclared major and runaway attitude, had been swept up in the party lifestyle of state school fraternities and quickly failed his way out of college. Brother Enji had been swift to bring him back home, ashamed and embarrassed at the congregation’s whisperings about what Touya had done to the Todoroki name. So here he was, Touya Todoroki, local rebel and stain on an otherwise perfect Christian family, begrudgingly coming to Easter service, listening to his father preach and watch his perfect brother, Natsuo, clean up the mess he had made of the family reputation.

You were there, naturally, front and center and practically glued to Natsuo’s side, in your pretty pink Easter dress. The pastel flowers decorating your dress seemed to float down the modestly lengthed skirt. Touya felt his blood boil, watching perfect little you with his perfect little brother listen intently to whatever biblical nonsense his father spouted off. He stretched, his suit feeling hot and tight, as though he were trying to discreetly scratch an awkward itch. You shifted in your seat, leaning slightly more into Natsuo, blissfully unaware of Touya’s hot gaze from the back row. 

Touya knew the routine, after a brief sermon to the entire congregation, his father would send you and Natsuo off to take the children to children’s church and youth group. You and Natsuo rose from your seats in the pews after Enji's final blessing on the children, your pretty skirt twirling with you as you spun to face the children. Your smile was as bright as a porch light on a Southern summer night, and the children flocked to you like little moths. They clung to your skirt and pulled you towards the door while the older kids trailed behind with Natsuo. Natsuo stood straight, as though he were a shepherd and you were his most beloved lamb. 

Touya made eye contact with his brother as you made your way down the aisle to the back of the sanctuary where he sat with Shoto. Natsuo looked at the older Todoroki with pure disgust and hatred, as though willing the gray ice of his eyes to freeze Touya to death on the spot. Touya broke the stare with his brother only to find that his bright aquamarine eyes met your own round ones just in front of him. Your brief surprise at his presence quickly melted into pity, a sad smile gracing your face, before you were swept out the door by the children.

The anger rose in Touya as you and Natsuo disappeared with the children out the back of the sanctuary. His blood boiled so hotly he felt he may burst into flames in the middle of Easter service. Before he could stop himself, Touya found himself rising from his seat. He needed a smoke, a drink, the floor to open up and swallow him down to hell like his father prayed it would. He just wanted out of the damned sanctuary. Shoto, who was feigning sleep beside Touya, cracked his eyes open to give Touya a quick glance, quirking an eyebrow in a silent question, “where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” Touya hissed. Touya knew Shoto could see straight through the outright lie, both of the youngest Todoroki's eyebrows now raised in further silent interrogation: "really?" Touya dipped his head below the back of the pew in front of them and mimed a cigarette. Shouto shrugged and closed his eyes again. Lucky for Touya, Shoto cared just as much about their father’s godly ramblings as Touya did, perhaps even less. Who would he snitch to that Touya had slipped out of Easter service for a smoke? If Shoto weren’t at least decently scared of their father, he may have even joined Touya.

Touya left the sanctuary and strolled down the hall towards the back entrance of the church, in no immediate rush to get back to his father’s sermon. He had almost made it to the back exit doors when he noticed a flash of pink fabric rustle down the stairwell to this left, accompanied by the graceful pitter-patter of your low heels against the hard stairs that led to the church basement. 

Touya didn’t mean to follow you. He really did mean to go out for a smoke. But he couldn’t help but overhear what was unmistakably your sweet, soft voice comforting who Touya guessed was one of your and Natsuo’s youths, egging him forward to eavesdrop and hoping to catch something he could one day use against you.

You and the girl from youth, a high schooler Touya would have to guess, finally arrived at an abandoned classroom in the basement.

See. There's nothing to worry about,” Touya heard you say. “If you want, I can get rid of it for you. Just go back to Natsuo and the others before they get suspicious.”

“Thank you so so much,” the girl sniffled. "But what about you?"

“Easy,” you laughed. Touya could hear your perfect smile in the gentle laugh. “Just tell them I had to stop by the restroom if they ask about me.”

"I wish I were as perfect as you," the girl said. Touya thought he would vomit.

"Nobody's perfect," you laughed. Touya thought he'd get a headache with how hard he rolled his eyes. How much more cliche can you get?

The loud scraping of the chair against the tile floor signaling that you were leaving broke Touya from his thoughts. Lucky for him, the basement hallway was dark with plenty of shadows for him to jump into as the youth girl made her way back to the stairs to join the rest of the youth. 

You had decided to stay behind for a few moments, examining something in your hands that the high schooler had given to you. When he was sure that the girl had gone back upstairs, Touya left his shadowy hiding place and slipped into the room, slamming the door behind him and clicking the lock.

You jumped up out of your seat at the sound of the door, turning quickly with a rustle of fabric and throwing your arms behind you to hide whatever it was that you were holding.

“Whatcha got there, doll?” He cocked his head to the side, as though his question were from an innocent puppy. The fire in his eyes and the smirking tugging at his face proved he was anything but.

“Oh! Nothing,” you stammered, stepping back into the table behind you as Touya stalked forward towards you.

“You sure about that?" he smirked.

It was as though the chairs parted themselves to make way for Touya.

"Drugs maybe? Ya know, if it’s weed you’re after, you can just come talk to me. I’ve got good connections still and can hook you up better than these high school wannabes. Maybe I could get ya something a little stronger even?”

You blushed at Touya’s insinuation. Your blush grew deeper, a perfect Georgia peach flush, when you realized the closeness between you two. It was the first time you got a good look at Touya. He was handsome, as all the Todoroki boys were, but there was a sharp edge to him. While Natsuo was handsome in the way that a freshly fallen snow is beautiful, Touya’s beauty resembled that of broken glass: dangerously sharp, potentially harmful, yet mesmerizingly beautiful.  

"No, it's nothing like that," you said, lifting yourself up to sit on the table in a pitiful attempt to escape him. His fierce blue eyes staring you down made you uncomfortable at the least. 

Touya didn't notice that he had reached you during his small speech until he was towering over your smaller frame, and you were scrambling to get away. You had to bend your neck back to look up at him. Touya felt a surge of power over you. This was the first time that Touya felt you were actually beneath him. Touya had gotten a taste of dominance over you, and it was something he wanted to savor and make last as long as he could.

Touya wasn’t obsessed with you in the sense that men like him typically obsess over pretty girls like you. Sure, Touya was a man with various unsatisfied needs, and he had thoughts of dreams of kissing you, of fucking you senseless. But his feelings for you went beyond just wanting to fuck you. Touya absolutely hated you and everything you represented. You were the exact opposite of him. You were actually wanted into the family by his father. You were loved by everyone you met. You were perfect, something that Touya could never begin to hope of being.

What Touya felt for you was something he’d never felt for anyone. Touya hated his family just as much if not more than they hated him. He hated your whole godforsaken town as much as they hated him. But you were different. The rage Touya felt towards you paled what he felt for his family or your hometown. He was used to being looked at like he was worthless, less than, a stain on the otherwise spotless community, and he was content with this. But you, with you perfect ways and perfect heart, never looked at him with that disgust, instead your eyes were filled with pity everytime they fell on him. Touya wanted you hurt just as much as he was hurting. He wanted to ruin you and your perfect world, and watch the pity in your eyes turn into a hate that rivaled his own. 

Touya grabbed at your wrist behind you, causing what was in your hands to clatter onto the table and bounce on the floor below you. Keeping you firm in his grasp, Touya looked down to see a pregnancy test on the floor: positive.

“Is that yours?” Touya inquired, his mouth pulled into a sneer that caused your stomach to twist with disgust.

“No,” you flatly replied.

“Okay,” Touya mused, mocking. “So if it’s not yours, then it’s the girl that just left’s?” 

“Why does it matter to you, Touya? Who are you to judge her?”

“I don’t care what the young slut does in her free time. Or should I say, who she does,” Touya laughed more at the discontentment in your face than at his crude joke. “But I know a lot of people who would care. Number one being my dad.”

“Don’t, Touya. Please don’t say anything.”

“Would you let that poor girl shoulder the blame herself?” Touya’s brilliant blue eyes were burning into yours, causing you to freeze like a deer in headlights. “Or would you help take up her cross? Isn’t that what a good little Christian girl is supposed to do? I guess you’re not really a good Christian girl though, what with all the lying and secrets. Does my brother even know about this?”

“No,” you dropped your head to break Touya’s stare. “Nobody but me and you know.”

“What are you going to do to keep it that way?”

“Touya, what do you want from me?” Your voice trembled at the thought of how Touya could wreck your reputation with just the slightest slip of his tongue. “There’s nothing I have that you could want.”

“You have so much I want and you don’t even fucking know it,” Touya growled. 

A feeling of dread rooted in you at the drop of Touya’s voice. You looked back up at Touya with wide doe eyes, blushing under his intense blue gaze. As Touya gripped your smaller wrist in his large hands he realized the one thing he wanted to see in your eyes more than hate—fear. Touya could feel himself growing hard at your fearful expression. 

Touya pushed you down onto the table so your legs dangled awkwardly off the edge and grabbed the fabric of your skirt and lifted up, exposing your white lace panties.

“What are you doing? Touya!” you exclaimed. 

“Oh lace? What a sweet surprise; though I think black would suit you more,” Touya said, ignoring you. 

“What’re you doing? Touya! Stop!”.

“You don’t want me saying anything do you? You said there’s nothing you had that I wanted. Well that’s a lie.” Touya smirked at you while pulling down your panties. “I want to wreck this sweet, perfect pussy. Now just stay still. You’ll feel so good.”

Touya hadn’t meant to take it this far. He had only meant to scare you a bit. But seeing your fearful eyes wet with tears threatening to spill over and ruin your perfect makeup was too much for him to continue holding back. He realized in that moment that his hate for you was just a sad attempt at burying the admiration he held for you at standing up to his father about marrying Natsuo so soon. He wanted to be the one to take you. You were going to be his, not Natsuo’s, but this would be the only chance he would get at having you. Touya wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity.

Touya’s long tongue flicked out against your newly exposed cunt, licking up and down from your tight hole to your sensitive clit, getting you sufficiently wet from your own growing and betraying arousal and his spit. The ball of his piercing rolled against your clit. You jumped with a small yelp and pushed your hips against him to get away, which he mistook as a sign of pleasure.

"Don't hold back, doll. I know you feel good." Touya said. You could feel his smile against your heated flesh.

You didn’t feel good, not at first. His tongue felt slimy and foreign. You weren’t used to being spread open, and your legs felt like they were going to cramp at the angle Touya had you pinned. You felt dirty, especially as you began to relax and enjoy the sensation of Touya’s tongue against you.

As the wet noises from Touya drinking in all you had to offer increased in volume, you found your hips bucking up not in an attempt to push him away but to draw him in more. Touya slipped a finger into you, and you gasped, having never been filled before. You felt like a harlot, but the pleasure Touya was giving you overtook the guilt.

“Touya, please,” you begged, praying for Touya to finish soon, that he would take your pleas as a begging for him to stop. You mostly prayed for forgiveness.

“You close, baby?” Touya asked. You nodded, despite having no idea what you were close to.

Touya inserted another finger, curling them against your wet, gummy walls as his mouth enclosed around your throbbing bud. The sound of your panting and the wet slopping noises coming from between your legs felt too loud. It was all you could hear along with the pounding of your heart.

You felt a twisting in your gut as Touya’s finger quickened their pace. It was like a knot forming deep within you that was threatening to break, stretched too taunt at your tensing muscles. Touya lavished you in sweet praises as he continued eating your dripping pussy, humming against your clit how good you taste.

That was all it took for the knot to break. Touya finally released his grip on your thighs to allow your legs to close tight around his head. Your inner muscles sporadically twitched around Touya’s fingers, attempting to milk him. Your vision grew hazy, and you couldn’t hear anything outside the distant voice of Touya egging you on as you rode out your very first orgasm on his face.

When you had finally come down from your high, you noticed Touya supporting your legs as they trembled around his head.

“Did you feel good?” Touya asked, sickening smirk still plastered on his face.

You only had the energy to nod.

“I guess you aren’t so perfect after all. I mean look at ya, doll, cumming all over your boyfriend’s brother’s face.” Touya chuckled as you turned away, face burning in shame.

How could you face Natsuo? As you turned away from Touya a poster of the Ten Commandments mocked you. You had no hope after breaking the seventh, “Thou shall not commit adultery”. You began to cry at the thought of betraying Natsuo. Even if it wasn’t originally by choice, you were still, in your mind, an adulteress. Never being one to keep your own secrets, you feared that you were also breaking the ninth commandment, “thou shall not bear false witness”, through lie by omission. 

“So is she keeping it or what?”  Touya’s unexpected question brought you out of your self loathing.

“What?” you replied, not understanding what Touya was referring to, brain still foggy from your first orgasm.

“That girl. She keeping the baby? Or is she ya know?” “I don’t know,” you slowly said.

“Would you keep it?” Touya pressed.

“Yes, of course,” you replied in your perfect godly manner, despite just having your boyfriend’s brother’s face buried in your cunt while Easter service continued in the sanctuary above.

“Even if it were mine?” Touya asked, taking you off guard.

“I don’t know what you—“

Before you had time to question him further, Touya had pressed the tip of his cock into you.

“No no. Touya please don’t. Please.” You cried, trying to piece together when he found the time to undo his pants.

You had already given away so much of your body away to Touya and felt yourself growing sick at the thought of Touya taking away what you and Natsuo fought to save for marriage.

“Now I know it’s big, much bigger than my fingers, but you’ll get used to it.” Touya grunted as he pushed himself to the hilt, hips flush against yours. You gasped at how full you felt, and your muscles squeezed around his cock at the larger intrusion, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Hey, hey. Just relax,” Touya said. “Didn’t I just make you feel good?”

You cried, fat tears rolling down your cheeks, as Touya fucked into you, his thick cock hitting every nerve. You clutched at Touya’s arms, nails digging into his tattooed skin as you tried to find purchase. The stretch to accommodate Touya burned and the slap of his skin against yours stung. With each heavy thrust, the head of Touya’s cock knocked on your cervix, as though he were the beloved asking to cum in. 

Eventually the pain subsided into pleasure and your sobs quieted into sniffles before turning into soft moans. Your tears had dried, leaving your makeup remarkably intact.

Touya pressed a hand against your mouth in an attempt to muffle the noises spilling out of you.

"I bet you thought your first time would be perfect, didn't you?" Touya punctuated the thought with a particularly hard thrust that had your body jerking like a ragdoll. “Bet you thought your first time would be with Natsuo. Slow, soft, perfect love making, right?” Another rough thrust that would have thrown you off the small table had it not been for Touya’s other hand holding a fast grip on your hips to keep you pinned 

You answered with a sniffle and moan, and turned your head away from him to hide your tears.

“Well, princess, we don’t have the time for that shit,” Touya laughed, noticing the fat tears threatening to roll down your flushed cheeks and effectively ruin your makeup.

"I may not be perfect, doll, but I'm still pretty good, right?"

You turned your head back to Touya, blushing furiously at the hungry look in his turbulent eyes and hating yourself for how your body had reacted to his touch. The knot in your stomach was forming again, making you desperate for release. Touya laughed as you involuntarily pulsed around him, your body’s traitorous attempt at pulling him in deeper. 

"Just hang on, doll. It'll be over soon." Touya leaned down to trail hungry kisses along your neck and jaw, nipping here and there at the modest amount of exposed flesh on the top half of your body.

You whimpered at how cool Touya’s wet kisses felt against your heated skin. With no real strength in your body, you weakly wrapped your arms around the back of Touya’s neck, desperate for something to hold on to as you and Touya quickly approached your ends.

As his thrusts lost their rhythm and became more desperate, Touya’s hand left your mouth to join its twin at your hips. Touya lifted your hips slightly, giving himself deeper access into you. The new angle had your head spinning and you cried as you felt the knot once again threatening to break.

“Just like that, doll,” Touya chanted as he rolled his hips into yours, pelvic bone hitting against your clit with each roll of his hips. Your warm, wet walls squeezing around him in waves like an earthquake had him toppling over the edge, spilling hot white into you, causing you, in turn, to follow him off that ledge.

Touya laid his heavy body over you, propping himself on his forearms so as not to crush you. You took a moment to regain your breath before reality came crashing down on you.

Touya assaulted you, and you enjoyed it. Touya took away your first time, and you let him. You didn’t fight him back hard enough. You didn’t want to fight him back. You fucked your boyfriend’s brother and loved it.

You started crying, kicking and beating at Touya to push him off of you. 

“Get away from me!” you cried. You sat up painfully straight and clutched at the fabric of your dress at your chest.

Touya chuckled seeing you act like a feral kitten. He tucked himself back in and fixed his pants, acting like nothing had happened. 

“You better hurry up before Natsuo asks where you were. You’re smart I’m sure you’ll come up with some lie, you perfect little sinner.” Touya winked and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before exiting the room to join Shoto back in the sanctuary where their father was sure to be finishing up his sermon, leaving you to sit in confusion at what had just transpired between the two of you. 

You wept.

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#touya x reader #tw dubcon #tw noncon #implied natsuo x reader #mha touya

[mismashedsocks]

 so riordan made a half assed lame excuse on his lazy/racist writing on piper yesterday and on top of that he made another one on samirah and i’m muslim so i am going to talk about it

damn i’m so sorry these people have been pushing you past your comfort zone about your wildly popular racist caricatures of minorities that have great impact on your young, impressionable target audience. while its fine that if he takes a break for his mental health he still needs to deal with these problems you can’t just take a break and hope they go away.

why does he think everyone is bullying him. if they talked in all caps, cussed at you, or didn’t stop bothering you, i’m sorry they’re just trying to get you to realize how racist your books are, which you keep refusing to believe. i can believe that a few of them were doing it for attention, but it couldn’t be the majority. and my god, god forbid people want you to write your books the way you preferred, without racist stereotypes. 🙈

you can set your boundaries but you keep ignoring the people, you don’t listen. like you put yourself out there as a writer you are open to criticism

why does he keep doing this to seem like the good guy. you give excuses and don’t do anything and just say that its up to you, you can think whatever you want 🥰🥰. like its such an obvious excuse not to take any action.

i’m sorry but no matter how many muslims you’ve interacted with you haven’t gotten the full experience and last time i checked teachers aren’t the kids best friends soo uhm. anyways the rest of it is just him telling his experience with muslimah students so its just there.

so uhm you just said your students ‘unwillingly’ become an ambassador to everyone she knew’. and then you went to talk to them about islam to make sure you were TEACHING THEM YOUR SOURCE MATERIAL CORRECTLY. i’m sorry imagine. these are kids not some scholars you go to consult. there are so many muslims all over the internet and youtube sharing their experiences for you to access on how to ‘represent their experience’ correctly. you’re the teacher here. picture this:as a muslilm, i teach at a public school and while teaching about Christianity in class, no i would double check or some dumb shit with the students. like educate yourself i’m sorry. anyways apparently he blames his mistakes on himself then goes on to deny he ever made any mistakes i can’t.

so this is a blatant lie. 99% of muslims i’ve met have never read all of sahih bukhari and sahih muslim. usually only scholars do that when they are studying islam for YEARS. and FIVE different interpretations of the quran on top of that. ok so sahih bukhari is 9 books that are over 300 pages each and sahih musilm is 7 volumes with also about 300+ pages each. and then the english versions of the quran are 600 pages. and he claims he read five of them. i’m so sorry but no he didn’t. he writes books so fast and he released mcga around the time toa was being released almost one book per year so he did not have a lot of spare time. the rest ig i can let slide. also and if he did do all of that why does he make so many mistakes in writing samirah. and even IF you accept his excuses reading ALL of this source material is great for teaching your class or whatever but not for writing a modern day muslim. you don’t need to lie to us rick ❤️

most of this is just describing what she’s like but his writing did also add in the model minority, smart kid trope. like no they don’t have to be a terrorist or a A+ student who is the best at everything. there is a middle ground to their personality. 

i actually used to love his rep in sam. that’s how i got into the series. i saw a hijabi girl on his website. i got excited and read all of his books. i loved piper, leo, hazel, percy, annabeth, sadie, carter, nico, everyone. now that i look back i was younger and didn’t see anything wrong with it back then. its great that he tried to portray minorities but he did it so badly and now is just denying the faults that his now older readers are trying to tell him.

hey, uhm didn’t you read all of sahih bukhari and muslim? hmm i didn’t think so. anyways the way he dealt with it honestly wasn’t that bad. but the whole ‘whoops’. like why does he keep portraying himself as the innocent old white man just trying his best.

honestly how he wrote samirah as a hijabi was the dumbest thing i’ve ever read. its is totally fine if she wasn’t hijabi, many muslim girls aren’t, and that is their choice. but he decided to make her like a weird middle ground. it was so lazy and inconsistent. in the first book she says she wears it when she needs to, like in situations like going to the masjid. this was fine, since many muslim girls do that. then in the next books she wears it all the time except when she’s in valhalla for some reason. hijabi girls take of their scarves when they’re at home or with family, but making her claim the entirety of vallhalla as her family. that was just demeaning and stupid to me. it takes away its value. and i fucking hated that last sentence. for hijabis, their hijab is important and not a toy or weapon or a MAGIC ITEM. and then on top of that she would have to take it of to hide. he could’ve made it anything else. her hijab isn’t some token item istg.

i love how he admits that they are a big problem and abusive and usually engage with child marriages. i’m relatively he doesn’t understand what the people even meant by it. the practice is a problem that isn’t supposed to be seen in a nice light. the only possible way it could be slightly ok is that if ADULTS agree they 100% do not want to choose who they want to get married to and let their parents choose, and both sides agree. samirah was a child and he decided to make her wedding life decided since the age of 12. and it was ok because amir was conventionally attractive and she loved him. WHAT IF SHE DIDNT. this literally is a dangerous arranged marriage. and arranged marriages are not ok, and mostly perpetuated by victims of it who will end up passing it down their family lines. my parents got an arranged marriage and I HAVE NEVER SEEN THEM DISPLAY ANY SIGNS OF AFFECTION. arranged marriages are not a trope that your can turn around to be a quirky personality trait for your characters.

i’m sorry that’s not how arranged marriages work. most likely if she said something her grandparents would have shut her done and continued with the marriage, as that is what you usually happens. do not portray the small amount of consented, ‘happy’ arranged marriages as the majority. it is a huge problem that many desi/middle eastern cultures are trying to erase. even on top of that he writes situations where she’s going to be in trouble for acting up and ‘jeopardizing the marriage agreement’ and that her grandparents think she’s ‘lucky that she could get the fadlan family to agree to marry their son to her’. these statements are often used in forced and dangerous marriages, so don’t try and justify your actions. if you wanted to show traditional customs in a positive light, there are so many richer parts of samirah’s culture you could’ve focused on and you chose arranged marriage. 😻 all you’ve done is given parents and authority figures a westernized resource to justify arranged and forced marriages, especially with the minimal explanation on how the marriage isn’t forced in the actual books. and yes, your books do condone child marriage samirah is clearly deemed into this marriage ever since the young age of 12. she lived her life knowing she would marry amir. no one has only one crush throughout their life. imagine how she would’ve grown up. sorry you only consider opinions that align with those in you mind.

i’m going to be honest i did like that one scene it was written nicely and accurately but the explanation he gives just ruins the entire thing. the way he just if this strikes you as islamophobic, or samirah as a hurtful, uhm no explanation i just disagree 😽. the way you wrote her is a hurtful stereotype sorry you can’t see it.

oops, you did. too bad you don’t want to do anything about it.

why do you think people are painting you in a negative light, so many of your characters are written on hurtful and negative stereotypes. people aren’t painting it that way, you need to calm down w your ego and listen. dang i’m sorry your best is giving half-assed excuses and not actually doing anything. i’m even more sorry people are mad that a highly privileged author that has a lot of influence is done talking about his racist depictions of minorities in his books. 

dang must be lucky to take a break from the social media, imagine what all the minorities you wrote about have to go with everyday weather they are on social media or not. people aren’t bullying you this is valid criticism you refuse to listen to.

fuck you

obviously these are my opinions do not judge every muslim based on what i’ve said come to me if you have a problem with it

anyways support jewish, muslim, black, brown, asian, hispanic, indigenous, lgbtq+, disabled, and other minority authors and creators.

#anti rr #fuck him at this point #samirah al abbas #she deserved so much better #i probably made so many spelling mistakes smh #long post #mcga #rr crit

[elsanna-shenanigans]

February Contest Submission #5: Welcome

words: ca. 3,100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: no warnings apply

<I would like to acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land in which this story was written and shared, and pay my respects to their Elders, past, present, and emerging, for they hold the memories, the traditions, culture, and hopes of all Indigenous Australians. I acknowledge that this land is, and always will be, the land of the Jagera/Yuggera people, and that sovereignty was never ceded.>

*

“A snake made the world?”

Anna inhaled, then exhaled through her nose. Kristoff scratched idly at his stubble while they waited for their coffees to be made, standing around the uni café.

“It’s a mythos, Kris,” she said after a moment. “Just like Christian God, or Allah, or- I dunno. Whatever specific being any other major religion thought made the world.”

“But a snake.”

“Rainbow Serpent, actually. And it’s really interesting, if you bothered to listen.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when their names were called and two coffees placed on the counter. Anna took the chance, moving forward and grabbing her own cup and a few extra sugar packets. By the time Kris had caught up to her, she’d already dumped two into her drink, gently stirring it with a paddle-pop stick.

“I did listen,” he said, clearly intent on continuing the conversation. “And doesn’t the story go that the land and shit already existed but the big snake made mountains and valleys and stuff?”

Taking a sip of her drink, more to waste time than anything, Anna had to concede that he wasn’t wrong, per-se. He was just missing all the nuances of the topic, though!

“Look, I just thought it was cool, is all,” she said once she’d finished the mouthful of, frankly, fairly mediocre coffee. Nice and sweet, though. “Like, out of the seven-hundred-ish tribes– uh. Mobs. Most of them have an origin story that’s so similar. Across the whole country! But the languages they use are completely different – did you know the name of the language is traditionally based on their word for ‘no’? I just… thought it was cool.”

“It is cool, Anna,” Kristoff said, shooting her a small smile. “And I know learning about all this stuff means a lot to you.”

Swallowing again, though more from the dryness that had suddenly appeared in her mouth, Anna nodded. “Well, Mum isn’t around to teach me this stuff anymore. But I don’t wanna miss out and regret it forever.” Suddenly, she perked up. “Hey, did I tell you? I’m going to a thing today!”

“A thing?”

Nodding – so emphatically that she spilled her coffee, the brown liquid sloshing over the side of the cup and landing with a splat on the floor – she grinned up at her friend. “Yeah! It’s this traditional Indigenous show-thing? I can’t really remember what it’s about, but it wasn’t too expensive and they’re doing everything – a Welcome to Country, and stories and bush tucker, and I think they said a corroboree at the end?”

“That sounds really cool, Anna,” Kris said, just as his watch beeped at him. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. Uh. After class.”

Sighing, but this time with a smile, Anna waved him off – spilling her drink again in the process. “See you later, dude,” she said. She probably had to start getting ready, anyway.

Throwing the remnants of her coffee in the bin, Anna made her way back home. A forty-minute bus ride home, only to take a quick shower (how fortunate the drought of her youth had trained her in the art of 3-minute washes…) before heading back out again. It was cooling off, but she knew the evening wouldn’t get cold by any stretch of the word. It smelled like it was going to rain, and she heard the kookaburras again as if to confirm the thought.

Kookaburra laughing means it’s gonna rain, she thought to herself. 

It was another forty-minute ride on the bus, and Anna felt herself becoming giddier and giddier with excitement. It’s one thing to learn about this sort of stuff in class. Now, she gets to experience some of it.

Even the first few splatters of rain on the window of the bus can’t dampen her mood.

*

By the time she arrived, the small drizzle had turned into a full-fledged shower. It wasn’t a storm – it felt a little early in the season (or late in the year) for that – and it would probably pass soon. She was glad she wore closed-in shoes, though, because it turned the earth into a sticky, muddy substance that stuck to everything.

There was only one other girl her age, and though Anna didn’t want to seem too invested, she was also cognisant enough to recognise that she’d rather interact with her than with any of the other people. A glance at the assembled crowed, standing under a large tent as protection from the rain, only confirmed her suspicions: there was at least one tour group, mostly made up of retirees; a school group, probably from the city’s Boys Grammar school, judging by the pretentiousness (and the uniforms). And the girl.

Not that she needed to worry about it. It was very much a group thing in that they weren’t asked to find partners or actually even talk to each other – not at first. First it was a respectful silence – and for Anna, a respectful reverence – as an Elder stood before them to give an official Welcome to Country. He described the land, before White colonisers; the shape of it, the boundaries between Turrbal Country and Jagera Country; the Meeanjin people, who weren’t able to claim Native Title for the land that still was theirs. Even the private school boys were silent, weren’t even fidgeting. Anna had to blink a little harder than usual, and she didn’t stop until he’d finished his piece.

No one clapped, but then, they weren’t supposed to.

A sudden flash of anger overtook her, and she had to face the ground just so she wouldn’t ruin this moment for everyone else. Why had her mum kept this from her? Why did she have to go searching, find out herself? How could they have grown up, let her grow up, not knowing a thing about her heritage??

“Hey, you okay?”

Jerking her head up, Anna found herself having to blink once more to force the angered tears away. The girl she’d noticed earlier was standing in front of her; everyone else had moved on, walking over the red land and towards a building.

“Y-yeah,” she responded. “I’m just…”

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” The girl looked over her shoulder at the crowd. “C'mon, I don’t think you want to miss this next part.” With a quick, but sincere, smile, the girl turned around and began the return to the group. Anna followed, a few steps behind.

“I don’t?”

The girl shook her head. “I’m Elsa, by the way.”

“Anna. Nice to meet you.”

Elsa just smiled at her, slowing down enough to let Anna fall into step beside her. 

*

Elsa was right: she did not want to miss this.

Once they regrouped, everyone was led into a darkened room. There was a star projector in the centre, a surprisingly real-looking, but definitely fake, fire built around it. They’d lit incense, or something, and when the door behind Anna closed and she was asked to sit on the floor, she found it really easy to imagine being here, back in the long ago.

It wasn’t the Elder who spoke this time. Another man, several years younger, came to sit in front of everyone. He had no shirt on, but his chest was painted in various pigments of ochre and white, only just distinguishable in the dim light of the fake fire and stars (and, Anna realised when she turned around, the fire exit sign). Elsa was sat behind her; she lifted her eyebrows once, still smiling, and Anna hurriedly turned back to the speaker in front her her.

And boy, did he speak. He told the story of the Rainbow Serpent, who carved the mountains and the valleys, and who tickled the frogs until they laughed, and the water that had been kept in their fat bellies burst and filled the tracks that had been made. He spoke about the animals that followed the Rainbow Serpent, who obeyed her and were rewarded by becoming human; those who did not would be made stone again.

But he spoke of other stories, too, ones she hadn’t heard before. He spoke about the Three Brothers, who were found mixing with women of another skin-group – a serious offence – and found their lives forfeit, as there were strict rules around marriage and mingling. Another person came up after that, a young woman, who told the story of Mundiba and they Honey, which was a cautionary tale against greediness and selfishness, as he had been asked to collect honey but had kept it for himself. A spirit had grown suspicious, and upon witnessing Mundiba taking the honey, had sung to the trees to trap Mundiba, where he had perished.

The last tale that was told, just as the retirees were losing focus and the boys began squirming, was the tale of the two wise men and seven sisters. Another origin story, Anna thought, and enjoyed it all the same because it spoke of people who weren’t people. This story, the audience was told, was from Wong-Gu-Tha country. 

In the beginning, it says, the Creator sent two spirit men, Woddee Gooth-tha-rra, to shape Yulbrada, the Earth. They came from the far end of the Milky Way, and were tasked with making the hills and valleys. They made the cliffs and the oceans, the plains and the mountains. And when their work was almost complete, the Creator sent seven sisters, who were stars of the Milky Way, to make the land beautiful with flowers and trees, springs and billabongs, and all the birds and animals and all the creepy things.

Anna had to stifle a little smile when the woman said that. Not that she had to – the woman was smiling, clearly enjoying telling the story, perhaps more than Anna was enjoying hearing about it.

The sisters were making the Honey Ants when they became thirsty, and asked the youngest to find some water for them all to drink. She dutifully took her dish and went off, in the direction her sisters had sent her, to find water.

The Woddee Gooth-tha-rra were in the bushes, spying on the women, and followed the youngest went she went for water. They did not hide, and she fell in love with the two spirit men, and they her. The six sisters left became worried because the youngest had been gone so long. 

They had all been warned by the Creator that, should such a thing happen, they wouldn’t be able to return to the Milky Way. The youngest sister remained on Yulbrada with the two men, and became mortal. They became the parents of the earth, and made the laws and the people of the desert.

The woman fell silent as she finished her story, and Anna was left thinking. It was a creation myth so similar to Eden, but different. People came from the Heavens, but it wasn’t a punishment to remain on earth. They weren’t cast out for the knowledge they gained, but instead had to embrace it. It was love that made the people, not the wrath of any god.

It was a comforting thought.

*

After the stories, they were treated to a didgeridoo player, as well as a demonstration of spear-throwing, weaponry, and warfare stuff. They returned outside, the storm having passed and the remaining clouds providing just enough cover from the would-be blistering sun Anna was less invested, but the school boys definitely perked up. Actually, regardless of her open interest, she still found herself perking up. The storytelling, while interesting, had little action and more atmosphere. This had action.

She found herself sitting next to Elsa again, a question burning the tip of her tongue. When there was a short break while some of the boys asked questions about the weapons, there was a window to actually ask.

“How did you know I’d like that?" 

Elsa hadn’t been paying attention, naturally, and looked a little surprised when she turned to Anna. A smile graced her face; she looked comfortable.

"Everyone does. Even the kids, even if they thought it was a little boring.”

“Well, you were definitely right,” Anna said, an easy smile lifting to her own face. “Have you been here before?”

Before Elsa could answer, their attention was called for the next activity. A small wave of disappointment urged through Anna – she wanted to talk! – before she chastised herself. She had come here to learn all this stuff, even in this vaguely touristy way. She did not come here to make friends.

But… perhaps that would just be a happy bonus as everyone was led to a fire-pit and she realised that the next activity was lunch. An activity in which everyone was able to – nay, encouraged to – talk to everyone else.

Anna wasn’t going to talk to the school kids, and she held little interest in talking to the retirees. She didn’t even have to seek out Elsa; the other woman had left a spot next to her open, and was already looking at Anna and smiling.

They didn’t speak until after the food had been distributed: damper and dukkah – and a plate of different dips and chutneys on the side; skewers of kangaroo, crocodile, and emu; as well as more typical roasted meat. Potatoes and gravy, and all flavours she’d never tried before.

“This looks amazing,” Anna said to herself, eyes as round as the plates in which the food had been served. There was a light laugh from next to her, and she turned to find Elsa smiling.

“It tastes even better,"  she said. "And I know because I have been here before. Only once or twice, but it was enough to get me to come back.”

Anna thought back to how much this had cost her – well worth it, but it wasn’t cheap either – and then to the woman next to her. “It’s been amazing so far,” she agreed.

“And it gets better and better. This is probably the best one I’ve been to.” She said it without taking her eyes from Anna, who felt her cheeks burning. Was this woman flirting with her?

And then Elsa bit her bottom lip, still smiling, and nodded towards the food. “Go on, try it. I bet it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”

Okay, yep, definitely flirting. Probably as red as a beet, and a shade that couldn’t just be blamed on the sun, Anna ducked her head and focussed on the damper. It came apart easily in her hands, and she dipped it in some of the… chutney?

“So, is this your first time here? What made you want to try it out?”

Elsa asked the questions just as Anna lifted the bread to her mouth. She’d definitely taken too large a bite, and probably looked silly. A possum in the headlights, with bulging cheeks and wide eyes. With some difficulty, she swallowed.

“Y-yeah,” she said, reaching for her cordial. “My um. My mum passed away recently and when I was going through her stuff I found some pictures and documents about where I- where she came from. Wanted to… reconnect, I guess?”

Elsa nodded along as Anna spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, and she actually sounded like she meant it. “How are you finding it?”

It was impossible to tell if Elsa were talking about the death, or the discovery, so Anna chose to focus on the latter. “Well, I was really excited at first. I wanted to learn the language and talk to the Elders – I’m already doing Indigenous Studies at uni, so the chance to learn about it all from a personal perspective was really nice.”

“But…?”

“But Mum was Nunukul, so there’s no more language. I know they have the Quandamooka centre over at Straddie – uh, Minjerribah – but I don’t know if that’s the same. Jandai is not my people, or my language.”

Elsa nodded, taking another bite of her food. She was already half-finished, while Anna had been so focused on talking she’d barely started.

“I know what you mean,” Elsa said when she swallowed. She spoke slower than Anna, more thoughtfully; it gave Anna a chance to catch up with her food, at least. “My father is Tjungundji, so all I really have for that is some stupid word lists by old white people, sealed away in Canberra and gatekept by those same old white people.”

A bitterness seeped into her voice; a tempered fury that Anna was]s only just learning exists in her, too. A righteous anger over how much had been taken, not just from her, but from her people, and all other peoples who had been here before.

But she needed to look for the positives. She didn’t know much about Elsa’s mob, but she had been researching her own. She was lucky enough that not everything was taken or destroyed.

“It’s amazing what we’ve been able to recoup,” she said softly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think my grandma, or even my mum, really, could have imagined that their culture could be separated. It’s why they didn’t pass it down. But it is; it’s here and alive. Even though no one speaks Nunukul anymore, and it wasn’t really written down, we have the songs and stories of those people, even in English. I know the snake is my totem, even though I’m terrified of snakes. And I just think it’s amazing how much we’ve been able to put back together even after it all shattered. Things like this, today, are amazing, honest attempts at reconciliation.”

Elsa snorted gently, a smile on her face. “’Reconciliation’, eh? That’s the buzzword of the century.” Anna laughed and nodded. 

“I like to think it’ll keep getting better. Two years ago I’d have never even thought to do this – Indigenous history was just a boring subject in school. But next week I’m getting a snake tattoo, which is terrifying, and it’s been designed by an Indigenous artist and it’s something on me that they can’t take away.” She sighed. “We need to stop taking so much away.”

They fell into silence for a moment, finishing up the meals on their plate. It was a thoughtful silence, comfortable, before Elsa broke it.

“So, you’re terrified of snakes and tattoos. Why are you getting both? Why not choose another design?”

She asked the question so sincerely, honestly. That was all that was really needed, Anna realised. A genuine desire for understanding that, as wonderful as she believed Australian culture to be, she often found sorely lacking. The “she’ll be right” attitude that blinded people to problems. To truths and solutions.

“Because,” Anna said, smiling. Elsa looked right back at her, the expression mirrored on her face, and regardless of the flirting earlier, Anna thought that, at the very least, she had made a friend. “A snake made the world.”

#elsanna #submission #february 2021 contest #prompt: ancient worlds

[chilling-seavey]

Heartbreak Hotel (d.s.) - Chapter Sixteen

A/N Daniel’s playing with fire here

Daniel sat in his car, staring at the numbers drawn on his forearm for a while after parting ways with his best friends after sunset. He checked the time on his dash – just past 7pm – and then pulled on his jacket to start to drive off towards home. The radio played softly in the background, playing the hits of the summer and Daniel sang softly along to the few songs he did know, his arm resting on the door of his Thunderbird as he drove through the streets of downtown and towards the suburbs. It was a warm night, a perfectly comfortable temperature to drive, and Daniel was debating skipping home all together and just drive as long as he could to ride on this light-as-air feeling that was living inside him. He probably would have if he didn’t have to call Loretta at 9.

The light studded city moulded into shorter buildings and darker streets and each streetlamp Daniel drove under cast a streak of warm light through the interior of his car and through his dark hair. His fingers tapped contentedly against the steering wheel to the upbeat music on the radio as he drove down the almost empty streets.

He glanced into the rear-view mirror on the dashboard, catching a glint of headlights behind him. He didn’t think much of it, turning back to the road and continued singing softly to the radio, turning down another street towards home. The car behind him turned as well.

Daniel looked through the mirrors again and then over his shoulder as the second car pulled closer and closer. Daniel pressed harder on the gas pedal to speed up a little. The car only followed him closely through the small city streets, following his every turn and sneaking up closer and closer to his rear bumper.

“Gee whiz.” Daniel breathed nervously, glancing over his shoulder again before turning back to the road and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He was pretty close to home but he was soon worried if he should even go home with this guy following him. If it was one of LA’s mobsters who was following him, Daniel was no better than dead already. He was pretty confident that he had done nothing to get on a hit list from a mobster, but he could never be too sure.

The sudden jolt of the car as he was hit lightly from behind made Daniel gasp and he pulled over quickly into an empty parking lot between two buildings and the car behind him drove right in with him, nearly taking a pedestrian out with them and searing the pavement with black skid marks. They fell to a stop right in front of Daniel’s car, cutting him off from leaving and Daniel easily recognised the black mustang convertible that had been following him for the last few minutes and, honesty, he would have preferred the possible mobster to the two nineteen-year-olds that stepped out of the car instead.

Both dressed in leather jackets, jeans, and heavy black boots, Corbyn and Jonah walked coolly over to Daniel’s door. Daniel hardly even looked at them, his radio still playing an ironic upbeat love song, and he kept his hands on the wheel.

“We’re gonna have a talk.” Corbyn said sternly.

Daniel couldn’t answer. His mouth felt too dry.

Jonah dropped his hand down to open the car door and physically yanked him out of the car by his arm before pulling him off across the dark parking lot. Daniel stumbled after him, tripping over his own feet, and Jonah shoved him back against the brick wall of the nearby building. Daniel winced slightly at the initial impact and glanced between the two taller and older boys who stood in front of him. Jonah’s hand was still on the front of Daniel’s shirt, pressing him back up against the wall so he couldn’t get away.

“Wh-What do you want to talk about?” Daniel asked quietly.

“Why the fuck you’ve been spending so much time with my girl.” Corbyn spat, crossing his arms across his chest. It was dark but Daniel could easily see the unmissable anger in his eyes.

Daniel swallowed thickly.

“Start talking, pal.” Jonah said slowly.

Daniel was nearly shaking, looking between the two boys nervously, “W-We’re just friends. That’s all.”

“Bullshit.” Corbyn snapped.

Daniel flinched at his intensity. Jonah pushed him harder against the wall and he whimpered slightly, reaching up to wrap a hand around his wrist.

“I see you staring at her.” Corbyn continued, stepping closer to glare down his nose at the slightly shorter boy. “I see you poppin’ up everywhere she is. She’s callin’ you ‘Dani’ like you’re something. Fuckin’ disgusting.”

“I can’t control what she calls me.” Daniel said, earning another shove against the wall from Jonah.

He nearly had Daniel off the ground, held up by the front of his shirt and jacket against the brick until only the tip toes of his shoes scuffed the ground.

“Yes, you can. Stay the fuck away from my girl.” Corbyn ordered, pointing a finger in Daniel’s face.

“We’re just friends.” Daniel repeated as strongly as his trembling voice could manage.

“Friends don’t go to see a live show together.”

“Yes, we are!” Daniel whined. “You weren’t gonna take her so-”

Corbyn pulled his arm back and Daniel flinched in preparation for whatever punch was coming next, flinging his hand in front of his face to try and protect himself.

There was silence.

Daniel opened his eyes slowly, watching both guys staring at his arm and the sleeve of his jacket. Daniel tried to hide it behind him but Corbyn grabbed it and shoved up his sleeve, revealing the number on his arm written by Loretta earlier that day.

Corbyn let out a humourless laugh, shoving Daniel’s arm back down to his side, “Never took you as the bird dog type, but it’s always deeper than that, huh? Always the shy guys you’d never suspect.”

Daniel couldn’t even offer a rebuttal.

“Listen here, buddy. I got my eye on you.” Corbyn got right up in Daniel’s face until he could feel his breath. “You better not call her. You better wash that number off your arm, or I will sear it off with the cigarette lighter in my car, understand me?”

Daniel nodded quickly.

“The only reason I am still allowing you to take her to his stupid show is because otherwise I would never hear the end of it. But you listen to me and listen well; if you pull any shit with her, no matter how small, I will personally fuck you up.”

“You will be unrecognizable.” Jonah added.

“Completely.” Corbyn agreed.

Daniel whimpered, clawing at Jonah’s hand as he pushed him higher against the wall, his feet leaving the concrete and he kicked around in the air a little.

“Do you understand me?” Corbyn asked darkly.

“Yeah.” Daniel nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Jonah dropped Daniel to the ground right away, the younger boy landing with a sharp gasp as the older two turned to see Christian walking over, his own car parked nearby. Christian shoved Jonah to the side and grabbed Daniel by the front of his jacket to tug him away from the wall and to safety beside him.

“Tell your brother to stay the hell away from my girl.” Corbyn snapped, glaring daggers at Daniel before spitting on the ground at his feet.

“Get out of here.” Christian gave Corbyn a shove and the pair of friends walked back to their car and drove off into the night.

Daniel exhaled deeply yet shakily, staying close to his brother in case anyone else was about to pop around the corner and threaten to beat him up – or actually go through with it.

Christian turned to him, a mix of concern and anger on his face, “What the hell was that?”

“I-I don’t know.” Daniel mumbled, pushing a trembling hand through his hair.

“You didn’t tell me it was Corbyn’s girl you were trying to impress!” Christian snapped.

Daniel just looked to his feet, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, almost shamefully. The warm night air blew softly through the empty parking lot.

“What’s wrong with you?” Christian gave his shoulder a shove to bring his attention back up to him.

“She’s my soulmate, Christian.” Daniel breathed, his soft voice carried by the gentle breeze.

“Bullshit.” Christian scoffed. “She’s already with Corbyn so she already has her soulmate. You can’t have two, it doesn’t work like that.”

“I dunno but I know she’s mine. At the drive in, with our snacks, I-” Daniel sighed deeply, shaking his head at how ridiculous he sounded. “I swear there’s something there.”

“There’s not. So drop it.” Christian ordered. “You stay away from her, okay? You don’t need to be out here getting in fights with guys you can’t take over a bird who’s not yours.”

Daniel clenched his jaw.

“Promise me, Daniel. You’re lucky I was driving home this way and saw your car. Next time I might not be here to save your ass before they give you a shiner.”

“Whatever.” Daniel mumbled, turning on his heel and stalked off towards his car.

“You’re a goddamn idiot if you think this is alright!” Christian called after him.

Daniel got in his car and slammed the door behind him and floored it back onto the main road towards home. He didn’t need his stupid brother’s support anyway; he had Jack and Zach and a nice seven-digit number on his arm.

When he got home, Daniel jumped right out of his car, pocketing his keys on the way up the front steps and let himself inside.

“I’m home!” he shouted through the house before taking the stairs two at a time to get to his room. He tossed his bag by his dresser and then rushed across the hall to his parents room and grabbed the phone from the night stand, carrying it back across to his room with the long chord trailing behind him. He made sure the wire was tucked properly under the door before closing it and placing the phone on his nightstand.

Daniel sighed deeply as he sat down on the side of his bed and stared at the circular dial of white numbers against the black base. He checked his alarm clock. 8:55pm.

It was as if his altercation with Corbyn and Jonah was forgotten as he was now only focussed on his phone date with Loretta, still trying to hold onto that last little bit of bliss that came with being around her. He heard the front door open and shut again as Christian arrived home after him and then listened to his brother’s heavy footfalls up the stairs. They stopped at the top landing – most likely when he saw the phone chord draped across the hallway – and Daniel waited silently until he heard the door at the other end of the hall shut.

Daniel let out a deep breath and picked up the receiver, pressing it to his ear to hear the dial tone and then rolled up his sleeve to glance at the number written across his skin. He could almost still feel her hand on him. Daniel dialled the number carefully, waiting for the dial to rotate back after each twist and finally the line started ringing.

Moments later, the line picked up and there was a bit of a scuffle through the phone before a breathless Loretta answered, “Hello?”

Daniel heard – what he assumed was – her bedroom door close and the soft tune of one of Elvis’ records played softly in the background. He smiled to himself slightly, falling backwards onto his bed bashfully at only her voice, “Hey. It’s Daniel.”

#🍓 #soulmate au #soulmate!wdw #daniel seavey #why dont we #christian seavey #jonah marais #corbyn besson #jack avery #daniel seavey fanfic #1950s #writing #au #wdw #limelight #why dont we fanfic

[honestsycrets]

Mirror, Mirror | [ Cursed!Ivar x Modern!Reader ]

❛ pairing | cursed!ivar x modern! disabled (cleft lip sooo)! latina!reader

❛ type | ( ? )

❛ summary | after ivar kills his son, the witch freydis, his wife, curses him. somehow, he ends up with you.

❛  warnings | witch!freydis, POC reader, disabled reader, modern fic, cursed!ivar, modeling/elements, mention of self hate, sweet uncles, SFW

❛  sy’s notes | happy Monday everyone! how are we doing? are we surviving the coronapocalypse? I hope so. I come to you with another fruit of my eccentric, written all in one shot, writing. this request was left over from my Ivar 5CW event. 

“I got you something for your surgery. See looks just like you, right, good girl?” your uncle rushed into your room, full militant uniform, with the great mirror between his aged fingers. As a military mechanic, his schedule was often too full to have time for lunch, but today was different. He sets it down, a soft tuft of dust floats free, and you cough in its wake.

“Where did you get this, tio?”

“Estate sale on Cherry. Imported by the dead guy, uhh… Mr… Borg,” he answers, flicking his hands in the air in circles as if he’s trying to remember the guy’s name. As he rambles on about the dead man you look to the empty wall, soft grey and bland, just like you’ve wanted to paint your walls-- now that you could! Because unlike the other houses, this great expanse is all yours. You could paint it rainbow colour, flick some glitter up there, and seal it if you so damn wanted. Instead, you settled on a subtle grey. The soft pink dries on your accent wall, waiting for your bountiful French decor.

“From where?” you slur out, smoothing out the bottom of your sundress, and point toward the wall where you wanted the giant mirror to go. It would encompass the wall. But you’d feel like you always wanted to: like a princess. “China?”

“Tsk! China!” He booms half insulted in the way he drags it out, smacking his hat against his palm. “Scandinavia!”

“Scandinavia isn’t a country.”

“Ay,” he walks toward the mattress on the newly mopped floor, picking up a nail that you set on your bed. “Stop giving me a hard time. I bought it for you, eh? Wasn’t cheap!”

It didn’t look cheap, either. It sweeps nearly the size of your tall uncle, its silver designs swirling around, flourishing along the top. It’s lovely. It fits your aesthetic, even. It’d make for some good pictures, too.

“Thank you tio,” you answer, putting that picture-perfect smile on. He’s a proud man when he mounts that mirror up, securing it with some strange hook and chain type restraints. It’ll smash ya, he said! Maybe it could have, but when all is said and done, and you stand before the massive mirror, it’s a strange type of beautiful. Ethereal as it was, something felt… off behind its reflection. Your nails skim the surface of the glass, repetitive click after click,

“How are the stitches feeling?” he asks.

You lift your fingers up, inching toward the puffy flesh of your mangled lip. The stitches would look like shit now. “Dr. Rao fixed it.”

“Tch, he better’ve. How did he do it wrong the first time?” he asks, and you shrug your shoulders, as if you don’t know. What were you, a plastic surgeon? “Since you’re feelin’ good again… Make me a tunafish before I go!”

Should have said no. But you weren’t going to say no to your uncle’s love for salty fish squashed between two pieces of wheat bread and some scraggly salad. You’re sure the mirror caused three times that. Okay, maybe more like thirty… or three hundred.

Good body, but you don’t have the face for it. Try photography. The university has a good program.

Stapled to your portfolio is that one little note. A woman’s would be kind words plastered onto the front as a friendly word of advice. Give up, move on. Something out the bright limelight. You kick off your shoes at the door, thrash the door shut, pop the lock. Set dinner on the counter. Don’t eat it. Head to your room and thrash that door too. Drop the portfolio on the desk in front of the obnoxious mirror and sink into the plush white comforter.

And you breathe. Your chest swells deep with breath, and it's prickly against your lungs, as if it hurt. Your sparkly phone vibrates with your friends’ many questions. Did you get it? Do models get paid per shoot? A hundred considerate questions and maybe, they all failed to give the one comment you needed to hear from anyone of them. Ms. Bisset had dragged the knife of disappointment across your belly, disemboweled you until nothing but disappointment, remorse, and self-hate poured out onto your toes.

“Your face looks better than hers.”

You shoot up, hair matted to the soaked pieces of hair against your cheek, turning side to side. No one was in your room, and yet, you felt them here. Their gaze poisoning the sanctity of your private place-- where you could cry and no one would know better. You lurch out, flip your phone, and there’s nothing there. And again, you reach out, only this time its to the knife at the bottom of the top drawer of your nightstand. You slip out of your fluffy sheets, quaking around the handle, turning it over and over, and over and over, looking around and around.

“Who’s there?!”

The room stretches inhumanely. As if the walls goes on for a mile or longer. You swirl, and your white dress follows, but nothing else. No matter how you pace from one end, to the other, and around the corners. “You’re getting close,” the voice laughs, and there’s a gentleness behind that statement. “No… nope, no. In the chest, really?”

You stomp toward the sheer white curtains, hiking them back, as if you’d really see anyone there. The warm sunlight streams against your skin, down in your bones, and there’s nothing or no one there.

“What the fuck,” you whisper, but no one is there to answer, and you’re sure. You’ve checked your closet, under the bed, over the bed, in the chest, by every nook and cranny and-- you look up, under your desk, and that’s when you see it. Two slouched legs, dependent upon a inky black and ragged crutch. You scan him over, something of a medieval horror, because he’s all leather, and chainmail, and locks, and buckles, and god he’s big in his own way, encompassing the mirror-like a cloud of black death.

But he’s not.

“There you go! Checkmate.” Despite those worn hands, his pale face is chiseled as if by a sculptor. High cheekbones, a pronounced forehead, and a broad nose. His hair is in its own way lifelike, braided back behind his head. His dull expression comes alive in bright blue eyes, excitably staring to you, and past you. His armour clinks. You grasp the knife, flicking it at the mirror.

“Watch out.” He warns, and you duck, because the mirror reflects your knife, chucking it into your beautifully painted wall. It embeds straight out into the wall, and you screech, both for your lovely wall but also the great loss of your mind. There was a man. In the mirror. Of your house. You’re stepping back, staring behind you, then back again. He’s there in the mirror, but not beside you, where you imagine his large body to be overtaking your petite frame.

“What the fuck are you?”

“Ivar,” he answers. Igor-- like those old Frankenstein movies? “Igor?”

His fingers flick, rattling irritation. “Ivar the Boneless.”

“Who?”

He leers behind that glass. For that awful leer of unchecked power, slamming his hand onto the other side of that glass, there’s nothing to be said for it. It’s as if he thinks you should know, because his lip wrinkles, and he turns toward his surroundings. Within the mirror, craggy, dark surroundings. He collapses on a bed of furs, which you can only just so make out because it is directly behind him.

“I am… was a king,” Ivar explains. Though this is all one great illusion, you’re curious enough in it, because what else did you have to do but sulk? Your hand goes toward the holy oil your tio had so graciously left, telling you to smear it all over, sanctify the mirror because who knows what kind of creepie demons were in that thing, and maybe you should have listened, and maybe he knew better.

“I’m not dead,” he snorts, “Take your little Christian bottle and spray for demons somewhere else.”

“Then what are you,” you play along. Ivar, for all his snappy wisdom, falls quiet a moment. He unlatches the armour on his legs, slides out of some medieval torture device that held his legs mishappen and weird.

“Cursed,” he answers. “...by my witch of an ex-wife and her little--” bastard, you almost read, but the pain in which he said it, suppressed any meaning behind it. It’s as if he dies a little when he says such a thing.

“It… wasn’t yours?”

“The wretch couldn’t be mine,” he says factually. For a man as strong as he was, you wonder why. Why was he explaining this to you, who he had only just met, and then again-- why not? If this Ivar brain illusion was locked up as long as he was, hey, maybe you’d be aching for company too. He gestures from his pronounced nose down, over his full lips. “His lips… his nose. They were torn one to another.”

“A cleft lip?” he sighs, dipping his gloved hands behind his head. He doesn’t lift, not even when you shriek, coming closer now. You climb over the white desk on your knees. “I had a cleft lip!”

He turns up his head, bitter at the mention, as if ice had stabbed not only him-- but straight through him, too. Even more than talk of his wife, talk of the small child seems to wound him. A wretch, a bastard-- “What happened to him?”

He turns in his bed, bound to ignore you, when you slap the glass, shaking the very foundation of the wooden boards under the bed. “I killed him-- I killed me son.” He answers, and the words sound heartless to you, torn as they were, pained as they were. When he turns up his head, you connect with his eyes, desperate to give sense to murder. “He was in pain. He could not live like that, mocked by everyone he meets, loves.”

You hold his words close, looking down, the scratchy handwriting from your denied portfolio sits there, a reminder of his words. “That’s why you’re in the mirror.” He clasps his hands together, leaning forward, and unclasps again, offering up toward the dark nothingness and it’s detached light which lights his bed from seemingly nowhere at all. “Well, good. You deserve to be in that mirror for what you’ve done.”

He doesn’t deny it. He turns, all alone, abandoned in his bed. You wonder how long he’s been there. Has it been a short time? Has it been a long time? It’s not been in the last five hundred years, for his clothes look aged. Maybe a thousand. But you don’t really know. Whoever this Ivar the Boneless was, he was an old man.

“I meant what I said,” his voice is rough, almost quaky. Is he crying? His words grace your skin like feathers, tickling you into interest for what he might say next. You settle into your chair at the desk.

“What?”

“Your face is more beautiful than hers,” he prompts. “Ms. Bisset.”

“How did you know her name?”

Ivar rumbles in his laughter, his broad back flexing. “You talk to yourself more than you’d think. And when you’re not talking to yourself, you leave all the important articles on your desk.”

It’s true. You scramble to stuff them into their appropriate folders, cursing him for being as he was. A nosy man with no sense of morals. If you were locked in a mirror, wouldn’t you have nothing to do but snoop around? You make note-- buy a cat. At least then, you wouldn’t feel your mind running away on you.

“That means a lot,” you mutter, “Coming from an ableist.”

Ivar pulls his armour off. Strip by agonizing strip, until he’s nothing but well formed muscles in his inky trousers, matching the blotchy black tattoo of dragons that course by the back of his neck. You spin around in your chair, hands to your eyes, chanting ‘I see nothing!’ as if… if you said it enough times, maybe it would be true. “Product of my time.”

He rests.

“Isn’t that a bit much?”

Hallucination or real, you came to accept that Ivar the Boneless, some kinda Viking-King was here for good. His mirror is the best mirror to do your make up in due to the great natural light that filtered in, but also the worst for his companionship was always awful. WIth every flick of your eyeshadow brush painted in bright red, Ivar had a sing song opinion.

“You look better natural.”

He’s not a fan of this whole fashion eye you were going for. Vibrant hot red and warm blues weren’t his favourite, especially not blue, because they reminded him of his brother Sigurd. Gods rest his soul, he told you. He killed him too.

“Ivar, for fuck’s sake.”

“You talk to your tio like that?” he scrunches his fingers.

“It’s not a date, Ivar.”

Tch, Ivar drags out, throwing his hands behind his head, annoyed in the way that he plops back onto his bed. Ivar’s ideal take? Dewy, natural, something with a hint of colour and a well-flicked eyeliner. Not a fan of caterpillar lashes, as he called them. He did like a perfect red lip, which you only learned by angling your television toward his mirror, so that he might be able to watch while you were out on the town with Igor, the orange tabby cat.

“Then what is it?”

His eyes falter, falling to the red satin romper you wear, as if you know, and he knows, that you’re up to no good. “Fashion shoot.” You answer him. “If they won’t publish me, I’ll publish myself.”

Ivar’s lips quiver, amused, and he smiles as you pomp those soft curls. It’s sultry, sexy, defined. He doesn’t think it needs to be. But it’s bold and only a fool would deny how beautiful you looked, dolled up more beautifully than even his late Freydis. He was here because of his son, placed into a home with a woman who had the same condition as his late, beautiful baby boy. It wasn’t on accident.

Ivar smiles. “Be ruthless.”

So you try, settling yourself on the edge of the bed next to the tripod, gliding your fingers over your dress, considering yourself. “What, no set design?” he asks.

“Set design?” you ask, laughing at the concept. Behind you is the soft pink accent wall, bouncing against the other walls behind you, soft and sweet. That’s all that was needed, really. Or so you thought.

“I’ve been in whorehouses with more taste.”

Ivar, you grumble, bounding off of the bed. Then, standing before him, your hands slap on your thighs. “Well what do you suggest?”

He leans out, gesturing his fingers toward the curtains. “Pull those dust catchers you call blinds shut. Add some soft flowers.”

You rush out of the room on bare toes, rushing back from your craft closet, arms full of fake flowers. You arrange them around your balcony bed, passionate and red. “Like this?” you crawl back on the lip, taking your place on the bed. Ivar leans, his cheek against the cold glass.

“Good enough.”

By now, you’re used to Ivar’s comments. Fashion shoots are on the daily, and as much as he detested the colour, you’ve grown used to his comments. You learn that he is better suited for creating a good background. Something about Ivar is all show, all flash, and you love that. In place of a friend to push you along, there’s Ivar. Always looking forward to giving you opinions about where to place this, or that, and Igor get the fuck out!

Priceless, like you said.

But as you progressed, and Ivar sat trapped in the mirror, something ate at you. When Ivar was not on his crutch, he would throw himself on the ground and drag himself like a giant snake across the ground wherever he went. He never once said a word about your crooked lips. The stitches faded. It was a gnarly scar in its place now, which hardly commanded attention save from the men you met on the daily, who all at least asked what was different about your face at one time or another, or excused themselves and never came back.

“You finally took my advice,” Ivar looks at you, dolled up like he liked. Soft curls, soft make up, a white dress. The gentle purity reminds him of his mother, Aslaug, or so he told you. You peer up at him, dragging the eyeliner out.

“Maybe it looks better like this,” you tease, and the thought hits you. “I’m guessing you have more experience than me, chulito. You’ve been in that mirror for 1200 years, you know.”

“Mostly in whorehouses. Wasn’t all bad, eh? Imagine my chances at finding a virgin with a cleft lip to set me free.”

“I bet you miss your family,” you tell him. Or what was left of it-- that was.

“I miss my brother Hvitserk,” he admits. The one brother, that though they both fought, he still found love in his heart for him. “And my mother,” tears gather, welling at his almond-shaped eyes, and you’ve done it again. “Freydis.”

“Would she take you back?”

“No,” his form drops, “You know I killed her.”

“A common theme,” you tease, drawing a small smile of him. But he drops his head down, cupping his hand behind his thick neck, lost in thought. “Ivar it-- it’s okay. You’re not a monster, y’know.”

“Aren’t I?”

He has a reputation for it. The names, the numbers, the people, the death. So, so much death. If he were here, today, they would call him a serial killer. A terrible man. A demon. When he sits there, unresponsive, you press your fingers to the glass.

“You aren’t,” you swipe the words from his lips, he has nothing to do but back away. Hope and pray you drop the subject, move on. He’s done talking again. This time you don’t. “Ivar-- you aren’t.”

You turn your fist to the mirror, crack your well-formed fist straight on. As opposed to the last time, reflecting the so deemed flimsy metal of your sword, your fist fractures the glass. It clatters around your fist, falling apart into a million tiny shards on the back of your blood, seeping into the mirror. But it’s cemented there, suspended in the air. Eyes wide, Ivar’s chest swells with air, and you roll your scarred lip into your mouth.

Then, the shards drop. The mirror cracks like a halo around your feet.

@tephi101​ @alicedopey​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​ @tootie-fruity​ @titty-teetee​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ @ethereallysimple​ @deathbyarabbit​ @deathbyarabbit​ @readsalot73​ @natalie-rdr​ @lol-haha-joke​ @lisinfleur​ @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​ @vikingsmania​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou​ @gruffle1​ @cris101071​ @gold-dragon-slayer​ @babypink224221​ @wonderwoman292​ @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl​ @chinduda​ @laketaj24​, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa​, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44 @readsalot73​ @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever

#Ivar x Reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar's heathen army #Ivar the Boneless imagines #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #Vikings x reader #ivar

[authorized-trash]

The Passage of Identity and Time

2116 Words

Analogince

Virgil escapes to a better family, one that’s much more accepting.

Warnings: Anxiety disorder, depression, homophobia, transphobia, dysphoria, cussing, panic attacks, heavy crying, misgendering, use of deadname

       Virgil didn’t start out his life as Virgil.

       He started it out as Amber.

          Born in small town USA in the year 1998, a baby named Amber was born. Her parents were ecstatic. The gender of the child did not matter to them, only that they had one. They had been trying for a child for months before the news of Amber arrived.

        The baby was small and wrinkly, as most are. Her father called her a raisin, earning a swat on the arm from the mother.

        Amber grew to a healthy height and weight for a two-year-old. She could talk and walk by now and was quite the rowdy child. Her hair was growing in curly and that odd almost-black brown her mother was known for. Her eyes were a deep brown, with little specks of amber around the iris. Long lashes surrounded the round eyes, making her quite the lovely child.

        (“Oh, she’ll grow up to be quite the lovely child.”)

        Amber continued to grow, and by the time she turned seven, she had shot up to four foot seven, a good head taller than all of her peers. She had cut her hair by now, a cute bob all the teachers loved. Her young idea of fashion was mud stained shorts and tank-tops.

        By the time Amber hit ten, she could tell something was wrong. She didn’t understand why she suddenly couldn’t play football with the boys, and why she couldn’t just go to grandma’s Easter party in pants and a shirt.

        (“That’s not a very feminine look Amber, you are a young lady, and you’re old enough now to act like it.”)

        For now she could ignore the growing feeling of discomfort in her skin. Amber could pretend nothing was wrong. And when the other girls commented on her odd nature, she dubbed herself a tomboy.

        That’s right, a tomboy. The totally normal option, and the only correct one.

        The only socially correct one.

        … But then puberty hit.

        Amber hated how her thirteen-year-old body changed so quickly. She was five foot eight and had been dubbed ‘giraffe’ by the nasty boys in school. Her height didn’t bother her, however. No, it was the hips that thickened, and the chest. She hated it, hated that she hated it. She didn’t think she was bad looking, per say, just… She didn’t look herself. She didn’t see a future in the person she saw in the mirror.

        With the self-loathing came the depression, and with the depression came the anxiety. There was so much of it. By the time she turned fourteen, Amber couldn’t do anything more than stare at her wall for hours, too anxious to move, anxious because she wasn’t getting done, anxious for what this could mean for her. Anxious for the grades, but too anxious to get up and do something about them.

        Around this time is when she started looking at her family at an outside point of few. Picket fence, white, Christian people. Extremely conservative, and right winged. She started finding flaws in their logic, started resenting every word that came out of their mouth.

        Amber was a sheltered child, and only received a device with access to social media at fifteen. There, she found an escape, making friends.

        She discovered the term ‘Transgender’ online.

        Everything clicked in that moment. The more research the more tears. Amber outright sobbed as she read, this was it. This had to be. She tested it out.

        (“He found what he was looking for, and he knew in his heart it was the right choice.”)

        She loved the way the pronouns sounded, beaming, she ran downstairs to her- his parents. His, him, he. God, did that sound so nice.

        Amber ran downstairs to his parents, but stopped. They were talking again. About the people who pretended to be a different gender. It hit Amber like a ton of bricks.

        They were talking about people like him.

        He walked right back into his room and cried.

        The anxiety worsened to nearly unbearable amounts.

        Amber continued to research and found that he wanted to save up for a binder. He began a savings account, saving every penny he got his hands on.

        It took ages, but he finally, finally, convinced his mother to cut his hair.

        (“You look like a guy now Amber.”)

        God did that comment fill him with joy.

        (“You look like a butch.”)

       Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, lesbians are lit af.

        (“Do you really like it cut that short?”)

        No shit.

        Amber had never felt more confident, but there was one thing missing.

        A proper name.

        He scoured every male baby name he could find. Scrolled through every writer’s website. Hell, he even looked at the girls names to find one.

        It wasn’t until he was studying old literature when he found it.

        Virgil.

        He loved the way it sounded. Virgil. Such a nice name, genuinely extremely aesthetic in his opinion.

        Amber no longer fit, it didn’t feel right. It never felt right. Virgil.

        Virgil.

        Virgil.

        Virgil.

        He was now a junior in highschool, owned a binder, had short hair, wore baggier clothes, and went by Virgil openly at school. By now the hate had long since died down, and he was decently happy. Still ridiculously and ludicrously anxious all the tie, but that was something to look into at a later date.

        Right now, however, he had to get away from his home.

        He loved his parents, but they were just so… hateful towards any kind of minorities. POC, LGBT, and anyone who wasn’t a white Christian were seen as sinful in their eyes. Virgil was tired of being forced to attend a church about a religion he didn’t know if he believed. He was tired of listening to their bullshit.

        So when the time came that he went to college, he moved into a apartment He had gotten scholarships due to grades he had been careful to keep up and didn’t have to rely on his parents money.

        His roommate, an agender person by the name of Logan Thomasson, was one of the nicest people he had ever met. Supportive too. Logan and him hit it off. Logan was a bit hesitant at first, but eventually told Virgil that xe used xe/xyr. Virgil smiled and told them he’d accept xyr no matter what.

        Virgil’s parents didn’t notice his efforts to distance himself at first. Not until the second semester of his second year, when they had heard nothing from him. By now Virgil had long since started testosterone, and his voice had dropped significantly. It was almost time for summer break, and Virgil was making plans to stay at Logan’s for the break again, when he got the call.

        -

        “Amber, honey, are you there?” His mother called into her phone with that sickeningly sweet voice she used when she wanted to sound nice. Virgil gulped audibly, staring across the room at Logan, who was sitting with him to keep his nerves down.

        “Yes mother?”

        “Are you sick dear? What’s wrong?”

        “No mom, I’m not sick.”

        “Then why is your voice so deep, Amber? You know I hate it when you lie.”

        Virgil bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, feeling the tears fall. He couldn’t delay the inevitable. Sure, maybe it was a shitty thing to say to his mother over the phone and not in person, but he wouldn’t be able to stand her face.

        “I’m not.. I’m not Amber, mother.”

        “… What? Sweetheart of course you’re Amber, what has gotten into you?” By now Logan had gotten and moved across the room, and xe was sitting on xyr knees in front of Virgil’s hand, putting a hand on his knee.

        “No mom, I go by- I go by Virgil now. I’ve been taking testosterone treatment for a year and a half now.”

        “Amber.”

        “No- Mom it’s not-“ Virgil choked up, “It’s not Amber, I’m sorry, I’m-“

        “Amber I’m coming to pick you up. That college isn’t good for you. I knew we shouldn’t have sent you to a damn liberal school,” his mother could be heard shuffling around, presumably covering the phone with her hand, “Adam, your daughter believes she’s a boy, a boy Adam.”

        Virgil started sobbing now, sliding off his seat. Logan was quick to scoop him up in xyr arms, holding him tightly. Virgil rested his forehead on xyr shoulder, looking at the phone in his trembling hand.

        “Mama please,” he mumbled wetly, watching the screen fill with tears. The world becoming a blur. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t take this, he was going to have an anxiety attack.

        “No, Amber, your father and I will be there shortly. Goodbye.”

        The phone beeped, and Virgil threw it.

        He cumbled in on himself, crying hysterically. He wanted that to go better, damnit. Maybe a little acceptance. Anything. God, it hurt so bad.

        Logan shifted him around so that xe could pet his hair, mumbling xyr stupid math equations in his ear the way xe did, in that stupidly endearing way that Virgil loved so much.

        His parents, true to their word, arrived that night.

        They didn’t bother to knock. Virgil didn’t even know how they knew where he lived.

        Logan was the one to see them when they arrived, Virgil had locked himself in his room. Logan had suggested it actually, god Virgil loved xem so much.

        “I do not believe you are supposed to be here.”

        “Amber lives here, yes? Where is she, we’re leaving. You would not believe how this place has contorted her mind.”

        “Ma’am, you need to leave. Both you and your husband.”

        “Now who do you think you ar-“

        “I’ve already contacted security. The officer is a good friend of mine, they will see you out,” Logan smiled over the couple’s heads, at the officer who was standing in the door.

        The couple spun around, spotting the officer. By now Virgil had poked his head around the door. He might as well watch his parents leave, this may very well be the last time he says them this close, or not through a picture.

        This was a mistake on his part however, because when his mother flipped around to confront Logan again, she spotted him.

        “Amber! Sweetheart! You have to come with us! I’m not letting my baby go to Hell!”

        Virgil crept out from behind the door, looking levelly at his mother, “No mum, I’m not leaving. Now I believe Logan asked you to leave. This is his-“

        “Our, Virgil, how many times to I have to tell you it’s our apar-“

        “This is Logan’s home as much as mine, and xe wants you to leave.”

        By now the security officer had already gotten Virgil’s dad out the door, and had walked up behind the mother.

        “Ma’am, these two have asked you to leave multi-“

        “Xe? XE?! Amber! These are demons! You are possessed, please baby, come with us- please!”

        “Ma’am! Either you leave or I arrest you, that is a direct order! Out, now!” The officer shouted, furious. They escorted the woman to the door, Virgil’s mother throwing a fit all the while.

        “You’re all evil in the eyes of god! You will repent one day! You will!!”

        And with that the door shut.

        Virgil gave a small, defeated smile, looking at Logan. Logan breathed heavily out of xyr mouth, before walking up to the dark haired young male. Xe gave him a small kiss at the top of his head, ruffling his hair.

        “I’m so, so proud of you.” Xe said softly. Virgil snorted softly.

        “You think they’ll still let me go to Thanksgiving?” He joked.

        Logan laughed.

        -

        A week past and Virgil had done nothing but delete the nonstop flow of messages from his old friends and family. He had no reason to talk to them. Not anymore.

        He and Logan had started dating since then, and both were extremely happy. Hell, they had even been debating the pros and cons of inviting the cute security guard, who was named Roman, into their relationship. The guard had been flirting nonstop with the two of them, and honestly, they were smitten by the non-binary officer.

        A few months later found them all happily watching movies on the couch with Logan’s ball python Dee.

        A year later found them all happily married, with Roman’s brother Remus as best man.

        Months after that found them adopting an adorable baby named Patton. The child was a spring loaded ball of red curls and freckles.

        Virgil didn’t start out life as Virgil.

        But he sure as hell didn’t end it as Amber.

-

A little fic a did as a sort of vent

I wrote all in an hour and a half, and I honestly don’t think I have it in me to go back through and fix it if there’s mistakes.

#logan #patton #virgil #roman #analogince #analogical #agender logan #nonbinary roman #trans male virgil #misgendering #transphobia #homophobia #anxiety #depression #deadname use #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #deceit mention #remus mention

[lookatmerosalie]

Love’s Consequences, Seventeen

    Sunday mass. It's something I've had to attend my entire life. It's never something I've decided to attend, but have done so anyway for my parents.

   I wasn't always apathetic when it came to religion. When I was little, I actually had a strong connection with God. I liked singing at church, and I thought the cathedral was gorgeous. But as I aged, I became more and more disenchanted. I wondered why all these things were taught to me, and if it was truly real. Was there really a divine power watching over me?

  By the time I reached middle school, I had a weak connection to the Catholic church. I saw the way my parents would treat certain groups of people and felt guilt. The way my life was going, I felt like I was alone, and no one was watching over me. It didn't feel right.

  Today, I still continue my tradition of going to church every Sunday. Stepping into that same white and gold cathedral, my parents leading me inside. We find our usual spot and sit at the pew. Once more people arrive, the mass gets started, and we partake in the opening hymn.

   We talk of pardoning our sins, and jump right into the gospel reading. Another hymn, more pardoning of sins. The name of Christ is holy, blah blah blah. It all sounds like amplified white noise to me.

  Since I've started dating Austin, my relationship with the church has reached an all-time low. Although my parents have never explicitly stated that they hate gay people, I know their backgrounds, who they were raised by, and what messages have been given to them by the church. I feel like an outsider, even just standing in the pew. All the people around me, though they've seen me grow up and have known me my whole life, would never speak to me again if they knew who I really was.

  This time of year, our church prepares itself for lent, Easter, and the rest of the coinciding holy holidays. I can tell that, as usual, my parents are super invested and excited to be here. I find it great that some people can find solace in the Catholic church, but I'm not one of them.

   As if I fell asleep and woke up suddenly, the mass is nearly over. I lost myself in my own thoughts, which happens pretty often these days. I must have just gone through the motions until now.

   We go up, take communion, and head back to the pew for the remainder of the mass.

   "The Lord be with you."

   "And with your spirit," I mumble.

   "May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirt."

   "Amen," everyone responds.

   We all get dismissed and file ourselves out of the cathedral. My parents exit with giddy strides and smiles on their faces. I exit with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

   "I thought today's mass was excellent. Did you enjoy it, Dylan?" my mom asks me. I nod, not saying anything in response.

   The three of us make our way down the street to the parking lot. Across the street, two women with dyed hair sit next to each other. As we pass, they kiss. My parents keep walking, but I could see the stink on their faces from a mile away.

   As soon as we get in the car, my dad says, "Right across from a Catholic church? Really? The nerve they have."

   My mom shakes her head. "I don't understand how people can choose to live that way. It's downright sinful."

  I sit quietly. My dad asks, "Is there anyone at your school who is in a relationship like that?" My heart starts to race.

  "Nope, not that I know of."

  "Good. I don't want you being exposed to that kind of behavior. It's sickening," he spits.

    Thank goodness I'm not exposing myself to that kind of behavior. That'd be a tragedy.

  The whole ride home, I have a pit in my stomach and a sense of dread falling over me. Being super old school Catholics, I should've known they wouldn't be LGBT-friendly. I was an idiot for thinking otherwise. I wish I got the cool, hip, modern Christian parents that Sammy has.

   "Make sure you wash the dishes today, honey," my mom reminds me before I can escape to my room.

    Not wanting to fight, I simply say, "Alright."

    I wash off the muck from our bowls and plates and try to put them in the dishwasher as quickly as possible. Midway through, I feel a buzz in my pocket. I wipe off my hands and take my phone out to check.

    "I love you," Austin writes. I smile wide and my heart flutters.

   "What are you smiling at?" my dad asks, walking in the kitchen. I quickly click my phone off and put it back in my pocket.

   "Just a funny post I saw," I tell him, getting back to the dishes.

   "Mhm," he says, suspiciously. He continues walking into the living room, but his presence was enough to put me on edge. So, I simply finish doing the dishes in silence.

   "I'm going to tell them."

    "What? Are you sure?" Austin asks me, a little concerned.

    I nod. Although every bone in my body disagrees with my decision, I nod.

   He sighs. "Okay. Please be careful."

   I nod. "I will. Thank you," I say, kissing him one last time.

  Suddenly, I'm back with my parents. The two of them sit on the couch, looking at me expectantly. A surge of pain courses through me, but I walk closer to them nonetheless.

   "Mom. Dad. I need to tell you something," I speak softly.

   "Spit it out," my dad says, getting up and towering over me.

   I take a deep breath. "I'm gay."

  The floor opens up into a dark pit, and I stumble in. I hold on to the edge, which was growing by the second, with my fingertips.

   "No, you're not," both of my parents say simultaneously. Both of them step on my fingers, one taking responsibility of one hand, forcing me to let go and plummet down.

   I scream until I can't anymore. Eventually, it feels as though there's no air left to breathe.

   Suddenly, I wake up. I find myself in a dark place, not able to see anything around me.

  A familiar voice in my ear whispers, “He’s mine.”

  Flashing to another scene, I see six figures in the distance. Two stand out to me: a slim, chocolate haired boy next to a girl with short red hair. They hold hands and the whole group laughs together. They turn around, and I see my friends.

  “I told you he’s mine. Why are you back?” Sammy asks, glaring. My heart races and I double back a few steps.

  “W-what’s happening?” I say, wanting to cry.

  “We don’t need you,” all of them say in unison.

  Frozen in place, the man who should be my boyfriend approaches me and repeats, as if some type of twisted mantra, “We don’t need you.”

   Blinded by tears, the scenery changes once again. All I can hear is laughter, but it didn’t seem like they were laughing at anything funny. I wipe my eyes and look around to see faceless teens in a school hallway, laughing and pointing at me.

   This can’t be real... no...

   I jolt up in bed, feeling hot and sweaty. I strip my blanket off from on top of me and turn so my legs are hanging off the bed. I quickly grasp around for my phone on my nightstand, and click it. It’s 2:43.

   My heart continues to race from whatever hell I just experienced. I’ve had dreams like that before, but never that painful. And never with Austin.

   I try to regain comfort in the fact that none of it was real, and I’m safe again. But the pit in my stomach remains.

  Although I’m unsure if Austin is awake, I call him anyway. It rings only once or twice before he picks up.

  “Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Austin asks, clearly panicked. I calm myself a little just from the sound of his voice.

 “I’m okay now,” I sigh a breath of relief.

 “What’s wrong?” he asks, still concerned.

 “If I said I had a nightmare, would you laugh at me?” I ask, scratching my head.

  “Of course not. I’m guessing it was worse than usual?” he asks, knowing I’ve had plenty before.

  “Yeah. It was rough.”

  “Do you want to talk through it?” he asks kindly.

  “No. I just wanted to hear your voice,” I tell him.

  “Oh yeah?”

  I blush. “Yeah. Hearing you makes me feel better,” I admit.

  He lets out a brief sigh of happiness. “Everything’s going to be alright, Dyl. I’ll always be here with my voice.”

  I smile wide and lay down, leaving the phone next to my ear.

  “Is it okay if I just leave you on for a little longer? You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to,” I ask.

  “I’ll stay on as long as you need. I’m here,” he says sweetly. I close my eyes and just listen to the sound of his gentle breath, pretending like he was right there next to me. I quickly find myself falling asleep, Austin still virtually by my side.

  The next morning, I’d come to find out that he never hung up.

#teen #teen fiction #bxb #writing #original content #seventeen #love's consequences #gay #lgbt #religion #romance #love #romantic comedy

[iwanthermidnightz]

“Not a shot. Not a single chance. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Taylor Swift — who, at 30, has reached a Zen state of cheerful realism — laughs as she leans into a pillow she’s placed over her crossed legs inside her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, leaning further still into her infinitesimal odds of winning a Golden Globe, which will zero out when she heads down to the televised ball in a few hours.

Never mind whether or not the tune she co-wrote, “Beautiful Ghosts,” might actually have been worthy of a trophy for best original song (or shortlisted for an Oscar, which it was not). Since the Globe nominations were revealed, voters could hardly have been immune to how quickly the film it’s a part of, “Cats,” in which she also co-stars, became a whipping boy for jokes about costly Hollywood miscalculations and creative disasters. Not that you’ll hear Swift utter a discouraging word about it all. “I’m happy to be here, happy to be nominated, and I had a really great time working on that weird-ass movie,” she declares. “I’m not gonna retroactively decide that it wasn’t the best experience. I never would have met Andrew Lloyd Webber or gotten to see how he works, and now he’s my buddy. I got to work with the sickest dancers and performers. No complaints.”

If this leads you to believe that the pop superstar is in the business of sugarcoating things, consider her other new movie — a vastly more significant documentary that presents Swift not just sans digital fur but without a whole lot of the varnish of the celebrity-industrial complex. The Netflix-produced “Taylor Swift: Miss Americana” has a prestige slot as the Jan. 23 opening night gala premiere of the Sundance Film Festival before it reaches the world as a day-and-date theatrical release and potential streaming monster on Jan. 31.

The doc spends much of its opening act juxtaposing the joys of creation with the aggravations of global stardom — the grist of many a pop doc, if rendered in especially intimate detail — before taking a more provocative turn in its last reel to focus more tightly on how and why Swift became a political animal. It’s the story of an earnest young woman with a self-described “good girl” fixation working through her last remaining fears of being shamed as she comes to embrace her claws, and her causes.

Given that the film portrays how gradually, and sometimes reluctantly, Swift came to place herself into service as a social commentator, “Miss Americana” is a portrait of the birth of an activist. Director Lana Wilson sets the movie up so that it pivots on a couple of big letdowns for its subject. The first comes early in the film, and early in the morning, when Swift’s publicist calls to update her on how many of the top three Grammy categories her 2017 album “Reputation” is nominated for: zilch. She’s clearly bummed about the record’s brushoff by the awards’ nominating committee, as just about anyone who’d previously won album of the year twice would be, and determinedly tells her rep that she’s just going to make a better record.

But she suffers what feels like a more meaningful blow toward the end of the film. In the fall of 2018, Swift finally comes out of the closet politically to intervene on behalf of Democrats in a midterm election in her home state of Tennessee. As the Washington Post put it, this announcement “fell like a hammer across the Trump-worshipping subforums of the far-right Internet, where people had convinced themselves… that the world-famous pop star was a secret MAGA fan.” Donald Trump goes on camera to smirk that he now likes Swift’s music a little less. The singer is successful in enlisting tens of thousands of young people to register to vote, but her senatorial candidate of choice, Democrat Phil Bredesen, loses to Republican Marsha Blackburn, whom she’d called out as a flagrant enemy of feminism and gay rights.

“Definitely, that was a bigger disappointment for me,” Swift says, pitting the midterm snub against the Grammy snub. “I think what’s going on out in the world is bigger than who gets a prize at the party.”

It was not always thus for Swift — as the detractors who dragged her for staying quiet during the last presidential election eagerly pointed out. If you had to pick the most embarrassing or regrettable moment in “Miss Americana,” it might be the TV clip from “The Late Show With David Letterman” in which the host brings up politics and gets Swift to essentially advocate the “Shut up and sing” mantra. As the studio audience roars approval of her vow to stay apolitical, Letterman gives her what now looks like history’s most dated fist bump.

Thinking back on it, Swift is incredulous. “Every time I didn’t speak up about politics as a young person, I was applauded for it,” she says. “It was wild. I said, ‘I’m a 22-year-old girl — people don’t want to hear what I have to say about politics.’ And people would just be like, ‘Yeahhhhh!’”

At that point, Swift was already starting to record isolated pop tracks, taking baby steps that would soon turn into full strides away from her initial genre. But whether she had designs on switching lanes or not, the lesson of the Dixie Chicks’ forced exile after Natalie Maines’ comment against then-President George W. Bush had branded itself onto her brain at an earlier age, when she’d just planted her young-teen flag in Nashville and overheard a lot of the lamentations of older Music Row songwriters about how the Chicks had thrown it all away.

“I saw how one comment ended such a powerful reign, and it terrified me,” says Swift. “These days, with social media, people can be so mad about something one day and then forget what they were mad about a couple weeks later. That’s fake outrage. But what happened to the Dixie Chicks was real outrage. I registered it — that you’re always one comment away from being done being able to make music.”

Maybe the most transfixing scene in “Miss Americana” is one where Swift argues with her father and other members of her team about the statement she’s about to release coming out against Blackburn and — it’s clear from her references to White House opposition to the Equality Act — Donald Trump too. The comments were so spontaneous that Wilson wasn’t there to film the moment, but the director had asked people to turn on the camera if anything interesting transpired, and here it most certainly did.

“For 12 years, we’ve not got involved in politics or religion,” an unnamed associate says to Swift, suggesting that going down the road of standing against a president as well as Republican gubernatorial and Senate candidates could have the effect of halving her audience on tour. Her father chimes in: “I’ve read the entire [statement] and … right now, I’m terrified. I’m the guy that went out and bought armored cars.”

“I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bullshit rather than just smiling my way through it.” TAYLOR SWIFT

But Swift is adamant about pressing the button to send a nearly internet-breaking Instagram post, saying that Blackburn has voted against reauthorizing the Violence Against Women Act as well as LGBTQ-friendly bills: “I can’t see another commercial [with] her disguising these policies behind the words ‘Tennessee Christian values.’ I live in Tennessee. I am Christian. That’s not what we stand for.” Pushing back tears, she laments not having come out against Trump two years earlier, “but I can’t change that. … I need to be on the right side of history. … Dad, I need you to forgive me for doing it, because I’m doing it.”

Says Swift now, “This was a situation where, from a humanity perspective, and from what my moral compass was telling me I needed to do, I knew I was right, and I really didn’t care about repercussions.” She understands why she faced such heated opposition in the room: “My dad is terrified of threats against my safety and my life, and he has to see how many stalkers we deal with on a daily basis, and know that this is his kid. It’s where he comes from.”

Swift was recently announced as the recipient of a Vanguard Award from GLAAD, and she name-checked the org in her basher-bashing single “You Need to Calm Down,” which was released as one of the teaser tracks for last fall’s more outwardly directed and socially conscious “Lover” album. Part of her politicization, she says, is feeling it would be hypocritical to hang out with her gay friends while leaving them to their own devices politically. In the film, she says, “I think it is so frilly and spineless of me to stand onstage and go ‘Happy Pride Month, you guys,’ and then not say this, when someone’s literally coming for their neck.”

A year and a half later, she elaborates: “To celebrate but not advocate felt wrong for me. Using my voice to try to advocate was the only choice to make. Because I’ve talked about equality and sung about it in songs like ‘Welcome to New York,’ but we are at a point where human rights are being violated. When you’re saying that certain people can be kicked out of a restaurant because of who they love or how they identify, and these are actual policies that certain politicians vocally stand behind, and they disguise them as family values, that is sinister. So, so dark.”

Her increasing alignment with the LGBTQ community wasn’t the only thing raising her consciousness to a breaking — i.e., speaking — point. So did the sexual assault trial in which judgment was rendered that she had been groped by a DJ in a backstage photo op (for financial restitution, Swift had asked for $1).

Her experience with the trial was crucial, she says, in finding herself “needing to speak up about beliefs I’d always had, because it felt like an opportunity to shed light on what those trials are like. I experienced it as a person with extreme privilege, so I can only imagine what it’s like when you don’t have that. And I think one theme that ended up emerging in the film is what happens when you are not just a people pleaser but someone who’s always been respectful of authority figures, doing what you were supposed to do, being polite at all costs. I still think it’s important to be polite, but not at all costs,” she says. “Not when you’re being pushed beyond your limits, and not when people are walking all over you. I needed to get to a point where I was ready, able and willing to call out bulls— rather than just smiling my way through it.”

That came into play when Kanye West stepped into her life and publicly shamed her a second time. In the video Kim Kardashian released in 2016, you can hear the people-pleasing Swift on the other end of the line sheepishly thanking him for letting her know about the “Me and Taylor might still have sex” line he plans to include about her in a song — only to regret it later when the eventual track also includes the claim “Why? I made that bitch famous.” The boast, of course, referred back to the moment when he interrupted her and stole her spotlight at the MTV VMAs six years earlier as she was in the middle of an acceptance speech. West’s is not a name that ever publicly escapes Swift’s lips, so it might be surprising to fans that these events are recapped in “Miss Americana,” although Swift says the filmic decisions were all up to the director, who explains that Swift’s reaction to the episode was important to include.

“With the 2009 VMAs, it surprised me that when she talked about how the whole crowd was booing, she thought that they were booing her, and how devastating that was,” says Wilson. “That was something I hadn’t thought about or heard before, and made it much more relatable and understandable to anyone.”

“I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart.” LANA WILSON, DIRECTOR OF “TAYLOR SWIFT: MISS AMERICANA”

Swift acknowledges how formative both incidents have been in her life, for ill and good. “As a teenager who had only been in country music, attending my very first pop awards show,” she says now, “somebody stood up and sent me the message: ‘You are not respected here. You shouldn’t be here on this stage.’ That message was received, and it burrowed into my psyche more than anyone knew. … That can push you one of two ways: I could have just curled up and decided I’m never going to one of those events ever again, or it could make me work harder than anyone expects me to, and try things no one expected, and crave that respect — and hopefully one day get it.

“But then when that person who sparked all of those feelings comes back into your life, as he did in 2015, and I felt like I finally got that respect (from West), but then soon realized that for him it was about him creating some revisionist history where he was right all along, and it was correct, right and decent for him to get up and do that to a teenage girl…” She sighs. “I understand why Lana put it in.”

Adds the woman who started her recent “Lover” album with a West-allusive romp that’s pointedly called “I Forgot That You Existed”: “I don’t think too hard about this stuff now.”

What’s not in the film is any mention of her other most famous nemeses — Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, with whom she’s scrapped publicly for several months. “The Big Machine stuff happened pretty late in our process,” says Wilson. “We weren’t that far from picture lock. But there’s also not much to say that isn’t publicly known. I feel like Taylor’s put the story out there in her own words already, and it’s been widely covered. I was interested in telling the story that hadn’t been told before, that would be surprising and emotionally powerful to audiences whether they were music industry people or not.”

Still, the way Swift has been willing to stand up politically for others parallels the manner in which she stood up for herself in regard to Braun, et al., at the recent Billboard Women in Music Awards, where she gave an altogether blistering speech, naming names and taking no prisoners, going after the men who now control her six-album Big Machine back catalog. Certainly Swift was aware that, along with supporters, there were many friends and business associates of Braun among the VIPs in the Hollywood Palladium who would not be pleased with what this very reformed people-pleaser had to say.

One thing everyone who was in the room agrees on is that you could hear a pin drop as Swift used the speech to get even bolder about the meat of these disputes. Some would say it’s because they were riveted by her boldness in speaking truth to power, others because they just felt uncomfortable. Says one fellow honoree who works in a high position in the industry (and who’s worked with some high-profile Braun clients): “People were excited for her at the beginning of the speech. But once she started going in a negative direction at an event that is supposed to be celebrating accomplishments and rah-rah for women, I felt it fell flat with a good portion of the room, because it wasn’t the appropriate place to be saying it.”

Wasn’t it intimidating for Swift, knowing she might be polarizing an auditorium full of the most powerful people in the business? “Well, I do sleep well at night knowing that I’m right,” she responds, “and knowing that in 10 years it will have been a good thing that I spoke about artists’ rights to their art, and that we bring up conversations like: Should record deals maybe be for a shorter term, or how are we really helping artists if we’re not giving them the first right of refusal to purchase their work if they want to?”

“Obviously, anytime you’re standing up against or for anything, you’re never going to receive unanimous praise. But that’s what forces you to be brave. And that’s what’s different about the way I live my life now.” (Braun’s camp did not respond to a request for comment.)

One thing Taylor Swift can’t bend to her determined will is her family’s health. She revealed a few years ago that her mother, Andrea, a beloved figure among the thousands of fans who’ve met her at road shows, is battling breast cancer. Swift addressed the uncertainty of that struggle in an anguished song on her latest album, “Soon You’ll Get Better.” Many who view “Miss Americana” will look for signs of how her mom is doing. The subject comes up in a section of the film that includes a relatively light-hearted scene in in which it’s shown that one of Andrea Swift’s ways of saying “eff you” to cancer recently was to break the mold and bring a canine — her “cancer dog” — into a famously feline-friendly family.

The real answer may come in Swift’s touring activity for “Lover.” Whereas typically she’d spend nine months in the year after an album release on the road, she plans to limit herself to four stadium dates in America this summer and a trip around the festival circuit in Europe. This may not be 100% for personal reasons: “I wanted to be able to perform in places that I hadn’t performed in as much, and to do things I hadn’t done before, like Glastonbury,” she says. “I feel like I haven’t done festivals, really, since early in my career — they’re fun and bring people together in a really cool way. But I also wanted to be able to work as much as I can handle right now, with everything that’s going on at home. And I wanted to figure out a way that I could do both those things.”

Is being able to be there for her mother the main concern? “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason,” she says. “I mean, we don’t know what is going to happen. We don’t know what treatment we’re going to choose. It just was the decision to make at the time, for right now, for what’s going on.”

In her case, it’s as if her manager had taken seriously ill as well as the person she’s always been closest to, all at once. “Everyone loves their mom; everyone’s got an important mom,” she allows. “But for me, she’s really the guiding force. Almost every decision I make, I talk to her about it first. So obviously it was a really big deal to ever speak about her illness.” During filming, when Andrea’s breast cancer had returned for a second time, “she was going through chemo, and that’s a hard enough thing for a person to go through.” Then it got harder. Speaking about this latest development publicly for the first time, Swift quietly reveals: “While she was going through treatment, they found a brain tumor. And the symptoms of what a person goes through when they have a brain tumor is nothing like what we’ve ever been through with her cancer before. So it’s just been a really hard time for us as a family.”

Compared with that, nearly any other topic the movie might address would pale. But it finds weightiness in addressing other kinds of unhealthiness, like the physical expectations that are placed on women in general and celebrity women specifically, Swift being no exception. In this department, she has her own heroines. “I love people like Jameela Jamil, because he way she speaks about body image, it’s almost like she speaks in a hook. Women are held to such a ridiculous standard of beauty, and we’re seeing so much on social media that makes us feel like we are less than, or we’re not what we should be, that you kind of need a mantra to repeat in your head when you start to have unhealthy thoughts. I swear the way Jameela speaks is like lyrics — it gets stuck in my head and it calms me down.”

Swift’s collaborator in this messaging, Wilson, was on a list of potential directors Netflix gave her when she expressed interest in possibly doing a documentary to follow the concert special that premiered on the service just over a year ago. You could discern a feminist message, if you chose to, in the fact that Swift chose a director most well known for a documentary about abortion providers, “After Tiller.” Swift says she was most impressed, though, that Wilson’s docs look for nuance and subtlety in addressing subjects that do lend themselves to soapboxes, and their first conversation was about their mutual desire to avoid “propaganda” in any form.

If there’s a feminist agenda in “Miss Americana,” Wilson and Swift wanted it to emerge naturally, although the director admits it was pretty blatant from the outset, given that she set up the film (which is co-produced by Morgan Neville, the director’s “sounding board”) with an all-female crew. Or nearly all-female, says Wilson, laughing, “I will say that we did always have male production assistants, because I like trying to show people that men can fetch coffee for women.”

Adds Wilson, “When I started filming, it was before she’d come out politically. She knew that she was coming out of a very dark period, and wanted collaborate on something that captured what she was going through and that was really raw and honest and emotionally intimate.” The political awakening, the director says, “was a profound decision for her to make. In that, I saw this feminist coming of age story that I personally connected with, and that I really think women and girls around the world will see themselves in.”

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks.” TAYLOR SWIFT

The film borrows its title from a song on the “Lover” album, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” that’s maybe the one fully allegorical song Swift has ever released — and, in its fashion, is a great protest song. The entire lyric is a metaphor for how Swift grew up as an unblinking patriot and has had to reluctantly leave behind her naiveté in the age of Trump. Her partner on that track, as well as other message songs like “You Need to Calm Down” and “The Man,” was a co-writer and co-producer new to her stable of collaborators this time around, Joel Little.

With the song “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,” although the lyrics are cloaked in metaphor, “We like to think it was a very clear statement,” Little says. “There are lots of little hidden messages within that song that are all pointing toward the way that she thinks and feels about politics and the United States. I love that it uses a lot of classic Taylor Swift imagery, in terms of the songwriting topics of high school and cheerleaders, as a clever nod to what she’s done in the past, but tied in with a heavy political message.”

“Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince” doesn’t actually appear in the documentary, but the director says the film’s title is understood by fans as an obvious reference to political themes in the number. “Even if you don’t know the song,” Wilson says, “I see the movie as looking at the flip side of being America’s sweetheart, so I like how the title evokes that too.”

The doc doesn’t lack for its own protest songs though. In the wake of her midterm disappointment, Swift is seen writing an anthem for millennials who might have come away disillusioned with the political process. That previously unheard song, “Only the Young,” is seen being demo-ed before it plays in full over the end credits; it’ll be released as a digital single in conjunction with the doc. Key lyric: ““You did all that you could do / The game was rigged, the ref got tricked/ The wrong ones think they’re right / We were outnumbered — this time.”

“One thing I think is amazing about her,” says Wilson, “is that she goes to the studio and to songwriting as a place to process what she’s going through. I loved how, when she got the Grammy news (about “Reputation”), this isn’t someone who’s going to feel sorry for herself or say ‘That wasn’t right.’ She’s like, ‘Okay, I’m going to work even harder.’ You see her strength of character in that moment when she gets that news. And then with the election results, I loved how she channeled so many of her thoughts and feelings into ‘Only the Young.’ It was a great way to kind of show how stuff that happens in her life goes directly into the songs; you get to witness that in both cases.

So is the film aimed at satisfying the fan base or teasing the unconvinced hordes who might dial it up as a free stream? “I think it’s a little bit of both,” Swift says. “I chose Netflix because it’s a very vast, accessible medium to people who are just like, ‘Hey, what’s this? I’m bored.’ I love that, because I do so many things that cater specifically to fans that like my music, I think it’s important to put yourself out there to people who don’t care at all about you.”

In the wake of the last round of Kanye-gate, stung by the backlash of those who took his side, Swift took a three-year break from interviews. The mantra of her 2017 album “Reputation” and subsequent tour was “No explanations.” But her Beyoncé-style press blackout was a passing phase. With “Lover” and now, especially, the documentary, she could hardly be more about the explanations. Although this interview is the only one she currently plans to do about the documentary, it’s clear that she’s come back into a season of openness, and that she considers it her natural habitat.

“I really like the whole discussion around music. And during ‘Reputation,’ it never felt like it was ever going to be about music, no matter what I said or did,” she says. “I approach albums differently, in how I want to show them to the world or what I feel comfortable with at that time in my life.” Being more transparent “feels great with this album. I really feel like I could just keep making stuff — it’s that vibe right now. I don’t think I’ve ever written this much. That’s exhibited in ‘Lover’ having the most songs that I’ve ever had on an album” (18, to be exact). “But even after I made the album, I kept writing and going in the studio. That’s a new thing I’ve experienced this time around. That openness kind of feels like you finally got the lid off a jar you’ve been working at for years.”

Cipher-dom never could have stood for long for someone who’s established herself as one of the most accomplished confessional singer-songwriters in pop history. “I don’t really operate very well as an enigma,” she says. “It’s not fulfilling to me. It works really well in a lot of pop careers, but I think that it makes me feel completely unable to do what I had gotten in this to do, which is to communicate to people. I live for the feeling of standing on a stage and saying, ‘I feel this way,’ and the crowd responding with ‘We do too!’ And me being like, ‘Really?’ And they’re like, ‘Yes!’”

Swift believes talking things up again isn’t a form of giving in to narcissism — it’s a way of warding off commodification.

“The bigger your career gets, the more you struggle with the idea that a lot of people see you the same way they see an iPhone or a Starbucks,” she muses. “They’ve been inundated with your name in the media, and you become a brand. That’s inevitable for me, but I do think that it’s really necessary to feel like I can still communicate with people. And as a songwriter, it’s really important to still feel human and process things in a human way. The through line of all that is humanity, and reaching out and talking to people and having them see things that aren’t cute.

#swift finally comes out of the closet politically.... yes they REALLY wrote that

[stone-man-warrior]

January 9, 2021: 2:04 pm:

Local Update:

A walk out to the road was revealing today.

I took a short walk, it's a nice and sunny day out there, but is very cold despite the sunshine.

Conditions at Monroe's are strange in non-descript ways.

At Chartrand's, a large moving truck was parked at the roadside, not in the yard. The truck had graphics that say:

"Bekins Cross Town Movers

Eugene

Coos Bay

Medford"

with a phone number.

The driver and passenger both wore all black. The driver was about 350 pounds, dark hair and beard, passenger was 190 pounds, dark hair, goat beard, both in their late 30's and about 5' 11".

They parked there, made a lot noise, there was booms. and bangs, and thuds... then, some human body sized items were carried from the property and put into the Bekins Cross Town Moving truck.

Myers white Cross Over vehicle came down the road went to 560.

(airplane flying low and slow buzzed my house just now at 2:15pm)

The mail carrier for this route pulled into the Chartrand property at 376 parked and turned on his head lights.

I walked toward Chartrand's wondering why the mail carrier is at Chartrand’s when bodies are being moved around.

The mail carrier was at the Chartrand’s as the Sparacino's were approaching, the sound of a female voice like that of Deb Monroe was clearly heard, but there was no female anywhere around there. The mail carrier driving a red Ford Taurus Wagon, right hand drive, with a white paint stain on the right side front door pulled out of Chartrand's at the time he saw me approach and he drove past me towards the mailboxes, and that is when Sparacino's came down the road to chase me away, I did not go away. The Sparacino's have yet another brand new stolen Cross Over style vehicle, a black one, I was not able to see what kind because that is when Wesely Crowel came down the road and swerved to run me over as I was walking home, he was driving a black Mustang Convertible, tried to run me over, so I took cover near some railing where the creek culvert is at in front of Monroe's.

I walked to the mailbox, the mail carrier was there putting mail into the boxes. He spoke to me, said he was going to back up just at the time I was going to reach for my mail. Then he took a selfie photo of himself, and put the red Ford into reverse to place something into Clyde Baum's 333 mail box.

I thanked the mail carrier for warning me about backing up, and asked if he saw Wesely Crowel try to run me over. He replied "no, I'm a mailman, I don't see anything." He then asked if it was a mail carrier that tried to run me over, I said “no, it was Wesely Crowel in that black Mustang that just drove past you".

Meanwhile, the Sparacino's moved innocently and timidly on their way up to where they live at 545. I was the only one of the group on Jackpine who checked mail, that is unusual, they always try to block me from getting my mail. Today, it was the mailcarrier playing the turn-a-round who blocked me momentarily.

The theme was "Black"

The mail carrier was not participating in the theme part, unless the theme was "Red & Black", which I suspect is the case. Air Support Terror Air Force Colors are Red & Black, and the Air Support Terror Air Force is the US Postal Service, aerial division of "The Stork" terror cell that is USPS in Grants Pass, and nation wide.

======

2:54 pm:

On second consideration, the theme was:

“Black Label Society w/Red Cross-Over”, by Zack Wylde’s roadies.

======

2:39 pm:

I was able to see that Wesley Crowel appears to be alive, is not a taxidermy as he seems to have been the last few times I have seen him on the road, he clearly moved his head and hands this time as he drove by about one foot away from where I took cover at the creek guard rail, and was also wearing black, as was Nicole Sparacino who was driving that new stolen cross over style car, black. There was a passenger in the Sparacino car, I was not able to see who, because that was when Wesley Crowel was coming down the road to run me over.

All of that stuff happened within about ten minutes, from the time I heard loud booming and thud noises while I was on my driveway, to the time I walked out to the road to see the Bekins Cross Town Moving, to the time I saw the mail carrier take a selfie photo of himself and then I got my mail to return to my house, and began to write this immediately.

There was nothing in the mailbox, just air.

===========

5:43 pm:

The mail carrier today is not the regular usual Asian lady who drives the black  Nissan Quest van with Rocker Panel Graphics that say: “Black Jelly Bean“ on it. Today’s mail carrier did not even look like the substitute mail carrier, but was driving the same Ford Taurus Wagon, or one that looks the same as the one the substitute mail carrier drives. The substitute mail carrier looks exactly like the YouTube personality who goes by the name “PewdyPie”. Knowing what I know about the presence of Google operative terror soldiers around here, I am convinced the usual substitute mail carrier actually is the YouTube personality who goes by the name “PewdiePie”, but, that was not him today. Todays mail carrier looked similar, but was not the usual substitute mail carrier. Best description I can give is that of PewdiePie with darker colored hair and shorter beard. Otherwise the fake substitute mail carrier was similar looking to the real one, PewdiePie, who is only the substitute mail carrier for when the Asian lady who drives the “Black Jelly Bean Nissan Quest, is not on the route that day.

The USPS facility on Washington ave in Grants Pass is occupied and is run by Canadian terror soldiers and has a large presence of Famous Rock Star Music Groups who frequent that facility, where they are provided with young girls and boys for whatever they use them for... kidnapped children are collected by the mail carrier terror cell, taken to that facility, some of them are snatched up by actors, musicians, clowns, and magicians, as disposable sex slaves, and are used as target practice at the shooting range that’s across the freeway from the north Valley High School, not far from Flemming Middle School, and Manzanita Elementary School, where many of the victim children used to be kidnapped from, at a time when there were still some US Citizen Children left alive to kidnap from the schools, a long time ago. The US Children are all gone now, all were killed, taken as slaves, and many were trained as terror soldiers. The ones that were taken as soldiers and slaves would be in their 30′s now, or older, since the terror take over happened in around 1998 - 2004 or so,

The baby is on fire, there is no one watching the baby. The baby has been smouldering there, just slowly roasting away, is about done now, all cooked and ready to serve like those rotisserie chickens at the supermarket... except these ones are human, have names, like Sarah, Billy, Jason, Emily, Maria, and Jesus (Hey Zeus) are US Citizen babies that no one will save from the Actors, musicians, clowns, and magicians... the same ones we all love to watch on TV, and listen to on the radio. Those are the people who are cooking the babies.

============

Here is the link to the command orders to do whatever that activity was. I suspect that the person who was wearing the KKK robe last night was killed, could have ignited and launched away due to nitrous ignition, and that all of the Christian terror soldiers have bombs up their asses, that turns them into rocket ships when the gas ignites by the small flame of my Bic Lighter.

http://view.email.americanmusical.com/?qs=fbf219ca30ae02b782312bdbcbb2568285052f4da39c2e27b469927d68ddecee0dfa66e7f805f67b3752e0a106ccbac3c88142bcd7a921f3a345cab8c0d6dab9646bfbd2328e7f86e55e4e1e33445b7e

Also. I did not explain all of what happened at the Fred Meyer gas station the other day, or at the Walgreen’s afterwords.

It’s important that I go ahead and say some of what I left out from the Fred Meyer and Walgreen’s errand run in Dystopia on the 6th of January.

At the Fred Myer gas station, there were a lot of Buses of differing variety. One of them was the Salem Oregon Government style that I included an example photo of on that days Tumblr Post Entry.

When I pulled in for getting some fuel, that white Salem style bus was there at the gas pump next to the pump I usually use. The attendant there was Mark Kiesel of Kiesel Guitars disguised as Fred Meyer gas station attendant. He was doing a “Plug In“ service, where special assassins assume the role of others on the fly to make the hit, a “plug-in”, such as Mark Kiesel playing role of gas station attendant.

They knew I needed fuel before I knew I needed fuel, and were waiting there in the Salem Gov Bus when I arrived there.

So, as I pulled in, I recognized Mark Kiesel, I know who he is, he has been trying to kill me since 1993. Kiesel likes to use explosive guitars for his brand of murder and I have been given more than one Kiesel Guitar in my lifetime, all of them have exploded and killed other people. So, I recognized him, and said so, even with the Corona Mask on. He had some thugs in the Bus with him. One of the thugs had ignited, and burst into bits at the gas station on Wednesday, he ran to the bus and got inside before disintegrating. Then, one of the other thugs got out of the bus, came to where I was standing, to tell me that I had lit his friend’s nitrous tank, and was upset about that. So, I did not want to fuck around, I just ended the argument with my trusty fingernail clipper, and gave the young thug a manicure at neck level, stuck in the throat like a dry graham cracker. That one ran into the Bus with the others, someone mentioned that there was a lot of guitars inside the Bus, and then someone else shouted: “no! don’t open that!”. By that time, all of the occupants of the Salem Bus at the Fred Meyer had been ignited when the first one went in there with a lit tank... the Salem bus drove away quickly. everyone inside was screaming and choking either having been ignited, or stuck in the throat.

(5:24 pm: I think some federal fool may have been there, did not read this account about the dangers that exist here in Grants Pass, and was going to open a guitar bomb, thinking they were stolen guitars in the Salem Bus, when the guy that had the guitar bombs in the Bus is the owner of the company that makes them in CA. Federal fools are still thinking in terms of small potatoes, like petty theft or a single murder or rape, when the theft is that of the whole nation, and the murders are counted by the ten’s of millions with rough estimation, and that rape is the sons and daughters, wives and sisters of the federal fools as they are fucking off looking at petty theft. It seems as though the statement “no! Don’t open that! was the terror bastards from Hollywood terror hit command HQ telling the federal fool not to open the Kiesel Brand Guitar Bomb)

The Salem Bus exploded somewhere out of  view, the explosion was the same quality of sound characteristics as the explosions that were happening around my house on new years eve and on new years day. Very tight, dense, compact sound intense explosion noise, not a “boom”, more of a “Pow” w/snap characteristic. Short, loud, intense explosion.

So, I defended at the Fred Meyer, then went to Walgreen‘s with my car all behaving the way i enplaned, all of the electronics were going hey wire, and the fuel injection was not working as it should, then it all started to work normally after a couple of miles towards the Walgreen’s.

There, I am pretty sure it was Paul Reed Smith who I saw there, he was looking quite old though, and not in the best physical shape I have seen Mr. Smith in before. I thought he was dead from a fight at the Josephine County Jail when he and Zakk Wylde, Lars Ulrich, John Mayer, and Berus Sparacino attacked me inside the jail on June 16, 2020. I also saw my former spouse inside of the jail, but she was on the Sheriff Jailer side of the jail, while I was actually inside of the jail containment area when those people all attacked me there. So, I thought Paul Reed Smith had been killed, but, I saw him at the Walgreen‘s after the Kiesel Salem Bus exploded, so he must have been treated for his injuries, and healed since that time back in June.

The others that attacked at the jail, I still say are dead.

There was talk of “The Bus exploded!” while I was at the Walgreen‘s, and I had to fight one female terror soldier and one male terror soldier, who had a sword at the front checkout that day.

More stuff happened. After today’s Black Label Society Event on Jackpine, I am concerned about one other fellow I will be needing to face here pretty soon, about 5′10″, 40 y/o, blonde hair, long blonde goat beard, w/attractive curvy female mating pair accompaniment person spouse, well built, brick shithouse variety. Those two were at the Walgreen’s and were all upset about the events that took place at the Fred Meyer.

So, that Jackpine Black Parade was about the Salem Bus, and Kiesel of Keisel Guitars in Southern California.

Be advised that these particular terror cell members have access to C-4 explosives, so, that means Micheal Moore of Super Size Me fame, is where the C-4 comes from.

=====================

6:27 pm:

After consideration of the events on Jackpine, I have come to conclusion that the fake mail carrier was trained as part of the Myers terror cell of 560 Jackpine. When he said “I don‘t see anything” I recognize the significance, Is the same as “I don‘t cross anything” and is a Mters specific use of a way to frame someone is not religious, is not Christian. They used to do the statement but with “I don‘t cross anything”, today he said “I don‘t see anything”, where “See” is the Vatican reference. The idea is to make the victim who is not religious appear as someone who is hateful towards the religious people to the extent that they portray the intended victim as someone who refuses to cross their letter “T” or cross their legs when sitting down, because some how that is supposed to help with the frame for a crime if Myers can convince federal officers that the person in question is so hateful that they won’t even cross a T, their arms when standing, or legs when sitting.

Myers, 560 Jackpine is where that fake mail carrier was trained, so, that means Grants Pass Community Church is where the fake mail carrier is a member of the terror cell there, as are many of the hard core “Ye Old English 800″, larger terror cell are also trained. They are the ones who build and operate the killing contraptions I explain here. The Myers and all of the other people around here have access to the people who could send some help, but I am not able to because the bastards control the phones and internet and USPS too. All of the communication is hijacked exactly for when someone tries to contact helpful people.

They used to say: “I don‘t cross anything”. Today it was: “I don‘t See anything”.

======================

The command order came in early today, they had some time to prepare for a chance to have Wesley Crowel run me over, and all of that other bullshit that also happened. I suspect the crew on the road was thinking that I had been injured last night by the one wearing the KKK robe, it’s actually supposed to be a Grim Reaper terror attack disguise, comes w/sickle, and is usually worn by the terror Air Force General, Janice “Jay-Bob” Freeberg, as “The Grimm Freeberg”.

Don‘t ask...

It used to be a Ted Nugent song. I like that “Box Canyon Spaghetti Western“ bass sound they have going on here:

============

4:07 pm:

There is a very high likelihood that those “Boomm, bang... thud, thud...” sounds I heard coming from Monroe’s front driveway was the sound of not one, but two African Lions inside of another truck or van at the Monroe terror cell while the “Bekins Cross Town Movers” was a distraction service done by Safari terror cell. There is likely to have been Federal Fools there on steak out, who insist on being fooled all of the time by the local authorities.

“Bekins Cross Town Movers” = “Beacon Ave Department of Motor Vehicles”

Trust me, that’s what it means. They are the Safari terror cell along with the courts, sheriff, state police, all of the top level government in Oregon is the Safari terror cell... think of it as “One Hour Martinizing”.... delivered with Kings.

=============

4:21 pm:

Other sounds, noise, ground shaking that happened today is worth a mention:

At about 11:00 am -12:01 pm or so... a loud boooom was heard coming from the direction of Strong’s and Chapman terror cells on Russell Road. The sound was accompanied by the ground, or house shaking, My interpretation was that of either a small airplane crashed nearby, maybe near the train tracks to the west, or, a car hit a tree. It was not an explosive sound, it was more of the sound of impact, and was substantial, shook the house.

===============

4:31 pm:

A Butterfly flaps it’s wings in China, makes a hurricane in Texas.

I have a memory of something about the symbolism of Toyota Prius’ for terror considerations:

A place called Sun Valley Studios is somehow associated with Power, and the Prius.

Twenty years ago or more my family went rafting on the Rogue River as we did daily sometimes in the summertime, back when there still was some remnants of freedom in Oregon. On this one particular river raft trip, there was a man on a catamaran style raft, had been doing some drinking while boating, was alone, and talkative and friendly as we passed by rafting on the Rogue. The man explained that he was the San Bernardino County Sheriff, and was excited about new acquisitions at the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Office, where he said the county supplied the Sheriff with 500 Toyota Prius’ to use as patrol squad cars.

San Bernardino is the biggest county in USA, covers a lot of ground, is mostly harsh desert. I am anticipating some challenges associated with Toyota Prius squad cars in that kind of environment.

Although I don‘t have a conclusion for why that is important, I do know it is important, and I believe that man was indeed the county sheriff of San Bernardino. I don‘t know why he was so excited about it, or, why he felt he needed to explain any of that on rafting trip on the Rogue River more than a thousand miles from where he came from.

Somehow, today’s events on Jackpine remind me about that conversation so long ago, but I don‘t know why. So I wrote it down.

Also, I am reminded of the very best guitar player I ever knew, he was not famous, but was forced to be non-famous, as a slave who does backstage guitar playing while the famous guitar players fake it onstage. If I say who he is, they will kill him, and get another slave guitar player to do the live show from backstage.

==================

7:09 pm:

Here is example of that Norton pop-up window that shows up as I come back into my house after I take a walk. I just now went outside, walked around, the Monroe’s heard that I had gone out there with the listening devices, then turned on the whining noisy sound they play at their fresh water well, it’s speaker connected to an amplifier, is operated with Blue-tooth, to make an unpleasant noise that whines a high pitch frequency, is only done to aggravate me and spoil any existence of a peaceful moment outdoors.

Then I go back into the house and there is this pop-up, it only happens when I come back from a short walk outside.

===================

7:16 pm:

(Centurylink ISP is still turning off my number pad on my keyboard, when I want to use a numeral, I have to push the “Num Lk” button each time I want to use a numeral, if I don’t and use the number pad while it’s turned off, the cursor goes flying somewhere up the page, I loose my place, and all of this kind of fuckery makes it difficult to remember what the heck I wanted to say about all of this complicated kinds of terror so that I can get free of it with some help from the people who I am writing this for.)

I wanted to say about that San Bernardino Sheriff with the 500 Prius’:

My read about that includes but is not limited to the 500 Series of recording and studio effects used at professional sound studios. He was making a statement about 500 Series effects, and doing so by substitution of a electric car fleet. Maybe he was saying that he is getting an enema from the professional recording studios, so to speak, about some kind of distress he may have been in at the time.

When I lived in Riverside, I had some friends who were police. They may have come to find me, sent that guy, to say something, because I used to have some connections to music and recording studios... maybe he thought I could help him somehow, even if that help was just some sharing of terminology or standards in the recording industry. I don‘t know. It was something that I am remembering for a reason, was just a rafting trip where someone had a conversation with me as we floated by one another, of thousands of those, I remember that guy on the catamaran raft.

Go learn about 500 Series Effects, they are readily available in all configurations at Vintage King Audio in Hollywood, and in Nashville Tennessee, if you want to help figure out why 500 Toyota Prius’ are important to talk about on a river float.

The 500 Series are Rack Mount Effect Modular Components. The significance is the “Rack”. Medieval style torture rack.

There is one at 520 Jackpine at least some of the time.

It stretches people to 9 feet in length, not counting arm length, is very unpleasant, that is what it’s for, to get people to say personal and sensitive security information.

The ones who are on the Rack, are presented as they are tortured, to others among the group the victim belongs to, so, those other people are given the Spanish Inquisition, to say important information, if it’s not satisfactory to Myers of 560, then they crank the handle where the loved one is being stretched out. All of the people who are captured are injected with heroin, and exposed to nitrous gas. The captors don‘t like it when the victims make noise or scream, so that is what the heroin is for, to keep all involved as comfortable as possible during the ordeal. The victim on the Rack is given a view from a mirror, so they can see what shape they are in. It’s horrible. Happens next door for the past 24 years or so.

=================

8:02 pm:

The American Music Supply Command Orders:

There is much to look at, some is obvious with some pre-requisite understanding, some is not so obvious. One thing I saw in there that may be easily overlooked is that the featured guitars run the spectrum of available string elevation above the guitar body. Have a look at how high the strings are elevated above the guitar bodies of the featured selections. The names are also revealing. That Zakk Wylde crimson model is the lowest string elevation I have ever seen, in comparison to that other big hollow-body, there is a lot of difference going on with string elevation and at least one of those guitars has EMG style Active Pick-Ups, are powered, so, that is the comm, that Power Lines are of importance, and that is the elevated strings, the power lines, to say “Rocky Mountain Power” terror cell. You may be able to take more from the product specifications to arrive at Safari Terror Cell, if you want to do your own research to find truth.

The “Black Label Society” is in the comm too, to me, that seems to say something along the lines (lions) of:

“Signs Hanging all over the Dark Knowledge of Social Orders” or, simply put, the terror bastards are not happy about being exposed in their ways in such great detail so often, and want remedy to return the Darkness back over those dark secrets that have so much light on them.

=======

8:17 pm:

Dean Zelinsky

Gibson

Eastwood

Zakk Wylde

Breedlove

All of those and more, are guitar makers who have sent people to kill me. I am beginning to see a pattern, over the past 20 years and more.

So, there is also going to be Chapman Guitars in Britain.

Most unusual, could be bait, is Crimson Guitars, look on YouTube, looks like bait Guitar maker, however, the man who owns Crimson Guitars also has his own line of stains and finishes, so, maybe not bait, maybe a hit Luthier like the others.

If it says “Crimson“ on it, on any product, it’s likely to be a Vatican terror product.

Also, consideration of Keisel Guitars business model (after Mark killed the real owner and took over Carvin Guitars in Escondido, is that the guitars are only sold direct, not available in stores. The significance is in association to UPS, USPS, and Fed Ex all having been hijacked, controlled by the Christian terror army. The “Direct Sale” business model of any and all such direct sale products opens doors to unique ways of doing Murder & Replace terror tactics. Kiesel ships an order from a customer who was shown the product line by the Guru at Guitar Center. The customer see’s that the guitars are top notch, Vatican Choir Grade instruments, for a reasonable price for what you get, and Kiesel ships out the order, which is followed to the address by Keisel terror cell murder thugs. The customer is killed. Someone else moves in to the customers home. So, find the available used Keisel Guitars that may exist on Ebay, Craigs List, or Reverb and there may be ways of tracking who bought those new, why they are for sale used, and where the shipping went to when sold as new. Other important information can be gained by finding a few used Kiesel guitars to study how it was delivered, and it’s life story. That will also work for other “Direct Sale” products, any product, not just music equipment. I think Robert Keeley is also a “Direct Sale” business model. “Direct Sale” = “Straight to Jesus” and fits the Ann Wilson style associated to “Straight on for You”.

The guy who builds Crimson Guitars does seem like bait to me... very special terror operative network there is possible, maybe all the way to the Vatican Choir Central HQ because they have fail safe systems in place, bait, in case public safety persons catch on to the guitar and it’s position at the very top of the global terror pyramid. The idea is to put out there a sacrificial lamb, such as Crimson Guitars, so that no one will notice the monsters, Gibson. Epiphone, Gretch to name three monsters. Fender is a little different somehow... not sure how, but the “Made in Mexico” is what is called a “Golden no-no” as a blanket statement about “Made in Mexico” and that is complicated beyond what I have studied, except that Eric Clapton used a Fender for the purpose that Fender would be hijacked, he gave the “Foot in the Door” when he chose a Fender back in the days of Cream. So, Crimson Guitars could very well be backed with safety measures to lure police there, so that they will no longer look for Guitar terror connections to the Amp Guru, at the top of the Pink Floyd Pyramid, where David Gilmour and Roger Waters, sit, as Amp Guru.

I used to really enjoy playing my guitars. It was not long ago really, but, five years is too long to not be allowed to play my guitar. I am upset about that. I want to play my guitars, and, I want my cookies and milk too. So, the terror bastards arranged that I cannot play my guitars, and, they poisoned the cookies and milk.

I am upset about that.

So, I say fuck ‘em. Take all of the terror musicians out, let God sort them out later on.

========

9:24 pm:

They won‘t let me play my drums either, so fuck those guys too. Go to Drum Workshop in Ontario Ca, they do international terror through the Ontario International Airport, but be advised that the Ontario Airport is controlled by SAG, with protection from Gavin Newsom and the Canadian/Christian terror army, is a danger zone, code yellow, for caution is advised there. Newsom is dead now though, so no more help from there, he came to kill me, with Adam Sandler, neither of them have been seen since, except with old reruns of news real provided by the terror pansies of the news media. Sandler cried like a third grade girl when he did not get his way. They only act tough, in real life, they cannot survive.

==============

New Jersey.

It’s known as Oregon’s sister state. Both are the only states where self service at a gasoline pump is prohibited by law. They have it worked where the gas stations have a lot of unnoticed control over the inhabitants of the states. You are expected to remain in your car, not supposed to get out to stretch your legs. It’s not required that you stay in the car, but the inhabitants of the state all know about the medieval torture racks, so, getting out for a stretch, could lead to an extended time of it, so to speak.

There is more control associated with mandate of prohibition of self service than is apparent, it seems like a luxury, is a ball and chain. You are tethered to the inside of the car, if you get out, the gas station attendants double team you, triple team you, toss you into a waiting bus, for breaking the rules. To step out of the car is not a government mandate as is the pumping of the fuel, getting out of the car is “Forbidden“, and that is far worse a crime than just pumping your own fuel.

AMS says there is to be a “50% Off Sale” at my house tonight... God will be busy sorting out the AMS assassins by the morning.

Arrived at 3:02 pm this afternoon.

This one is a Ford Ranchero, 302 V-8. AMS is specific, there will be a cross-bow on the ranch, with some arrows, makes me a Jolly Rancher then.

Time to head ‘em up, and move ‘em out, pilgrim... we are going to Santa Monica, to see the Fuller Brush Man, Robert Fuller of Fulltone. The stuff he makes is built like a brick shit house, indestructible. Looks like I have been made.

============

Vintage King Audio says they are bringing a Torture Rack, and are upset about having been burned.

Arrived at 2:54 pm this afternoon:

(you have to read the fine print to appreciate it)

Some highlights of the weeks terror titles in the email commands from On-High:

Other email account is all junk. I am seeing a pattern though, Ally Invest of Bocca Rattan only sends a statement notification when the rock stars and Luthiers come to try to kill me.

I am still trying to reach Pittsburgh... it’s 10:27 pm, still there is no response from Pittsburgh. It’s been weeks since I first tried, this go ‘round.

===========

10:31 pm:

If anyone happened to have been outside about a half hour ago and heard all of that horible screaming, that was Myers of 560 torturing a house cat, to punish me for writing these cries for help. They collect the house cats of the victims they kill, and when I go take a walk, the torture one or more of the house cats, some times the cats are electrocuted, sometimes they are put into a microwave oven, sometimes it’s more gruesome. They also put infant babies into the microwave to get the parents to take the child to the hospital when the child won‘t stop screaming and seems to have a high fever. The Myers are able to use the nitrous gas, and keys to any home, because the sheriff has ways of getting the keys. all they need to do is arrest someone, make it all look legit, and then they have the keys so that Myers can do the murder, or torture, or plant a listening devise later on... they don‘t want to kill you right away, they need to torture you, your baby, and your house cat first, to make you talk, to say what they need to know before they kill you. With me, they make sure I can see or hear the result of torturing animals that they catch by using the nitrous gas to catch the animals so that the can torture them, to terrify me, while I get blamed for the dead cat tomorrow.

Myers looks like an innocent old church lady. I don‘t have a chance against that kind of defense.

When the Myers used to be more in my face about the things they do, they would begin to torture the animals, while saying that the animals are different than people are, “the animals don‘t feel pain” they say, then begin to really hurt the animals real bad, and then say: “See, if the animal could feel the pain, then they would tell me, and ask me to stop doing this, so, it must be God’s will, otherwise this would not be happening right now.”

Juseph Myers has brought very small children to my front door, knocked, then when I open the door, he cuts the child’s head off. Right there on the front porch. I call the police, and they say to stop calling the police to make that stop happening.

==============

10:53 pm: There are no signs of helpful people anywhere to be found.

=====================

1-10-2021: 2:59 pm:

[lukeysgirl]

swallow me whole | c.t.h pt. 2

synopsis: nasty calum hood smut w a decent storyline? pt 2: another party but on a cruise ship. 

word count: 12k+ 

authors note: a long but good read, i pinkie swear! got a few lovies in my taglist, but i dont be doing tglists too much. i just wanna write and whoever gets to see it, sees it. enjoy! <3 

part 1 here

PART 2 S O L I C I T A T I O N 

The next mornings sun kindly kissed you awake. 

An incredible warmth was bestowed upon your shoulder as you slightly turned over. You slowly began opening your eyes, subconsciously bringing your hands up to wipe away the dried tears. A yawn escapes your dry lips, forcing your body to sit up and lick them moist. Seeing as it was now daytime, you were pleasantly shocked at how nice the room truly looked. 

It was a very modern looking room. White walls with black wood drawers and such things to compliment. You looked down to see that the sheets, too, were black and white. But they were silky smooth and catering to your skin, as you were enveloped in a comfy fantasy. But paintings were hung around the room to give the yin-yang room several splashes of color. 

You also realized you were placed into the bed much properly compared to where you had went out cold last night. You looked over to the unoccupied space of the bed, wondering where Calum had gone. Turning over to the bedside table, you noticed that your phone sat nicely at the corner of it. Tapping it awake, it illuminate several notifications that you did not want to deal with. 

“Nope,” you groaned, flipping the phone over so you could stretch. You reach for the sky, comforting your bones before removing the blanket from your warm body. But when you looked down at your legs, you crinkle your nose in disgust. Your dress and body was cum-stained, seeing as you essentially slept in hormones. “Fuck me...” 

You look around once more, noticing that the door to the room was closed. Shrugging, you get on your feet and slowly peel the skimpy dress from your body. It was difficult, considering you needed someone elses help to put it on and take it off, but you managed. You then replace it with the blanket, covering your body while holding onto each ends of it. Wings, you thought to yourself with a smile. 

The morning sun caught your attention, your feet treading lightly on the carpet. You walk over to the large glass wall, basking in the beauty of the city. It would seem dull to people who prefer the city in the night, but the beauty of it was not exclusively nocturnal. The day time, too, compliments how tall the skyscrapers truly were, and the Hudson River that ran through it all. 

You suddenly heard the door open behind you, and a deep, “oh, you’re awake.” Turning around, you see a groggy Calum Hood stand at the doorway. He had still been in the outfit from last night, but his cock wasn’t out and about. His face looked better then when the two of you were at the bar, but he wasn’t smiling. You look down to see his hands offering a steaming mug. “I made you a cup of tea for your throat.” 

You completely forgot about the two times he face fucked you. He walks over and hands it to you, in which to measly hold it with your blanket-covered hands, “thank you so much.” Brown eyes watch as you take a long swig of the tea. It was chamomile, and saccharine from what tasted like honey. It was just cool enough to drink and you smiled from the sensation. 

“Better?” He asks softly. 

You nod, “much, thank you.” Calum nods, giving you a small smile. You kept taking little sips, relieving your throat from its soreness. Calum looks over to see your dress sprawled on the floor, having him look over with a bit of concern. 

“Did I ruin your dress?” He walks over and picks it up. “I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, attempting to convince him that it was nothing. “Let me find you some clothes to wear for the meantime. I’ll give you the money to get this washed properly-- it must be expensive.” 

You watch the man disappear from the room as you continued to quietly sip your tea. He’s kind, you thought. That attitude you were introduced to when you met him was completely shadowed by his consideration. Calum Hood seemed like a nice guy, and he was pretty good in bed, too. His dominance took you aback, never having been in such a position. 

A vanilla night isn’t bad, but what Calum had done to you was beyond words. The way he took control of you, and used your body to his liking while still pleasuring you was so sexy. His lips were like nicotine, and his body was enthralling. You just wanted more and more. 

But you realized that this was probably a one-time thing, and you likely weren’t going to do anything else with him again. The thought made you pout, but you were glad you weren’t hooked. Liking someone would put a dent in your career. But you were sad to think that you’ll be remembering this for the rest of your life and he was going to forget all about you in hours. 

Your sorrow thoughts came to a halt though when Calum returned to the room with hands full of things. He had a black towel, an outfit, and hygiene things. “I figured maybe you would like to take a shower?” 

You smile, nodding graciously. You traded the empty mug for the morning bundle and held it happily. “You’re the nicest one-night I’ve ever met, thank you so much...” Calum frowned by your words but quickly regained himself. He held the mug a little more tightly. 

“I’ll take this to the kitchen,” he muttered, “the bathroom is to the left of this room, you’ll see it.” You nod, watching wondrously as the man left the room and headed off to who knows where. You put the bundle down on the bed and slip off the blanket. You wouldn’t want to bring that whole thing into the bathroom with you. 

Quickly, you grabbed your phone and rushed into the bathroom. Locking the door, you looked around to see how large the bathroom was. It was essentially the same amount of space as your entire apartment. Everything was of porcelain and granite, with metallic bathroom features such as the faucet and shower head. But the sink was just a flat rock, the shower could fit an entire bed, and there was a bath if you cared to use it. 

You placed your bundle down on the sink and turned on the shower. You looked at yourself in the mirror and widened your eyes. Your makeup was somewhat in tact, with a bit of mascara dragged below your eyes. But what really caught your eye were all the hickeys ornate on your neck. You leaned it, lightly touching them with your fingers. There was even a bit of dried up cum on your collarbones from it dripping from your lips. 

“Geez,” you sighed, shaking your head as you decide to distract yourself momentarily with your phone. Texts from Meri had spread like wildfire. She messaged you through iMessage, Twitter, Instagram, and even Facebook. You felt immensely bad for worrying her, as those texts were complimented by several missed calls. 

You walk over to the shower, noticing a plastic holder that was meant to use your phone. Deciding to call her back, you put it on speaker and slip the phone in the protector. Two rings later, and you hear an abrupt, “Y/N!” 

You cower, “hi, Meri...” 

“Where the fuck are you?” Your best friend screamed through the phone. “I’m so fucking worried about you-- send me your location!” 

“Meri, I’m fine, everything is okay!” You insisted, grabbing the bottle of body wash. You lather it all over your body, removing your upper body and thighs of the dried up cum. “I... hooked up with someone last night.” 

“Yeah, I know!” She squealed, but didn’t seem as excited about it. “They figured out that it was you who went home with Calum Hood.” 

Your eyes were wide, “how was that possible? I had my face covered the entire time he was escorting us out!” 

“Yes but you didn’t have your face covered when I was escorting you in,” Meri explains with a sigh. You sucked your teeth, realizing her point. “They’re at my apartment looking for you.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not.”

Fuck. You reach over for the plastic cap Calum provided you and covered your hair. Meri was already mad enough; you didn’t want her getting mad at you for ruining your hair. “I’m so sorry Meri, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“I’m not upset, don’t worry about that,” Meri hums. “I’m just worried about you. Calum Hood is the bass player for 5 Seconds of Summer, if you didn’t know.” 5 Seconds of Summer? 

“All he told me was that he was a bass player of a band,” you informed her as you washed away the Old Spice body wash. “Are they a big band?” 

“I’ve played several songs of theirs before, Y/N,” Meri begins. “Do you not pay attention?” You deny recalling anything because you genuinely can’t remember. “Y/N, they’re a boyband. Their following is mainly a bunch of young girls whose ovaries pop for them.” 

You chuckle at her words but knew she had been serious. “I didn’t intend to hook up with anyone. But you were busy and you know I don’t talk with other celebrities. He just sort of showed up and we had a good conversation.”

“I know babe, I’m not mad,” Meri coos softly. She had always been so understanding, and you knew a small smile had spread on her lips. “He’s a chill guy, we’ve talked a few times before.”

You agreed, “he was very considerate. He brought me tea this morning and lent me his bathroom.”

“No wonder why you sound so weird!” Meri exclaimed. You giggled, “so... was he good?” Her voice suddenly calmed down and had been full of curiosity. You felt your cheeks flush, the shower steam making it worse. 

“He’s... really good,” you emit quietly. “I’ve never been with anyone like him.”

“He’s a top, for sure,” Meri predicted, “he gives off that Christian Grey vibe, doesn’t he?” You have no idea... “Did he hang you from the ceiling or something?” 

“Jesus Christ, Meri, no!” You waved at the phone. “He isn’t that perverted I don’t think.” As you washed yourself, you patted your chest and realized that Calum didn’t touch them. “He didn’t touch my chest at all last night.”

“Really?” Meri sounded just as confused. You cupped your breasts in self-consciousness. “I don’t know how he could resist them; they’re so cute!” You blushed, giving them a reassuring pat. 

“Maybe he isn’t a boob guy,” you put the idea out there. “He liked my butt more than my boobies.” Meri giggles. 

“Fuck it; he would have had too much fun with them anyways.” Meri was always great in reassuring you and regaining your confidence. “Anyways, send me your location so I can send someone to pick you up.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll take the subway back to yours,” you insisted. “You aren’t too far anyways.” You turn off the shower and reach for the towel. “Plus, nobody knows where he lives so I don’t want to just out his address like that.” 

“Well aren’t you sweet?” Meri boasted with a sugary tongue. “Fair enough. I’ll see you soon, okay? Make sure you eat something.” 

“Mm, I will, mom,” you agreed as you dabbed your body dry. “See you soon, love you.” 

“Love you too!” 

The call ends and you reach in to take your phone out. You felt like a brand new woman, with your skin emanating the smell of man. Giggling at this, you put the phone on the sink and finish drying yourself. You pull off the shower cap from your head as well. You noticed that Calum also provided a brand new stick of male deodorant. It was sweet of him to let you use one of his new sticks, even though you were going to smell just like him now. 

You lift up the shirt he provided you and looked at it. It was a large black dress shirt. Which was the worst choice, considering how sunny and warm it was out. But nonetheless, you appreciated the kindness and buttoned it up. It was big, but you managed to make it fit. You then pick up a pair of boxers that you were pretty sure he accidentally shrunk. It hugged your body kindly and you felt comfortable. He provided a pair of sweats as well but you were pretty warm from the hot shower you just took. 

After brushing your teeth, you the bathroom with your things and walk back into the bedroom. You place everything on the bed to tackle one thing at a time. You hung the towel from one of the hooks behind his door and placed the hygiene things as well as the sweatpants on his bedside table. You also took it upon yourself to do his bed as gratitude for his kindness. 

After doing all of that, you grab your phone, your dirtied panties, and your shoes and head out the room in search for Calum. The daytime gave you the opportunity to notice how lovely his apartment was. It was clean and ornate with photos of him and people you could recognize. Actors and musicians would smile pleasantly with him, allowing you to safely assume that he’s had a good time. 

Your feet carefully walk on the polished wood, admiring the simplicity that was his apartment. He clearly didn’t care to fill it much. You find yourself out of the hall and into the living room. It was huge, but a voice beckoned you over to give it much of a look. 

“Oh hey, you’re done,” Calum hummed. He was in the kitchen, with a spoon in one hand and a frying pan in the other. “Come come. Take a seat.” He glances back to gesture at the seats by the kitchen island. You take the offer and place your things on the chair beside you. Your thighs flourish in goosebumps when your skin touched the cool wood of the seat. 

“Your bathroom is very pretty by the way,” you begin quietly. “I’m jealous.” 

“You think so?” Calum took the compliment with a smile. “Did you have a good shower?” He steals looks over to you to see you nod. “I’m glad. Pressure is good?” 

“It was perfect, I promise,” you insisted, tapping your phone with the tip of your fake nails. You hear the sizzling of the pan, which made you curious. “Is that bacon I smell?” 

“Mm, you like bacon?” Calum glances back and smiles teasingly. “You can have as many as you’d like.” 

“I’ll just have a strip or two,” you downplay quietly. You then shyly look away, tapping on the granite tabletop. “Or five.” Calum chuckles at your silliness, and continued to cook. He decided on a simple breakfast of bacon, toast, and scrambled eggs. Only because he didn’t have too much food in the fridge, considering he was always eating out. 

“I really only eat breakfast anyways,” he explains. He shuts off the stove and places a full plate before you. You watch him place another plate across from you and head back to grab two glass cups and a pitcher full of orange juice. “We have apple juice and water if you don’t like orange juice.” 

“I’m not picky,” you insist. He smiles at you as you immediately dig in and take a bite of the toast. “This is the nicest breakfast I’ve had in a while so I appreciate it.” Calum places the two cups down and serves you a glass. 

“I take it you don’t eat much for breakfast?” 

“More like I don’t have the time for breakfast,” you admit sheepishly. “With school and work, I don’t really think much about it. I just brew a quick cup of coffee and I’ll be on my way.” 

Calum hums in comprehension. “So what about the weekends? You seem to have enough time right now.” 

“Well, I already finished all my homework and I have most weekends off,” you informed him. You stab a few pieces of egg and put it in your mouth. You chew quickly to continue talking, “and I didn’t have to make it this time so yeah, I have a pretty good amount of time on my hands.” 

He smirks at your words and nods. “By the way, I didn’t know you were Merigold’s plus one.” You nodded. “I should have known; you two give off the same nice and down-to-earth vibe.” 

“We get that a lot,” you say while taking another bite of bacon. “But she’s much prettier than me.” Calum snorts, causing you to furrow your brows. “Something funny, Calum?” 

“The fact that you think she’s prettier than you,” Calum begins quietly. His eyes stay on the plate, barely moving the pieces of egg with his fork. “It’s just a little funny.” 

“But she is.” 

Calum crinkled his nose and shook his head, “nah. Merigold is beautiful; nobody can deny she’s not.” He then lifts his head up, those deep brown eyes shooting arrows directly at your heart. “But she isn’t as gorgeous as you.” 

You roll your eyes, “you’re just saying that to be nice.” Calum shrugs while continuing to dig in. Your heart is absolutely racing now, the compliment making you think more than ever. He thinks I’m gorgeous? More so than Meri? He must be joking. 

After the delicious breakfast and the bit of chitchat, you took it upon yourself to help Calum clean the dishes. “You really don’t need to,” he tried to stop you but you were relentless and continued to clean the plates. It allowed Calum to finish the cycle of the laundry and put them in the dryer. 

“By the way,” Calum started as he came from the laundry room of his house, “I took it upon myself to wash your dress.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you turned over, clearly in shock of his kindness. “I could have gone to the laundromat and done it myself.” 

“Well, you’re doing my dishes so I guess we’re even,” Calum gave you a wink before returning to set up the dryer. You blushed. This one night stand was straight out of a fantasy book written for middle-aged women. 

As you’re finishing up, you grab a towel to dry your wrinkled fingers. You turn to look for Calum, who walked back into the room slowly. He had a bundle of papers in his hand, clearly focused on the words printed on them. He suddenly looked stressed out, like the papers contained paragraphs of bad news. 

“I finished the dishes,” you sounded, having him look over and give you a smile. 

“Thank you so much,” Calum spoke softly. His voice had reduced to a more hush tone. His eyes were suddenly cloudy; he looked distraught. He sniffled a little bit before placing the papers down on the counter. “Anyways, when do you want to leave? I can take you home.” 

He was no longer the Calum behind the stove making the two of you breakfast. He was last nights Calum, with all the stress returned from the bar. “Don’t worry, I can take the subway back,” you insisted. You dried off your hands and headed straight for the laundry room. 

“Where are you going?” Calum called to you. 

You pulled your dress out from the dryer (which had dried extremely quickly) and changed. You left the clothing you borrowed in his hamper and embarrassingly slipped on your dirty panties. You return to him and grab your shoes from beside him that was on the chair. You bent down and slipped the on, knowing that the man’s eyes were on you. But doing this motion finally made you realize about your knees. 

“Oh.” Your thumbs rub along the scrapes and bruises that made themselves at home on your knees. They were blue and purple and red, and finally began to sting as soon as you paid attention to them. 

“Y/N, let me--” Calum started but you raised your hand and shook your head. 

“I’m good.” You grabbed your phone and remembered your strap that was still in the room. But you weren’t pressed about it as kept it in hand and headed straight for the door. 

“Y/N!” Calum called for you but you were already out the door. And he chose not to follow. 

XXX

Meri, like the good best friend she was, managed to get the building staff to sneak you in from the back. You swiftly followed her through the prohibited corridors and made it safely back into her apartment. The paparazzi remained outside like angry bees, waiting to pester you for details. 

“So much for covering my face,” you sighed in annoyance. You plopped yourself on Meri’s gray couch in defeat and slipped off your shoes. Meri closes the door and joins you. “Now they’re going to bother me for a while.” 

“I think you’ll be okay,” Meri hums as she toys with a strand of your hair. “Clevver news has you covered.” 

You express a puzzled look as Meri pulls out her phone and taps away. With a video now open, she turns her phone horizontally and holds it before the both of you. You watch attentively to see one of the Clevver reporters begin the daily scoop of gossip. 

“’Last night, bass player Calum Hood left last nights celebrity gathering pretty early, hand in hand with a woman in a red dress,’” the reporter says quickly. “’The woman, though, had been identified early this morning when pictures of the same woman in the red dress had first arrived to the party with best friend Merigold Leigh.’” 

Meri sucks her teeth, “they spelled my name wrong in the captions.” 

“’The woman, known as Y/N Y/L/N, was her best friends plus one last night at the party in downtown, New York. This has reportedly been the first time seeing Y/N going out with her best friend to this kind of outing.’“ 

“I mean,” Meri begins, “they aren’t lying.” 

“‘Coincidentally though,’“ the reporter begins with a smirk, “‘her first night out ended pretty quickly when 5 Seconds of Summer’s Calum Hood escorts her out and drive them away. Could this have been by coincidence or planned?’“ 

You scoff at the phone. “I’ve never met this man until last night! What the fuck is she on about?” Meri shrugs but insists that you watch the remainder of the video. 

“‘But she could also simply be one of the many woman Calum has been taking home since his arrival to New York a week ago,’“ the reporter informs. “‘Since his arrival, he has been out every night and has a different woman each time.” 

“Ah,” you begin. “He’s a fuckboy.” You push away Meri’s phone and sigh. “Great, fucking wonderful.” 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“I let him fuck me raw,” you resign into your hands. “I probably have herpes or some shit now.” Meri quickly raised her phone and started looking through her contacts. “Meri, what are you--?” 

“Sh!” She pressed a finger against your lips. “Let me do what I do.”

After 2 rings, someone picked up and Meri was on attack mode, “Luke, I have a question or two and you’re going to answer, ‘kay?” 

You watched as she put the call on speaker and you heard a man’s voice, “geez, okay.” He sounded similar to Calum, but not as sexy. His voice was indeed hoarse but it was more clean and lighter. 

“Is Calum with you?” Meri blurted out. You slapped your forehead with your hand, taken aback by Meri’s audacity. 

“Oh yeah, I just got to his apartment,” the man, Luke, answered. “D’you want me to pass the phone to him?” 

“Yup.” 

A bit of ruffling noise later, Calum’s voice sounded through, “hello?” 

“Calum, do you have an STD?” Meri went straight to the point. You wanted to melt from the embarrassment, but you knew she had to do whatever it takes to reassure you. That’s what best friends are for after all.

“No, why?” 

“Because you fucked my best friend raw and she’s worried you might’ve given her a fuckboy disease.” Calum chuckles through the phone. 

“Let her know she has nothing to worry about,” Calum assured, though the both of you weren’t too convinced. “I promise.” 

Meri’s green eyes look into yours, shrugging at his words. You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or not because you’ve only known this man for a few hours. Meri decides that he’s in the clear and sighs, “whatever you say, Hood. But if she gets checked and they find something, I’m going after you.” 

“I give you full permission,” Calum chuckles again. “Anyways, was that all?” 

Meri was fuming from how lightly he was taking her, but you decided to takeover. Grabbing the phone from her hand, you put it close to your mouth and grin, “that’s all, Calum. Thank you!” 

“Oh, Y/N!” Calum enthusiastically cheers. “Did you get back safe? I didn’t catch your number so I couldn’t ask.” Your cheeks tinted pink from his consideration. Meri shoved your shoulder gently. 

“I’m fine,” you reply. “We’ll stop wasting your time now. Bye bye.” Calum began a breath as though he wanted to say another word, but you hung up before he had the chance. You hand the phone back to Meri and shake your head. “Who’s Luke?”

“Oh, Luke?” You nod. “That’s one of Calum’s band mates; Luke Hemmings. He’s the lead singer.” You nod, taking this information in. “When we go out tonight, I’ll point him out for you. He’s blonde with blue--” 

“I ain’t going out tonight,” you immediately dismissed. Meri looked at you in shock but you quickly stopped her, “this was enough fun for a weekend. I don’t want to be another celebrities one night.” 

“You won’t be if you don’t follow them,” Meri scolded. “Just stay with me.” 

“I don’t know if you’re gonna disappear on me again or not,” you dropped your hands on your thighs. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“What, did Calum do something to you?” Meri asked worriedly. You shook your head, “then why won’t you go?”

“I don’t want to deal with the paparazzi,” you sighed in annoyance. “I’m in the gossip and that’s not what I want. You can deal with fame but I can’t. I just want to go back to being an irrelevant NYU student who only studies and drinks coffee.” 

“Well, we’re too late for that,” Meri replies. Her hands snake under your head and tilts it so you’d be facing her. “The paparazzi aren’t going to know about this party.” 

“Mm?” You furrow your brows in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because we weren’t supposed to talk about it and it’s not an easily accessible place,” Meri informs you with a smirk. You were still confused, but she quickly opens the small drawer of the coffee table and reveals two tickets. “The party is on a cruise ship.” 

XXX

“Meri, I don’t like water too much,” you say in a panicked tone. 

Before the both of you was a huge, egg-white ship. It was brightly lit up and parked right by the bay of Chelsea Piers. You’ve always seen many boats parked there, but you’ve never had the opportunity to get on one. Not that you cared for missing out-- boats weren’t your favorite vehicles. 

“There are no sharks in the Hudson River, Y/N,” Meri rolls her eyes. You two were linked by arms as you walked closer and closer to the boarding dock. Security surrounded you two, but Meri wasn’t wrong. There were no paparazzi in sight. 

“There was a whale in here a little bit ago,” you chime in. She shoves you playfully. 

“Stop being a wuss,” Meri said aggressively, having you suck your teeth at her. “Even then, if you really want to get off, there are speed boats surrounding the cruise and they’re on hold for calls every second.” 

You sighed. It was reassuring, but you still weren’t to excited about it. The boat itself was immensely intimidating and you felt immensely self-conscious with your outfit. 

Because there were going to be several pools, Meri forced a black one-piece bathing suit on you. It hugged your curves nicely, and had a very low v-neck so the inner sides of your breasts shower. You also had a pair of white booty shorts pulled on, which were short enough that the bottom of your ass cheeks showed. Hair was tied up and heels were hugging your feet kindly. You were embarrassed, but denying Meri had been hard nowadays. 

“This is gonna suck,” you sighed. You were glad that you didn’t have too many accessories on this time, but this outfit made you feel so exposed. You told Meri that you had no intention to get into any pool, but she wanted you to dress properly. “I already hate it.” 

“Shush!” Meri hushed you. All you could do was groan as the sound of the highway by the bay sounded with humming cars and honks. You walked passed lit up sidewalk lamps and made your way over to the boarding area. Celebrities of all forms were waiting around in groups, likely waiting for others before getting into the cruise. 

The two of you get in line, security still surrounding you as the staff in charge of boarding people had been walking down the line to check everyone in faster. Meri handed the tickets to the staff member, who poked holes in them before returning them back to her. Meri handed you one and instructed that you don’t lose it. You listen and immediately fold it and put it in the pocket of your phone case. 

Your anxiety rose as you two crossed the board walk, which was covered in a red carpet. You two enter the lavish cruise ship, which were ornate with golden lights and pictures of famous people on said cruise. Staff had sprawled all around, walking around the celebrities with plates of sushi and other finger foods. 

Meri guided you to the heart of the ship, which looked as extravagant as the Titanic at its time. A huge chandelier hung right above you with a large set of stairs that guided the two of you up stairs to one of the outer levels of the cruise. Meri was so excited that she dashed up and almost fell a few times. She was lucky you held her, or else her face would have met the floor by now. 

“Beautiful!” Meri squealed as you two finally reached where the party was. The pools seemed infinite as lights were installed in them and illuminated right out of the chlorine water. There were people everywhere in bathing suits, either dancing in the water or grinding on one another dry. You weren’t really sure how to react but you decided to focus on the excited ginger holding your arm. 

“This ship is huge,” you comment, basking in the largeness and luminous entity that was the cruise. You look over at the main component of the cruise, seeing several doors and people walking around. “What’s over there?” 

“Do you not know how a cruise works, Y/N?” Meri asked curiously. “Everyone is assigned a room if you want to stay overnight. Our rooms are right next to each other.” 

You frown, “why couldn’t we just share a room? It seems wasteful to give a room to someone like me.” 

“Because,” Meri began quietly. A huge grin touching ear to ear formed and she tapped her lips with her free hand. “There’s someone I want to spend the night with.” 

“Gross,” you shake your head, “and I’m gonna have to sleep right next to that. Geez, Meri...” 

“Or maybe not?” She raised the pitch of her voice. You raise an eyebrow towards her as she begins to guide you around the pools. “I want to sleep with a member in this band and lucky for me; its a two man band.” 

“Oh is it now?” You ask in a monotone voice. 

Meri nods her head happily as she walks you passed the bunches of people. She greets the people you pass with a back pat and a happy ‘hi!’ before reaching one of the many large Jacuzzi’s. And, to your surprise, you saw more than 2 people in there. 

“Aye, Meri!” Although your ears heard one thing, your eyes were looking at a completely different individual. At the farthest point of the Jacuzzi from where you stood was Calum Hood, with a woman sitting on him. You decide to find the face to the voice before indulging in the bassist’s exposure. 

“Lukey-poo!” Meri lets you go to quickly dip into the pool to meet the blonde man half way. The white boy with blonde curls was pretty cute, with a dashing smile and heart-melting blue eyes. He seemed genuinely content to see your best friend as the two hugged one another. “How are you?” 

“I’m good; it’s so good to see you!” Oh, you realized. This is Luke, Calum’s band mate. You watch with a curt smile as the two were only thighs deep in the water, holding each other and exchanging the quickest set of words. He turned her a bit to see four other boys who were sat in the Jacuzzi, beers in hands and all smiles. 

“Ashton! Michael!” The largest man there stood up first, water dripping down his toned body. You bit your bottom lip as you watched the unnaturally red-haired man stand and give your friend an airhug. “Ashton, you can hug me; I’m not scared of water.” 

“Maybe not you, but your phone definitely is,” the built man, Ashton, joked. He turned over to meet your eyes as Meri continued to hug the other man beside him who you assumed was Michael. “I take it you are Merigold’s best friend, yes?” 

You nod shyly, watching as he moves through the water and offers you a hand. “I’m Y/N.” Ashton smiles as you shake his hand. “And wow, your hand is huge.” 

Ashton bursts into a joyful laugh. He, too, owned the broken Australian accent that Calum and Luke own. He must be part of the band, too. “I get that a lot. Will you be joining us this evening, Y/N?” 

“I’ve got nowhere else to go as soon as this cruise starts going, so,” you joked, having Ashton emit yet another hardy laugh. You smiled, noticing that Ashton didn’t let your hand go. 

“Come come, join us in the water,” Ashton insisted, in which you politely declined at first. But Ashton gives your hand a squeeze, his intoxicating hazel eyes practically begging you. “It’s warm, and there’s absolutely no sharks.” 

You snorted, with Meri looking back to laugh at Ashton’s reassuring strategy. You think for a brief moment before resigning and wiggling down your shorts as well as removing your heels. Holding it in your free hand, Ashton held your hand and helped you down carefully. He walked you over to the rest of the boys, who of which Meri had been ogling one of them. 

He’s the one she wants to fuck. But as you came closer and closer, you realized that the two man band had been people you recognized. “Oh shit,” you emit under your breath, “you guys are the Chainsmokers, right?” The two boys leaning against the rim of the Jacuzzi smile and chuckle at your reaction. 

“Nice to meet you,” the raven-haired man start, plopping his hand out from the water to offer it to you. “I’m Alex, and this over here is Drew.” You shake his hand first, realizing that this was the man Meri wanted to hook you up with while she took the dirty blonde man that also held his hand out. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” you smile while shaking hands with Drew right after. “I watched you guys win that Grammy a bit ago; congratulations on your success.” 

“Thank you so much,” Alex replies with a gracious smile. He gestures you over to sit beside him, with Ashton calling a server over to bring you a beer. It was this moment that you realized how kind a few celebrities can be. You take a seat beside Alex, with Drew beside him and Meri right next to him. The warm water relaxed your body as Ashton and Michael decide to stand in front of you all to make conversation easier. 

Michael introduces himself, in which you shake his hand happily. “I apologize that our bass player isn’t respectful.” You giggle as Luke comes over to join. “But you’ve got the lead singer, lead guitarist.” He pats his wet chest, “and the drummer.” He points at Ashton, who smiles contently. 

“Maybe you all can sing me a little something later,” you tease, as Luke looks over at the other boys. 

“I mean, I’m pretty pitch perfect right now,” Michael downplays, shrugging as you got distracted very quickly by how pale the boy was and how much ink was ornate around his body. “My voice is solely ready for Jet Black though.” 

Ashton laughs at him and shakes his head, “last chorus though?” Michael nods vigorously. “Yeah, alright. Luke?” The blonde boy also nods. They then look over at Calum, who was unsurprisingly making out with the woman on him. “Calum!” 

He pulls away from the girl and looks your way, immediately engaging with your eyes. There was a sort of longing and interest in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand. His large hands that once held the woman’s waist under the water was now resting on the outer rim of the Jacuzzi that he was leaning against. His head was tilted up, having you ravish in his toned torso and how sharp his jawline was. 

“What?” His voice, deep and raspy, asked in annoyance. His eyes redirect to face meet with Ashton’s. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” 

“Can’t you see we have a guest?” Ashton points at you while still glaring at the bass player. “I think you two have met before.” 

“Huh?” He asked, his words licked with confusion. “Who?” 

You raised your eyebrows in shock. You didn’t know this man enough to be insulted, but you were surprised at his audacity. After face fucking you twice, eating you out, and ramming inside you for his climax, he suddenly doesn’t know who you are. You snorted, your hand feeling the hickeys ornate on your neck. He gave you tea, made you breakfast and washed the dress he had soiled. I misjudged you, you thought. You’re a prick. 

“I think it’ll sound just as good regardless if he joins in or not,” you immediately commented, rolling your eyes before looking back at Ashton with a smile. Meri snorted and muttered a ‘get fucked’ under her breath as she takes a swig of her beer. She passes you one, in which her happily take. “Please serenade me?” 

“Your wish shall be our command,” Ashton winks before looking over at Michael. The green-eyed boy clears his throat before he begun to sing. When he finishes his line, Ashton and Luke join in and they all harmonize. The way their voices complimented one another was impressive and you were pleasantly surprised. They’re really good. 

When they finished, everyone around who heard gave them an applause. You clapped against your bottle of beer, genuinely impressed by their voices. “Wow, can’t wait to add you guys to my Spotify.” 

They all laugh while bowing towards the crowd. You took a swig of your beer and engaged in conversation with the boys. 

XXX

A half hour passes, and you were all giggles. Michael had been telling you about how he was happily engaged and even showed you his band. Luke, Meri, Alex, and Drew decided to go participate in the surfing that they were conducting on the other side of the large cruise. Michael, soon after finishing his obsession with his lover Crystal, he received a text from her, inviting him over to her suite. 

That left just you and Ashton. 

“Ah no, we write some of the silliest shit sometimes,” Ashton explains through a fit of laughter. “We haven’t dated much in the first few years of our career and we wrote so much lovey dovey shit.” 

“I mean listen,” you tried to ease, “I’ll keep it a buck with you; that’s the stuff that sells.” 

Ashton nodded, “you’re absolutely right. That’s the shit that sells.” Ashton was right beside you, shoulders touching but he had the respect to keep from making any moves or overstepping. You could tell he had a surface-level interest in you, but he wasn’t intending to force himself on you. “Now, the band has changed completely.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Luke’s dating Sierra,” Ashton began as he looked into the distance. “Fucking Michael is engaged and Calum’s busy being a fuckboy.” You two glance over at Calum, who was still making out with this chick, his hands pressing against her exposed back. “Fucking twat. And I’m here trying to figure my place with this girl.” 

“I take it you like her?” You ask curiously. 

“I do, a lot, actually,” Ashton’s words were true. “But she doesn’t exactly want to commit to me. She initially had a crush on that dickhead over there.” He points his chin towards Calum. You widened your eyes to this information. 

“You’re kidding.” 

Ashton shakes his head, “I’m dead serious. I’m not mad at him though; she liked him first and I can’t control her feelings.” You nodded comprehensively. “But Calum took advantage of that knowledge and began fucking her for a while.” 

Wow, you thought. Tonight had really been the worst night for Calum. You were learning all these things about Calum, which confirmed your not-entertained suspicion that he might be a bad guy. The way he acts seemed completely different with the way he actually was. 

“But as you expected, he got bored,” Ashton informed you. “I’m pretty sure she only started crushing on me because she got hurt, but sometimes you’ve gotta take what you can get.” 

“My sympathy goes to you, Ashton,” you admit quietly, “but isn’t that also taking advantage of her?” 

“Yeah, if I came to her,” he took another swig of beer. “But she went ahead crying to me, unknowing that I liked her. So she attached herself to me and that’s when I told her.” 

You took another drink as well. “This is a lot of tea for me, you know. And I just met you.” The two of you share a laugh before you shrug. “I’m sorry to hear about all that though. I can imagine how awkward it must be between you and Calum.”

“What? Nah,” Ashton denied. “Me and Calum are like boyfriends. He isn’t a bad guy whatsoever. He’s actually got the biggest heart in the world.” You were finding that hard to believe now. “Currently, he’s been having a hard time but before all that, he’s the most down-to-earth guy. He apologized for hurting her even.” 

You glance over at Calum, your mind unsure as to how to deem him. He’s a good guy but also a bad guy but also a good guy? Your mind was racing as he continued sucking lips with the girl. “Sounds like someone who could ruin my life,” you muttered quietly. 

Ashton shrugged, “he’s just never been rejected before. Girls throw themselves at him left and right.” But right then, the drummer nudges you and smirks. “That is, until he met you.” 

“Huh?” 

“When Luke told him that Meri was bringing you tonight, Calum was formulating a whole plan to make you want him again,” Ashton informs you. “You’ve been the only girl who didn’t bother to ask for his number or any social media handle. He didn’t want you to be a one night stand.” 

You couldn’t believe it. Calum is being a giant prick because you were the first woman who didn’t care? Just because he was famous doesn’t mean that the world revolves around him. A one night stand is a one night stand; you weren’t bothered to ask for another night. You enjoyed that night and decided to carry on with your life. It wasn’t like you were going to date him. 

“That’s funny,” you softly reply, focusing down on the now empty bottle in your hands. “The morning after, he made me breakfast and let me use his bathroom. And after all that, he wanted me out of the apartment quickly.” 

Ashton begins to think a bit, biting the skin in his cheek. He then looks over and lowers his eyebrows, “was he looking at anything? Like his phone or any documents?” 

“Mhm,” you replied, “like this bundle of papers.” 

Ashton nods, “yeah no, it’s not you. Like I said, he’s having a hard time and those documents are the reason why. He honestly doesn’t mean to act so bipolar.” 

You began to ponder what was written in the documents, but they truly were none of your business. Whatever those documents held clearly bothered Calum and you weren’t intending to to pry. After all, you don’t even think you two can be considered friends. You’re more acquainted than anything. You know more about Ashton now than you do about Calum. 

“Anyways.” A subject change. “It seems Merigold was interested in Drew. Do you know if she’s got a crush on him?” 

“I dunno about a crush,” you shrugged, “she wants to fuck him.” 

Ashton snorts, “yeah? She’s planning on kicking you out for the night then?” 

“I have my own suite but we’re right beside each other,” you began with a sigh. “But she actually wanted me to fuck Alex so it was like a whole double-fucking thing.” 

Ashton chuckles, “how’s it working out for you?” You jokingly look around to spot the mentioned boy that clearly wasn’t around. 

“Not well, I think.” You giggle. Camila Cabello begins playing on the boat, with a bit of the noise settling down. Never Be the Same had been playing, and several people began dancing slowly against each other and quietly belting the tune. “I kinda really like this song.” 

“Yeah?” Ashton asked. He grabbed the empty beer bottles and put them on the outside of the Jacuzzi. “’Just like nicotine, heroin, morphine.’” This boy could hit some high pitches, you noticed. “’Suddenly, I’m a fiend and you’re all I need.’” He grabbed your chin, reminding you of the way Calum did, and winked. “’All I need... yeah, yeah, all I need...’” 

Ashton quickly grabbed you and placed you on top of him. You blushed, seeing how easy he was able to do that due to the water making your body incredibly light. You weren’t sure how you felt about this situation, considering you just met this man. But with the way his eyes were looking at you, you knew that you something. Unfortunately, you sort of had someone else in mind. 

“’It’s you, babe,’” Ashton sung quietly, “’n I’m a sucker for the way that you move, babe.’” His large hands supported your lower back, holding you close so you wouldn’t float away. “’And I could try to run but it would be useless...’“ 

“Ashton...” You didn’t want to seem rude, but fucking one band member and then fucking the next makes you feel like a slut. You didn’t even know how you managed to get into such a situation with Calum, let alone how you got into it again with Ashton. But hooking up immediately after one last night made your stomach churn. “I shouldn’t. I just fucked your bandmate yesterday and--” 

“I know,” Ashton quietly whispered, bringing your face closer to his. He gives you a wink, “just wait another minute.” You titled your head to the left in confusion while Ashton began cutting the space between your lips. His breath tickled your lips, “wait for it.” 

You felt his lips just barely touch yours before you hear splashes of water headed your way. Ashton laughed against your lips, pulling back as the both of you turn to see Calum rush your way. The water clearly slowed him down, but the fierceness in his eyes were piercing you. “Fuckin’ knew it,” Ashton mumbled under his breath. He looks at you and gives you a wide smile, “have fun.” 

“Huh?” You exclaimed. Before you knew it, a hand grabbed hold of your upper arm and pulled you from Ashton’s body. You attempt to pull away but you froze when Calum held your shoulders so you could be staring straight at him. “Calum, what the fuck--” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice was cold and vexed, as though someone had broken his favorite item. He gives Ashton an ill look, which Ashton repaid with a devilish smirk. “You’re so fucking annoying, Ash.” Calum could only roll his eyes.

“You can thank me later.” Ashton winks at you before waving his hands in dismissal. “Have fun, kids.” 

Calum began pulling you away, which made you instinctively grab your things and exit the Jacuzzi with him. He guides you away without a word, allowing you to just be met with his back. Toned and smooth, with his scapula protruding, which made you tempted to reach up and touch them. But right now, you weren’t having it with Calum. 

“Calum, where the fuck are we going? Let go of me!” 

“No.” 

His words were thin and formidable. You weren’t sure of anything at that moment except for the grip he hand around your wrist. You two were leaving a trail of Jacuzzi water, his entire body dripping more than yours. This man was looking good, you couldn’t lie. But you were not happy with being somewhat manhandled by this man. 

And, while you were at the idea of being manhandled, did nobody notice all the wounds you owned on your body? The scraped and bruised knees? The hickeys all over your neck? Was this normal for celebrities to see so they couldn’t be bothered to look at you? Even Meri didn’t say anything (which likely was to spare you from the embarrassment.) 

She’s a good friend, bless her heart.

But once again, she left you and you were having yet another deja vu moment with Calum. You could be at home, being a good girl and studying. Or maybe taking another shift so you could earn a bit more pocket money. Or sleeping, honestly. 

“Calum, where are you taking me?”

You trail close behind, noticing that he was taking you to the inside of the cruise where the seemingly endless floors of suites resided. He loosened his grip and gradually let you go as soon as you two got close to a crowded elevator. You would have escaped but he pressed his hand on your lower back, cautious of mentioned potential plan. 

“Be a good girl and just follow,” Calum murmurs, the two of you standing with several others. You grumbled, your eyes watching the elevator reach each floor before making it to the ground level (or your current floor.) Calum gets you in first so the two of you would be against the wall. But it was becoming cramp, so Calum took it upon himself to get you in a corner and cage you with his arms. 

“You must be joking,” you chuckled darkly under your breath. Calum’s chest pressed against yours, feeling your nipples perk from the A/C of the elevator and Calum’s body. “I should’ve just kicked you in the nuts and ran as fast as possible.” 

“I used to play soccer in secondary school,” Calum muttered by your ear. “Meaning that it would have been futile; I would have caught you already.” Rolling your eyes from his cockiness, you keep your arms tightly to your sides and emit a sigh. The elevator smelled of chlorine now; you longed for a shower. 

“I wish Ashton didn’t let you grab me,” you sighed in annoyance. You threw your head back and leaned against the elevator wall. “I was having a good time.” 

Calum brought his hand over to your face, pinching both cheeks with his fingers. Your lips were now vertical and popping out. “Wanna take back those words, Princess?” 

“Or else what?” You hissed, pushing his hand off of your face. “Whatcha gonna do? Bite me?” You bring a hand up to rub your neck. “I don’t think you’ve got much more bite in you.” 

“Oh Princess,” Calum hummed, pressing his forehead against yours, “you’re going to regret those words.” 

You two had reached the desired floor as Calum grabs you out of the elevator and begins walking towards his suite. You reluctantly followed, barely tipsy from the one beer you had given. This would be more bearable if you were drunk, but you preferred being fairly sober. Better to actually know what was going on rather than just mindlessly doing things in the moment. 

Your feet left several puddles, with mental apologies floating all around your head. But Calum didn’t seem to give a damn as you two made it to one of the ends of the hall worth of suites. A guard stood at the end of it, meeting eyes with Calum. 

“I.D.,” the guard asked. Calum fished his phone out from his pocket, which had been covered with a plastic protector. He lets you go momentarily but keeps you stood at the door as he took out his identification and presented it to the guard. You crossed your arms across your chest, knowing your nipples were still perky and evident. 

The guard nods, digging through his pocket with his eyes peered in to take out a keycard. He offers it to Calum, who takes it graciously and hands him a fair amount of money. They exchange a look before the guard begins to walk away from the suite, which you assumed was to take a new position at the other end. 

Calum grabbed a bit of your bathing suit and moved you back to dip the card into the lock. The red light turns green, and in one clean click! sound, the door is opened and the two of you are in. 

[Before we continue (if you’d like), play Can’t Imagine by Always Never]

Calum switches on the lights and you were presented with a beautiful suite. Unfortunately, with the situation at hand once again, Calum wasn’t going to let you ravish in it’s elegance. He drags you into the bathroom and flicks on the light in there. “Calum?” You ask but he locks the door of the suite and the bathroom before turning to you with such a serious expression. 

“Get in the shower,” Calum immediately instructed. You stayed still, attempting to comprehend exactly what was going on. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he moves a bit closer. “Did I stutter?” 

Preventing the situation from becoming grim, you oblige and position yourself into the shower. You toss your things on the sink before you do and you turn to watch Calum. The toned man empties his hands as well and teases the waist of his swimming trunks. Heat bursts into your cheeks as his length, exposed and hardening, was exposed before you. 

“C-Calum,” you attempt to look away but Calum walks towards you and grabs your chin. He tilts your head down, forcing you to see his cock slap his stomach. 

“I didn’t tell you to look away, did I?” Calum growled, your eyes wide by the twitching and eagerness of his cock. “Get in the shower, put your hands on the wall. Don’t move a muscle.” 

You pressed your hands against the wall opposite from the shower head, your heart racing from nerves. Staring at the wall ornate with minimalist art of shells and waves, you listen as Calum turns on the shower. The glass shower door is closed, and the intimacy suddenly went up into flames. 

You couldn’t see it, but Calum opened up the bar of soap that hotels provide and began rubbing it between his wet hands. You could hear the soap squish and squeak in his hands. Then, Calum’s hand grabbed the bit of bathing suit between your thighs and pulled them up, giving you an annoying wedgie. “What the fuck, Calum?”

Smack! His hand met harshly with your ass cheek, causing you to lean your body against the wall. Calum chuckled coolly under his breath, “that’s Daddy to you, Princess.” He starts to rub the area that now stings, your ass foamed up with bubbles of soap. “I need my Princess clean before I can fuck the lights out of her.” 

You gulp, feeling his fingers gradually rub down towards the crevice between your glistening thighs. His long fingers teased, slowly rubbing between the lips of your pussy. You pressed your forehead against the well, the sensation sending twitch-inducing pleasure through your body. 

“C-Calum, quit it...” you measley fought, your eyes completely shut when Calum began rubbing your clit in circles with the tip of his middle finger. Your toes curled from his touch, but he suddenly halted. Shit, you thought. Wrong name. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

Calum smirked. “I know you are, Princess.” He continued stimulating your clit, rubbing it slowly as his free hand rubbed adoringly along the curves of your body. “You look good. Too good.” He gave your side a little pinch. “I didn’t like the way people were looking over at you.” 

“People were looking at me?” You asked curiously. You were completely oblivious to any eyes on you, considering you were constantly engaged in interaction and conversation with people to really notice. 

“I noticed you when you first came to the pool area on the main deck,” Calum admitted quietly. “I watched you come to the Jacuzzi. I watched the way Ashton held your hand and helped you in. I watched him mount you on top of him.” 

So he cares a lot. You smirked, allowing yourself a victory in your head. Even an asshole-acting chick magnet has enough energy to put aside his pride. “Didn’t think you noticed. You had a girl all up on you.” 

“Didn’t even bother to catch her fucking name,” Calum mumbled. His hands left your body for a quick moment to apply more soap. Suddenly, without warning, his hands shoved themselves between the front of your body and the bathing suit. You froze. “I was busy thinking about how I was going to bring you back here.” 

“O-oh really?” His fingers rubbed along your stomach. “But you already h-had a girl on you. Isn’t that-” his fingers crawled up to the space between your breasts, “-what you wanted?” 

“She wasn’t you.” His large hands reached your breasts and pressed his palms down against your nipples. You emit a strangled moan. 

“Her body was perfect,” you commented quietly. “S-seemed like your body t-type...” 

“You’re my body type.” He rested his head on your shoulder, noticing your arms struggling due to his satisfying touch. “Do you like the way I touch you, Princess?” You nod, biting your bottom lip harshly. He presses his cock against your ass. “Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You hum out an ‘mhm’ but it wasn’t good enough for Calum. His fingers wrap about your nipples and tug them harshly, making you jump. Your nails threaten to leave scratches on the wall, but Calum’s painful teasing was slowly sending you to the edge. “P-please...” 

His hands rub your chest easily with his soapy fingers, his index fingers constantly circling your nipples. “I will.” But after his words, he retracted his body from yours. You open your eyes and decide to turn around to face Calum. You watched as he detached the shower head from its holster and began spraying you with water. “But first, I need to wash you off.” 

“Calum!” For a moment, you two were sharing a laugh. Calum had been spraying warm water over your body, in which you simultaneously tried to get rid of all the soap as well as shield yourself from it. He was immensely entertained by your motions as you removed any spec of soap from your body. “I’m clean, I’m clean!” 

“Are you sure?” He kept spraying your chest. “I feel like you’ve still got a lil some some.” 

“Calum!” 

“Okay, okay.” Calum obliges and puts the shower head back where it was held. It continued to hit his back again while he neared you. He tugs on the bit of bathing suit covering your stomach and reverts back to a serious face. “Strip that off and go dry yourself. I want to see you on the bed when I’m done here.” 

You tilt your head to the side, “what will you be doing here?” 

He looks down, then meets your eyes again, “I’m not fucking you with a chlorine-covered cock.” 

“Nice alliteration,” you said under your breath. Calum smirked. You looked down at his cock, standing painfully hard right before you. Then, without much thought, you brought yourself on your knees (hissing in the process.) “Pass me the soap.” 

“Y/N, you don’t--” 

“It’s Princess to you,” you scolded from below, earning a heart-melting smile from the man before he offers the soap down to you. “I can’t let you do everything, can I?” You lather the soap all over your hands before you drop it on the shower floor. Calum emits a gentle moan as soon as you wrapped your hands around his cock. “...A newfound kink I see?” You teased, stroking his cock up and down. 

“It’s not a kink!” 

“It’s a soap kink.” 

“It’s not!” 

You snort, “I’m not convinced.” You rub his long cock, watching as his thighs tense up and his toes curl below you. 

“Y/N, you’re fucking touching my cock,” Calum exclaims in frustration. He threw his head back in euphoria. “Fucking... of course I’m going to react this way-- it feels good. B-but it’s not a-- fuck!” 

Calum was quick to grab your shoulders and bring you back on your feet. Your hands leave his cock, the combination of soap and precum dripping from your fingers. “Take that off, dry yourself off, and get on the bed. Not another word, okay?” You just watched as he took the shower head again and cleaned your hands. “Understood, Princess?” He emphasized. 

You nodded, earning an eager smile from Calum as he helped you out of the shower. You quickly grabbed a spare towel and your things but before you could escape the bathroom, Calum dips out from the shower and gives your ass a spank. “H-hey!” You squeaked. But when you glanced back to glare at the man, he only gave you a darker, more cynical look in return. 

“Not another word,” Calum hums, his brown orbs instructing you to proceed before making any more bad moves. You leave silently, your skin quickly accumulating goosebumps due to the strong A/C. You shivered, lacking interest in stripping due to the bit of warmth the bathing suit provided. 

But, you were to listen. Walking over to the large king sized bed, you toss your shorts and phone on the bedside table provided. You drop the towel on the bed and begin to peel off the bathing suit. With a bit of a struggle, you remove the soppy article of clothing from your body. Shivering some more, you find solace in wrapping yourself with the dry towel you grabbed. You could still smell a bit of chlorine on your skin, but the soap was able to fairly mask it. 

The sound of the shower suddenly subdues, and you’re only left guessing what Calum could be doing. You keep your naked body wrapped with the towel while taking a seat on the bed. You watch as Calum Hood walks out of the bathroom and slowly makes his way to you. 

Your body completely defied you and instantly reacted to seeing Calum’s nude body. It was built and toned, with tattoos kissed perfectly in his skin. The muscles were absolutely not subtle, and you desperately wanted to feel them. Ride-able thighs and a thick cock stopped right before you, with a hand under your chin to force your head up. You met his hungry eyes, gulping from their intensity. 

“You seem distracted,” Calum hums quietly. He bends down to get a closer look at you. Your cheeks tint pink. “Like what you see, Princess?” 

Submissively, you nod. Although you were mad earlier and preferred to continue a conversation with Ashton, you couldn’t deny your hormones. Calum knew how to fuck, and you didn’t mind an opportunity to feel good. His thumb rubs along your trembling bottom lip, his cock completely hard and pressed against his stomach. “I’m going to face fuck you again, Princess.” 

You lips quivered, “b-but my throat is still--” 

“Did I ask?” Those brown orbs were engulfed in darkness, with all sorts of devious plans that you couldn’t even imagine. “Come.” He lays down on the bed, his head comfortably settling into the pillows by the headboard. He gestures you to sit between his legs. You nest there quickly, your hands immediately wrapping around his cock and waiting for instruction. “Comfortable?” You nod. “Then go ahead, Princess.” 

You lean down, familiar with this request as your mouth immediately took in his entire member. Calum’s throaty moans are forced out, his cock twitching contently in your mouth. You felt yourself gagging a bit when his tip teased the beginning of your throat, but you had to brace yourself. Because Calum wasn’t intending to remove your mouth from his dick anytime soon. 

His hands quickly found themselves webbed up in your hair, a string of moans escaping before he slowly forced your head up and down his length. Tears develop once again and you held on tightly to his muscular thighs. “F-fuck, Y/N... your mouth feels so fucking good...” 

His praise encouraged you to twirl your tongue around, eager for his cock to cum already. Your precum had already been leaking down between your legs and onto the bed sheets. You mentally apologized to the maids that would be cleaning this room eventually. Saliva streamed down his cock as he quickened his pace and solely focused on reaching his high. 

“’M close, Princess,” he informs you quietly, his voice shaky and husky due to his approaching climax. He forced his cock down your throat, your cheeks shining from your tears. But when you looked over at Calum, all you could see was his jawline. His head was thrown back, working towards his euphoric moment as his hands continued to force your head up and down his member. 

But finally, he came. 

Forcing it down your throat and relieving your throat with coughs, you watch as Calum sits up and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He keeps you between his legs, but taps one of your legs. “Lift your leg over.” You do as told, with his leg between the two of yours. “Now sit.” 

“Sit?” You asked, your hands wrapping around his neck for safety and grip. He holds your waist for extra support and waits patiently. “On your thigh?” He nods. Emitting a sigh, you slowly letting yourself down and immediately arc your back from feeling his skin against your pussy. 

“Geez, Princess,” Calum began to tease with a smirk, “you’re so wet... it’s like you enjoy it when I fuck your face.” You stay quiet, shutting your eyes as doses of pleasure shot all about your body from just being still. “Princess, you’d feel much better if you moved.” 

“I-I know, I just...” You didn’t know what to say, really. You were already feeling good just feeling his thigh below you. He was incredibly warm and his large hands on your waist kept you paralyzed. 

“Guess I still gotta do a lot.” Without wasting a second, Calum used his strength and moved you up and down his thigh. You emit staggered moans, feeling your precum spread along his thigh. Your body writhed, your arms wrapping a little tighter around his neck. “You okay, Princess?” 

“Mhm,” you strained out. Calum chuckles, using one hand to continue moving you up and down his thigh. His resigned hand went ahead and took hold of one of your breasts. “F-fuck, Daddy...” 

His thumb circled around your nipple, forcing it erect while tilting it up so he could wedge it between his teeth. Pleasure hatched through your bones, feeling the stimulation of your pussy against his thigh and the way he nipped and nibbled at your nipple. It was killing you-- you wanted to get fucked already. You were tired of this teasing and touching when you wanted to be completely ruined by this man. 

“Alright, fuck this.” Calum’s patience runs dry from teasing you. His hands grab your waist again to lift you onto his cock. You assist, your legs now on either side of his as he forced you down onto his cock. Your mouth blurts out sinful words, feeling as your pussy was ravishing around Calum’s dick. “Fuck...” 

“Sh-shit...” His fingers dent into your waist, his pelvis thrusting into you to get his cock as deep as possible. He bounced you on his cock, with his hands ensuring that you’re pushed down immediately as soon as you’re almost completely off his cock. You hold on tightly, your acrylics digging into Calum’s back. You wanted to apologize immediately, but it didn’t seem like he minded. 

As he continued, he brings his lips to your ear and nibbles on it. His thrusting made your brain stupid, but you definitely focused when he began to talk, “Princess, I have an offer for you.” His voice is serious right then. “And you aren’t allowed to say no.” 

You continue to indulge while waiting quietly (but not quite) for his words. “I want you to be mine for the rest of the time that I’m in the city,” his whispers. “You can have whatever you want in return.” 

“Y-you offering to be my s-sugar daddy, Daddy?” You struggled out between moans. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You shook your head, backing up to look into Calum’s eyes. Your eyes threatened to shut from the pleasure but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “W-we can just be f-fuckbuddies-- I don’t want your-- fuck-- money...” 

Calum’s eyes widened, completely going still from your words. Your body calmed down from the pleasure and you tilted your head in confusion like a dog. “You don’t want my money?” You shook your head. “You straight up just want to fuck?” 

“W-well, yeah?” You say honestly with a sigh. Sweat accumulated all over his face, but you could still see a sudden gentleness wash over him. “Did you want me to ask you for money in exchange?”

“N-no, I just.” Calum stutters. “It’s usually what I expect...”

You shake your head and smile, lifting one hand to give Calum a gentle slap on his forehead. “Then you should expect the unexpected from me. I’m not some golddigger or cloutchaser.” You wrap your arms around his neck again and shrug. “If you’re giving me pleasure, I’d like to return the favor with the same amount of pleasure.” 

Calum could only blink, somewhat in awe from your words. You poke the back of his neck, watching his eyes burn into yours. “You’re only here for a little bit of time so I’d rather you spend less than what you’ve probably already spent.” The two of you sit in a bit of silence. His cock gets harder inside your pussy. “I-is that a deal?” 

Calum breathes in for a moment before changing positions. You were now lying down on your back, with the man hovering over you. His cock was very much still inside you and his chest pushed down onto yours. “I’m going to devour you, Princess,” Calum insists in a hush tone before sitting back up. He holds onto your waist once again and begins to rail you, your mind going completely blank and your hands losing feeling. 

You weren’t quite sure what you agreed to, but you were subconsciously praying you wouldn’t be regretting it. 

-=-=-==-=-===-=---=-==-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-==-=-=-=-==-=-=-==-

another long part but a goodie (kinda). let me know whatcha think right in here and ill be starting the next part! <3 

#Calum Hood #Calum Hood 5sos #Calum Hood 5sauce #Calum Hood smut #Calum Hood imagine #Calum Hood series #cth 5sos #cth #cth smut #cth series #5sos #5sauce #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #5sos stories #5sos series #5sos dirty #Luke Hemmings #ashton irwin #Michael Clifford #numberonepoetryexpert #omgitsclarice #cloudy5sosx #seedless-vascular #scribblesos #all the ppl who support this nasty shit #love yall

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #251

apologies the formatting is fucked up, oof.

How many smurfs can you name? Zero. Have you ever fully eradicated a bad habit that you had? Uhhh maybe? I'm not sure. The radio is playing U2, The Defects, Echo & the Bunnymen, The Pointer Sisters, Staubkind, and Dr. Dre. on different stations. Which band are you most likely to listen to? I only know U2 (and do NOT like them), Dr. Dre, and one song by E&TB; I don't know the others. I guess I'd pick whichever song sounded most appealing. Miracle on 34th Street, original or remake? Never seen it. Have you ever been in a parade? No. Do you turn the bass up all the way in your car (or would you if you had a car) and blast the music? Ew, no. That shit's obnoxious. What keeps you from being happy? I'm quiiiite sad of an adult. I want to feel worth something, do something. If you could go back in time and talk to yourself five years ago what would you say to yourself (You can only stay in the past for FIVE MINUTES so make it COUNT!)? At that time, Jason and I would still be together, so I'd try to nail it into my head that I can't put my happiness entirely in another person's hands and that I have to have faith in myself and my own strength. AND ESPECIALLY to not give up, to keep trying harder every day. Five minutes wouldn't be enough. What websites are addictive to you? I'd go bonkers without YouTube, and I go through Tumblr binges, but then don't go on for a few days. I have to check KM daily, but it's not really an "addictive" thing, but rather the admin instinct of I have to make sure everything is in order. I check Facebook habitually, but only like, once or twice a day. Who do you never want to end up like? It's... sad to say, but in a lot of ways, my mom. Her life's just been super, super unfair. As a person she's mostly lovely, but as far as luck, happiness, and success goes, sometimes it feels like the whole world's against her. What will you never ever do again? Turn another person into my whole entire universe. What’s the most terrible lie someone could tell you? Something regarding Jason, I'm sure. Probably like, he said he never loved me or something. Even knowing that's absolute shit, PTSD is a ride and I'd. Lose my absolute shit and obsess over "well what if he really didn't." What was the last thing that you printed out? Stuff for my Women Writers class. We print out SO much shit there. I feel like I've alone killed at least seven trees by now, and we don't have a choice but to print the readings out. What do you look forward to each day? M a r k/Unus Annus video boiz. What’s the best song to listen to after a break up? "It depends on the context of your breakup." <<<< This. The radio is playing Poison, Inxs, the Psychadelic Furs, Dio, and Matchbox 20 on different stations. What do you listen to? AHHHHHHHHH Poison, my friends. Do you know what it’s like to take care of someone else? Not really, I guess? But yes to a degree: I've babysat twice, and I assume that counts, and then when Jason had bronchitis, I would barely let the dude leave the bed. Would you rather take care of someone or be taken care of? I don't know, I guess it depends on what's wrong? What is the worst 80’s song in your opinion? You're asking someone who loves '80s music. I'm sure there are some pop-ish/more mainstream ones I don't like, but idk off the very top of my head. What song makes you so happy that just want to dance and dance and DANCE? None. What has been your most beautiful magical memorable cloud nine manic ecstatic incredibly happy bouncy air-light moment of this life??? Slow-dancing to "Stairway to Heaven" w/ Jason out in my yard in his headlights the night of prom. It's the reason I absolutely, entirely, 100% cannot listen to the song anymore, no chance. Do you go out of your way for other people? Depends on the person. What’s your favorite short story? I don't know. Have do you feel about beauty pageants? I fucking hate them. It always just feeds the standards of society and makes both women and men hate their bodies. It also puts far too much emphasis on the "importance" of appearance versus personality. What is your favorite DIY related website? I don't do/watch DIY stuff. Do you bruise easily? Very very, but not the ones you usually see clearly. I don't know how my anemia test came back negative. What kind of bread do you like? Pumpernickel is entirely the supreme type, I love potato bread too, I enjoy wheat... Are your air and water as pure as you want them to be? Idk about air, but I'd suppose so; we live in a rural area. Our tap water, I'm positive no. There's some weird shit with our water. The smell is fucking disgusting, like pure iron, but supposedly it's clean... We've had it tested a few times, but there is SOMETHING wrong with it. Would you ever visit an insect zoo? Sure, if they couldn't get on me. Can you enjoy life without stimulants (coffee, cigarettes, drugs, alcohol)? All of those, yes. Does caffeine count? If so, I'm sure I could, but it'd be very hard. How much thought do you put into your dance moves? I don't dance, so like... zero. What is something you want to improve on this year? Just how much I care about others' perceptions of me, mainly over the most trivial of things. If you could, would you want to stay young forever? No, considering I want to die one day. Immortality sounds ew. What is/was your worst subject in school? Mathematics. Are you a sarcastic person? Oh yeah. What role does religion play in your life? A small one. It helps that my religion (or at least the one I relate closest to, Neo-Paganism) doesn't have the most strict doctrine, therefore allowing a lot of wiggle room varying from person to person. Can you sleep with your eyes open? No. In the past week, what song have you listened to the most often? "Broadcast From Beyond the Grave: Death Inc." by Motionless In White. What was the last thing you shared with someone else? I shared some fries with my mom last time we grabbed fast food. While playing video games, do you prefer being first or second player? I don't care, UNLESS I'm showing someone a new game and therefore I know what to click and such to set the game up; in that case, I prefer to be player one. Otherwise, I don't care at all. What is the most difficult word for you to pronounce? HA, currently, my Biology professor's last name. I obviously won't share it, but I always fuck it up. What did you have to do for the last homework you were assigned? I have to watch a movie - The Suffragette - for Women Writers for when I missed it that week I was away from school. What was the last important thing that you thought about? I think if Mom and I really should stock up on food and TP, but to an actually realistic degree. You hear so many different voices on how bad this pandemic is really gonna be. Personally, I think it's an extreme overreaction, but what do I know. I haven't researched. Generally, do you call people, or wait for them to call you? I wait. I hate talking on the phone. Has anyone ever questioned your sanity? I'm sure, including my gd self. I'm 99.99% sure at one point in the breakup's aftermath, I actually was insane by definition. Especially now that I'm mostly recovered, looking back I'm just like... "hun." How many people do you depend on? Just my mom, really, but to a dangerous degree. How many people do you think depend on you? I feel like my mom does, to an extent anyway. I'm the only person who lives with her and I know she loves me, so I'm company for her. Especially now that she has cancer, she's really gonna depend on me during chemo and surgery. What is the worst color combination? Uhhh maybe like. Puke green and brown? Have you ever injured yourself walking around in the dark? Yeah, but nothing severely. At what age did you develop an interest in the opposite [or same] sex? Idk. I was "ew, boys" until I think... late elementary school. Girls, I had my bi crisis in the 8th grade. Then came the denial and shoving into the very back of my skull. I came out as bi though late '17. Are you or members of your family religious? I think my entire family is but me. Well, correction, I have like a mild connection to religion, but definitely not Christianity like the rest. When was the last time you acted like someone you’re not? Good question. It's not something I really bother with anymore. Like, I can curve around things I don't want to share, but I don't fake what I do reveal. When was the last time that you cleaned your room? Actually! I vacuumed and dusted yesterday. Or the day before, not sure. How many hats do you own/wear? Either none or one, in which case it would be a Carolina Hurricanes' cap as a memento I got from one of the hockey games Dad and I went to. Did the last song you listened to hold any special meaning? I actually don't recall what it was. Are you experiencing problems within a current relationship? No. When you’re upset, who do you turn to? Usually Mom. Does winter weather depress you? Noooo! Who was the last person that you called? Me mother. What product was being advertised on the last commercial you saw? I haven't watched TV in forever. When you think about your last relationship, what song comes to mind? "Oh, Pretty Woman" by Van Halen REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Are there any lyrics to describe your current crush/relationship? Eh. Who in your life makes you the most uncomfortable? Probably my sister's husband, really. I don't think he likes me at all. Treats me decently to my face, but I have my reasons to believe so. Do you ever receive comments on your weight? Not unless I'm at the doctor. Occasionally people who know me well comment I've lost weight, but it hasn't really happened lately now that my weight's slightly risen for who the actual fuck knows why. Don't get me started. Is there anything that you do just to make other people happy? Uhhh just for that sole purpose, don't think so. When you need a temporary escape, what do you do? Listen to music or sleep. What was the last lie that you believed in? I don't want to focus on it. What band would you most like to meet? OZZY. LET ME SEE MY DAD. What was the last thing that you wrote down [with a pen/pencil]? Psychology notes. Has anyone told you that you have a nice smile? Yes. Are you uncomfortable with being photographed? YES. How many people have you talked to today? Just Mom. We woke up in the middle of the night to screeching tires outside; someone lost control of their car because dumbasses go lightning speed around this cure we live on. When you go camping, do you sleep in a tent or an RV? Never legitimately been camping. What’s one ridiculous thing that you do? Let anxiety ruin a lot of opportunities. Do you feel that you must wear makeup to be attractive? Ehhh no, depending on your taste. Ever done anything dangerous while driving with someone else in the car? I don’t drive. Name someone you wish you could be closer with? There's a handful of old high school friends/acquaintances I have on Facebook I really wanna rekindle relationships with. I think I especially would like to get to know Courtlynn better. We seem very similar. What’s unique about your city or town? Its name is shared with a town in Tennessee. Are you a momma’s girl/boy? I'm very close to my mom. What is your favorite dance to do? *shrugs* What is your favorite song to sing? I don't really sing along with songs, but I suppose "Disguise" by MiW. It holds meaning to me and I also just love the chorus. Is English your 1st language? Yes. Did your older sibling ever tell you freaky stories that you believed? I DO NOT know why I remember this, but one time she told me that a boy in her class kept saying the same word repeatedly so many times that it became the only word he could say. It scared me, lmao. Where is the biggest scar on your body? I'd assume at the very bottom of my pelvis where I had surgery. I can't actually see it, but cleaning the area let me know it was kinda long. Do you have a yahoo account? No. Is your mom prettier than you? This is such a mean question, tf. What do you think about guys shaving their legs? You shave whatever you want, boo. Are you a violent person? Not at all, if you don't include my insane nightmares/terrors/whatever they qualify as. Those are always violent. Do you like word searches and cross word puzzles? I do. Have you ever gone to a private school? Yes, my college.

#survey #quiz #questions