#i swear i've spent last three days just editing it

[coffee-in-veins]

Since we both want to forget about the DD tinfood; what do you think would be some good rations to take into a dungeon? What do heroes like/despise? Eating habits? Bonus points for the heroes' favourite foods, or some signature dishes from their homeland.

Thank you for this ask, and sorry for taking so long to answer! This ask actually allows me to share a lot of things I've looked into for my writing of "Restructured, refractured, recalled" - but it’s mostly background flavour work to add the text its flavour, and usually isn’t too noticeable. Still, I’ve spent quite some time reading and thinking about it. Hyperfixation at its finest, what do you do.

LOADS of ramblings are incoming! Thee hast been warned.

So the thing is, I have to admit that I'm biased in a way - I was researching it all from the perspective of my Heiress, and thus, the decisions made in the food provided (and the housing, technically, but that’s a separate story) are made with her personality in mind, that being cold, calculated and completely, utterly devoid of any understanding of empathy. Therefore, the sustenance was akin to solving a puzzle - how to feed the heroes without it being too costly.

The biggest number of heroes Hamlet could house at any given moment (provided there are fully repaired and upgraded barracks and we count one additional slot provided by Shieldbreaker DLC and no one is out on a mission) is 29. This is huge, considering that Hamlet, if taken in its most literal sense, is a tiny settlement, with a population of fewer than 100 people from what I could gather. Interestingly, “hamlet” is defined as “a small settlement that has no central place of worship and no meeting point, for example, a village hall”, but Hamlet in DD has a whole Abbey. Which I think is supposed to be bigger than mere church...? But frankly, I’m far from being a religious person, so I’m not sure how that is supposed to work or is it yet another “here’s a tin can, don’t think about it if you want your sanity back” thing. We might never know. If someone knows about it, feel free to write to me; I’d love to understand it.

The point of this tangent is that if we assume that Hamlet has a population of 100, adding 29 heroes is impossible for the town to feed on its own. That might explain the need to provide the sustenance for the expeditions out of the Heiress’ pockets at a full price instead of getting it as a tax, for example, from the lands she supposedly owns. And an argument could be made that it’s only a 2:100 ratio when we first come to Hamlet and that the first Vestal is from the Abbey itself, and the first PD is a scholar from a Sanatorium (hence them always being the first additions to your team that you get), and that the population of Hamlet increases with the infrastructure you re-build and the more monsters you clear out the more people come to Hamlet, thus making the food situation more manageable. Another argument can be made that Hamlet is merely a name that historically stuck, and the actual population is much higher than the name would suggest. The fact that even in its most dilapidated state, the town has stone buildings and bridges, and a working harbour, as well as noblemen with titles as high as Countess coming to the Estate in the past somewhat supports this idea. A small settlement wouldn’t be able to feed and support the revelry that Ancestor was supposedly having before your time. Then again, it’s very hard to understand what is a limitation of the game, what is a deliberate artistic choice and what is simply the rule of cool, here.

Now to the food itself.

First of all, there’s foraging during the expeditions themselves. Save for Ruins, there’s always a non-zero chance to find or get food if you know what you’re doing. A bag of herbs can cleanse enough things to sustain a party for at least some time. The real quality of said sustenance is dubious at best, but when the alternative is starvation, one cannot be picky. It’s hard to say for sure what can be found in each location but we can speculate. There’s fish, sea monster meat, whale meat (based on the corpse in one of the rooms) and seaweed in Cove; most likely wild game carcasses and gnashers in Weald (fun fact! rabies virus is extremely susceptible to heat, just 50 degrees Celsius is enough to destroy it, so technically, cooked gnasher meat should be safely edible for heroes); stolen food from surrounding farms and swine carcasses themselves (for completely desensitised heroes) in Warrens - based on the quest for stealing their food, humans and swine require the same or extremely similar sustenance, after all. Also, there are molluscs and barnacles in Cove, rats and mice in Ruins, Weald and Warrens, nuts, berries, acorns and wild greens in the Weald and lichen most likely everywhere, all of which can be used to stretch the rations for longer. 

Second of all, Hamlet is sea-side which has a huge benefit we might not appreciate enough nowadays, that being - an abundance of relatively cheap (Hamlet seems to be in middle latitudes (despite there being surface corals, I hate it here, I hate it here so much), so salt extraction cannot be achieved by solar power alone and requires some fuel source; fortunately, Weald is in the convenient distance), available sea salt for any needs. Namely, for food preservation. Yes, one can argue that having fishfolk in the Cove increases the cost, but I'd argue anything in Hamlet is far from being monster-proof, so I assume that the possibility of being butchered by some eldritch horrors during work hours is simply included in the baseline cost.

Regardless, having access to the sea/ocean and a huge forest, as well as farms (we know they canonically exist because of the Bumper Crop event and well, Farmstead) makes salted meat and fish quite readily available for heroes during their expeditions. Moreover, salted meat, fish and lard can be used in cooking during camping and eliminates the need of salting the pottage it is added to, serving a double purpose. 

Now, on the topic of something more affordable - such as bread. Bread in itself isn't as storage-efficient as it may look at a first glance - even if we're talking about denser, heavier "peasant" (that is, rye, oats or barley instead of more expensive wheat) wholewheat bread. However, considering there's a town which can be tasked with it, ordering the baking of hardtack and flatbreads specifically for the purpose of providing for the expeditions looks like a reasonable choice. They are cheaper (requiring no yeast, beer barm or beer), and need only water, flour and salt, all of which Hamlet has access to. And, well, this is one of the most sufficient, calorie-dense and cheap options - ideal for our heartless, calculating Heiress. Far more affordable than meat, for example. Furthermore, it can be used to thicken and enrich some sort of stew or pottage, and we can see some sort of (presumably?) stew, pottage or soup being cooked during the camping in the pot that heroes canonically carry with them. Providing hardtack instead of grains can even be considered being "merciful" or "caring" since cooking them in some sort of gruel is far easier, and the resulting dish is far more nourishing than having to deal with plain grains on the expeditions (by either making porridge/gruel out of them or having to make some sort of flatbread by themselves). 

Also, an abundance of salt means we probably have pickled/brined vegetables as a part of the rations. Pickles are sturdy, easy to transport, don’t require refrigeration and again, have the added bonus of salting otherwise unsalted stew. What types of vegetables those might be is tricky to suggest, but it is known that onions, carrots, peas, beans, rutabaga and cabbage were used a lot during medieval times. Parsnips were used up until the 16th century, from what I can find, and considering other anachronisms, they are a safe bet to add. Dried beans and peas are easy to transport and can be used as a base for stews and pottages, especially combined with other ingredients. The inclusion of fresh vegetables is more up to debate since they require more prep work. But onions, carrots and other roots are quite easy to transport and deal with, even during the expedition, and should last the canonical week well enough while adding quite a lot of nutrition to the supposed pottage. Especially if we consider that cabbage, peas and carrots were the cheapest available options for nourishment - again, ideal for our Heiress, who is only interested in keeping her hired muscles fed, not fed well. 

Then there are eggs. They have an added bonus of not requiring to kill the hen, and therefore are relatively cheap. Cheaper than chicken meat, that’s for sure (and yes, I am aware, that cockerels were mostly raised for meat, killing a hen was more flaunting wealth than anything else in medieval times). Raw eggs are rather fragile, however, fresh eggs can last a week or two without refrigeration making them a nice addition to the meal, if it was possible to carry them - because honestly, adding just a couple of eggs to the gruel adds a lot to its nutritional value. On the contrary, hard-boiled eggs only last a couple of hours before starting to spoil but are far easier to transport, possibly playing the role of some sort of "on the road" snack, for a lack of a better term. However, they are far better used as an ingredient for our next option.

And the option is pastry! There is evidence of pies being abundant in the medieval period and them being used as meals during the working day. Pies had a wide variety of fillings, from extremely expensive beef or veal and venison to much more affordable pork, to fish, to fruit. Pies are not considered long-lasting provisions, but they could’ve been used as a “food for the first day” sort of rations, while longer-lasting products or raw products that required cooking were kept for the last days of the expedition. Again, there were types of very bland pastry, basically water with flour and a bit of salt, which was merely a holder for the filling, and I think it would fit the type of food the Heiress could provide for her mercenaries. More costly fillings (such as meat or cheese) can be diluted with vegetables while providing more volume, thus lowering the cost even further. I’m not entirely sure what can be the thing that heroes fry during their camping. It can be some sort of root vegetable, chopped and cooked. Or can be some sort of pastry or dumplings that have probably gone stale during the expedition and are re-heated in molten lard to make them edible again. Honourable mention goes to halusky, a variety of dumplings cooked in the Central and Eastern European cuisines. These are small lumps cut from a thick flour and egg batter and dropped into boiling water. The lack of filling makes them – say it with me – cheaper and thus, more valuable as food to give to the mercenaries, however (and I can say it from experience) they are extremely filling, especially if combined with lard.

Also, one cannot forget about cheese as a product with high nutritional value, good shelf life and the added benefit of easy transportation. Cheese as a type of food was commonplace in medieval times, as were whey cheeses (cheeses made from by-products of the production of harder cheeses) due to having no other ways to increase dairy shelf life. Again, because there’s no need to kill the cow to get the cheese, the product was way cheaper than meat. It is dense, has a good nutrition-to-volume ratio, and can be used in stews or eaten by itself, making it very versatile.

Another way of sustenance that was mentioned before is lard and butter. Although butter production in large quantities is way more cattle-heavy, and thus less probable in Hamlet which is canonically situated in dense woods on the seaside. On the other hand, lard is way more available, especially if we consider that pork was the staple meat of medieval times, much like poultry is now. Lard can be salted and/or smoked, and preserves extremely well after it, while serving as a meal when combined with bread. Also, hot lard can be used for meat preservation and cooking, but since it’s liquid, I doubt any of it was used during expeditions. Lard itself, however, in its solid form, is far more viable, as a very calory-dense product, an oil source for frying (since we see some sort of a frying pan during camping) and as a reliable, relatively cheap ingredient.

Another way of adding sustenance was using mushrooms. There’s a history of mushroom consumption, and we even have some medieval recipes requiring mushrooms. Wild mushrooms can add nutrition to pottage or be fried with onions and leaks on lard as a separate dish. They also can be dried to last for a while. The problem is the bigger bipedal mushrooms of the Weald that wouldn’t mind reversing the roles and eating the mushroom hunters and the fact that they possess danger in themselves. While it would be bad enough to have food poisoning, having food poisoning in the middle of an expedition surrounded by eldritch horrors sounds like a very high-risk play. I have no doubt that mushrooms were given to Seekers (level 0 heroes) instead of meat when they were in-season as relatively cheap sustenance, but adding avoidable risk factors for high-level expeditions sounds like a bad investment. After all, high-level heroes are money sinks with their skills, gear and weapons. Therefore, they most likely got other foodstuffs instead of mushrooms.

One more good food that could’ve been used and is relatively cheap is dried fruits. Nothing fancy, though, something simple and readily available in middle latitudes such as dried apples, pears or plums. There’s a source called “Naturalis historia” which, while describing real-world Italy (which is undoubtedly far more southern than Hamlet’s position, not gonna lie), mentions twelve kinds of plums, thirty kinds of apple, forty-one kinds of pear, sorb, cherries and multiple nuts including chestnuts which would’ve probably been available in one capacity or another. Dried berries could also be added as long-lasting, easy-to-transport addition to rations. Namely, dried berries, including rosehip berries, were often used to simply eat or brew drinks.

If the topic of sweeter foodstuffs is touched, one cannot forget about honey. Sugar wasn’t readily available due to sugarcane not being grown in Europe until the mid-15th century and therefore was stupidly expensive. Moreover, sugar was considered valuable mostly for its “medical properties”. Honey, while also isn’t particularly cheap, was far more available for the population. It can last for years without the need for preservation or refrigeration, making it an enticing option for more valuable mercenaries.

On the topic of pottages, stews, drinks and basic sustenance, we cannot forget one crucial component without which no long-term expedition can be carried out – fresh water. In cooking, for drinking, water is required in expeditions, especially when there’s basically zero chance of finding it, like in the Cove or the Ruins. Therefore, the heroes would also have to carry waterskins with water. Said water would most likely be diluted with either wine or vinegar to prevent it from going bad. It is unclear whether Hamlet uses wells or the bridges we see are over actual rivers, but medieval settlements were seldom created without direct access to some source of fresh water.

Finally, there’s the question of flavouring. And while true, spices were extremely costly in the medieval period, costing a ludicrous amount of money, there were quite a few options to spice things up that could’ve been used – especially for preparing the food for longer-lasting, higher-value mercenaries (levels 4 and up let’s say) which Heiress would be interested to keep around at least as a money investment she had committed to. Such spice options include garlic, leeks, onion, rosemary, mint, thyme, horseradish, basil, oregano, sage, parsley, dill, lovage, marjoram and cilantro to name a few. Maybe ginger and some types of pepper (long pepper I believe) that were native to the east.

Thus, the average rations that could’ve been provided could include:

hardtack or flatbreads;

some sort of treated meat (most likely salted due to availability of salt, but cured and smoked, or processed into sausages are also an option);

lard;

cheap dried fruits (like apple, pear or plum);

cheese or whey cheese;

root vegetables (maybe pickled);

dried peas or beans;

drinking water in a waterskin;

additives (salt, flavouring, honey) if provided and/or available.

Again, we know that the meat is provided based on Reynauld’s paranoid barks (“Look, it's all pink. Cook it properly”), and we know that the bread is provided from Junia’s paranoid barks (“The Verses say nothing about fuzzy bread... hmmm...”). “Apples and cheese” and “Stale bread” are foods available in DD2 (as much as I hate to mix those two together, especially because of the potato mentioned there...) and the picture for Hunger shows us some bread, waterskin and sausages, so we know they were canonically offered to heroes.

Now, bonus round!

Please note that mostly I have headcanons for characters used in the fic the most (since the abovementioned work was done mostly for writing RRR), and some will be far less thought-through than others.

Abomination/Bigby – he always gives me pause, so again, thank you, @engelsschwert for discussing him with me and offering help. Probably a very polite eater and tries to mimic someone whom he sees as “refined”, such as Alhazred, because he sees himself as eating “like an animal” otherwise. Rather territorial about his food and has food anxiety after being held captive by the cult. Probably loves stews and hearty, hot pottages because they feel “homey”. Doesn’t like fish because fish bones tend to stick in the teeth and make transformations even more unpleasant than they already are.

Antiquarian/Josephine – I can easily picture her loving sweet pastries of more expensive variety and especially those which included almond milk or almond puree. With saffron, if we want to make it extra rich.

Arbalest/Missandei – she is a girl of simple needs, those needs being a mug of good booze and a fine piece of roast fresh from the fire, still dripping fat. Her guilty pleasure is venison and bear meat. Probably used to be a poacher to satisfy them.

Bounty Hunter/Tardif – he loves tooth-rottingly sweet Turkish coffee (or the closest equivalent DD world has to offer). The problem is, despite the fact that Hamlet is a settlement with an operating harbour, I doubt he can enjoy that quite often. The price is simply too high for a mercenary. The idea of dairy makes him sick unless it’s used in baking. One of the few people in Hamlet who knows what carob is and what it tastes like. Prefers any fruits in dry form. Preferably in a pie. Uses kneading dough as an outlet for anger issues – he needs the process, not the result, but just throwing it away is wasteful, so he ended up taking baking as a hobby. Rey is wisely silent about cooking being “unmanly” when Tardif is the one doing it.

Crusader/Reynauld – he’s the only man in Hamlet who knows how to dance around Lent rules without technically breaking them, from arguing that barley geese are grains to guiding pigs into rivers to make them mythical waterhogs or asserting that beavers are fish, Rey knows what he’s doing and isn’t afraid to abuse that knowledge to the fullest when the need arises. Can cook for sustenance but would rather not, since it’s “women’s work”. Has a huge sweet tooth and love for snacks and is in even bigger denial about it because it’s “unmanly”. He spends time blessing every meal even when in a hurry, even for his teammates, and even when they would rather him not do it (eventually most heroes just accepted it as inevitability). Has access to Abbey’s alcohol stocks but doesn’t see much point in inebriation. I have to thank @engelsschwert for his fav food, that being “the poor knights”. Preferably with cream and marmalade with just a pinch of vanilla and cinnamon but he’d rather die of shame than ask for those.

Flagellant/Damian – tried almond milk because of Tardif. Flagellation has not been the same ever since. Actively denies loving it while Tardif nods in agreement and makes another batch of almond cookies. Which mysteriously disappear each and every time. Because of Rey and him, Tardif takes part of his mercenary wages in almond flour. Not that anyone but the Heiress would know. And live.

Grave Robber/Audrey – she would kill for spices. Literally. Ma girl is starved on spices she had as a noble lady. Cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, peppers, saffron, vanilla – all of those make her mouth water and rational decision-making take a backseat. Probably receives part of her wages in spices. Is extremely picky about her food if she has an option to be. Became friends with Rey because he always knows how to get adequate food during Lent. She loves custard tarts with spices and sugar.

Hellion/Boudica – canonically is fine about eating raw meat and cannibalism but is rather peer-pressured by the Spirits and tribe elders to follow the tradition than sees it as desirable on her own. Has a soft spot for animal and bird-shaped pastry. She sees complicated dishes as a show of weakness but is drawn to them out of curiosity and because they, well, taste good. Her favourite dish is a wild boar roast with cranberries and wild garlic and a slice of black blood bread.

Highwayman/Dismas – is utterly feral about his food and keeping it safe. Whenever he shares food, it’s a big gesture for him. If he actively caters for another person’s food preferences, it’s adoration. Food is basically his love language. Has a taste for meat, and yes, knows well how to cook rats – along with stray dogs, cats and whatnot. Can find food in the most improbable places. Desensitized to the point of being fine with eating cooked swine and fishfolk if it means survival. Loves jerky and needs to have some sort of emergency ration hidden on him to feel sane. Tried coffee once a long time ago and regrets not knowing what it was to look for more of it. His favourite dish is baked pork foreshank which was pre-boiled in dark beer with spices. Not that he can afford this dish often. Or at all.

Houndmaster/Willam – he loves some hearty pork pie, especially of gala variety. Preferably with a pint of nice ale. I wanted to give him some nice shepherd’s pie as his fav dish but it has potatoes which are blasphemy. Dunno why, he gives me strong Irish vibes. I can easily see him enjoying some crubeens and sharing them with Fergus. He’s a bad drinker and cannot hold liquor well but wants to keep up with others (namely Dismas), and usually, it ends badly for him. Has a habit of giving Fergus a bite of his own food and then finishing it, which some find endearing while others view as disgusting.

Jester/Sarmenti – has chronic lead poisoning from sugar of lead he was fed in the Court. Because of that he is irritable and has headaches and abdominal pains. He loves garlic and eats it demonstratively while showing off his Crimson Curse mutations to mess with people. His favourite dish is baked hedgehog with cameline sauce. He hates fruit pies because those were the ones which contained sugar of lead and he has had bad associations ever since. Overindulges in wine and has quite a taste for it thanks to Baldwin. 

Leper/Baldwin – not gonna lie, ancient Israelite cuisine isn’t my strong suit. Probably milk- or broth-stewed meat with spices, from what I managed to find…? Veal meat was considered opulent, as was the meat of wild game hunted during the royal hunts. His eating habits most likely changed a lot after his illness, and now he simply prefers softer and lighter foods, which are easier to digest and usually reserved for the sick. Based on being an absolute unit of a man, eats quite a lot. Probably has a strong longing for olives. Has a softer temper and is willing to share but when stress mounts on him, snaps at people because of their table manners and their constant tries to cheat him out of his portion of rations since “he won’t be alive for long anyway”.

Man-at-Arms/Barristan – used to love rather opulent dishes back in his days of glory hounding, something like cherry chicken with rose water. Might enjoy stews and soups more now simply because they remind him of how he was humbled during his campaigns.

Musketeer/Margaret – canonically has a masochistic bark about loving Wraith peppers (a type of chilli peppers native to South America) and makes me cry in tin cans. No further comment.

Occultist/Alhazred – canonically likes or at least drinks coffee based on his masochistic bark. May have shown it to Dismas as a re-discovery. Has an affinity for consuming inadequate quantities of dried fruit, especially southern ones and tiny crumbly biscuits. Dislikes greasy foods because they leave stains on scrolls and books easily and he has a bad habit of absentmindedly eating whatever is in the vicinity while reading, and because of his concentration on the text, he doesn’t really register the taste or what exactly he’s eating. Once, someone placed a wax piece where his biscuits usually are as a joke. Alhazred didn’t notice and doesn’t know to this day why he had that weird constipation one time.

Plague Doctor/Paracelsus – she eats butter. No. You don’t get it. She just eats it as is. Plain butter. In chunks. Preferably from cold storage. Splintered in tiny frozen bits. Sometimes with a sprinkle of flaky unrefined sea salt. It’s her favourite. Says it saves time for more important things. Junia used to cook meals for them both, and Para doesn’t have the heart to throw away the jars and pots she used to bring food in. Now dragging Para to eat so she won’t die from her horrendous diet is mostly Audrey’s and Bigby’s job.

Shieldbreaker/Amani – again, ancient Turkish cuisine isn’t my forte but I can speculate. Because she is a woman in an ancient ottoman world, and an “object”, she probably didn’t get much meat to eat previously. And she might love her dolma, but the allure of breaking a taboo and eating pork is incredibly alluring, so she gets cheap thrills from that. Has a sweet tooth, even though you wouldn’t think that based on her physique and misses more intricate desserts dearly. Is disgusted by what people in Hamlet consider to be “tea” and would rather drink spoiled water. Is forced to eat in a specific manner as it is uncomfortable for her to hold the bowl and eat as most heroes do during camping due to lacking one hand.

Vestal/Junia – loves cheese, especially soft cheese and cream cheese. Especially loves to incorporate them into baking. Making cheesecakes is her passion, she ponders a lot about recipes and she silently respects Tardif for it and is probably the only person who can cook with him even if she is intimidated by him at any other time. Characters in her steamy novels often indulge in cheesecakes too. Is generally saddled with making church bread and cooking during camping much to her chagrin. Knows how to turn a stirring spoon into a weapon. Has a knack of taking grumpy and/or antisocial heroes and making them finally eat.

PHEW! This was a lot. Hope it answers all your questions :}

What’s my final score? ^^

#darkest dungeon #the bloodied journal page || my writing #fan theory #monster-sized txt post #headcanon #i swear i've spent last three days just editing it #dd abomination #dd antiquarian #dd arbalest #dd bounty hunter #dd crusader #dd flagellant #dd grave robber #dd hellion #dd highwayman #dd houndmaster #dd jester #dd leper #dd man at arms #dd musketeer #dd occultist #dd plague doctor #dd shieldbreaker #dd vestal #darkest dungeon worldbuilding #Leave nothing unchecked || references

[toomuchracket]

all i want for christmas (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

back from the dead (a depressive episode) with a fluffy pre-dating fic that's honestly longer than it needs to be. whatever. it's christmas. this fic is also part of christmas75/twelve days of christmas, organised and curated by my lovely friend @abiiors. hope you all enjoy <3

wednesday, 3:34am

as soon as the “email sent” pop-up appears, you feebly close your laptop and lay your head on the desk, ready to finally give in to the sleep that's been edging ever closer to your eyelids for the past hour. but before you get the chance, your phone buzzes with an incoming notification, the vibrations rattling through the wood of the desk and into your skull.

swearing, your voice scratchy with underuse, you open one eye and tilt the screen towards you - the name it bears above the unread text makes you shoot back up to a sitting position, and knocks all traces of grumpiness and tiredness from your brain and body.

matty.

pointedly ignoring the butterflies in your stomach when you see he's opened his message with hi, darling, you continue reading: hope you're alright, and that the new book isn't kicking your arse too much. saw a group of kids in barnes & noble raving about your last one earlier. would've joined them if i wasn't in a hurry, to be honest. fucking brilliant. anyway, i know it's late, but i had to text you before i forgot. can you give me a call when you get this, darling? flying home early tomorrow so i'll be up from about… 8am your time? i've got a favour to ask you. nothing crazy, though, and nothing urgent. but yeah, just phone me when you can. thanks, darling. miss you, talk to you soon. bye! X

just as you're reeling from the three darlings and the kiss and the miss you, another text from your best friend comes in, accompanied by a photo: also look at who you were next to on this display. i got so excited. my three favourites!

you laugh out loud, a combination of shock at the fact your collection is between slouching towards bethlehem and consider the lobster and adoration at matty's beaming face next to it all. fuck, he's cute.

so cute. enough for you to forget that it’s 3 o'clock in the morning, and happily pick up your phone and dial his number - you've spent so much time poring over your message threads that you know it off by heart - as if it was mid-afternoon. you kick your legs back and forth as the call connects, smiling to yourself at the thought of hearing his voice for the first time in over a month.

luckily, you don't have long to wait; your heart flutters as he picks up on the second ring, voice thick in the way it only goes when he's smoking. “you know, you didn't have to call me right away, darling. thought you'd have been asleep. but hiya!”

“hi, matty,” you smile. “and come on, it's deadline week, of course my sleep schedule is fucked. questioning why i'm not asleep, christ, thought you knew me better than that.”

he takes your teasing in good faith. “i do, darling, i do know you,” matty's voice is soft, his tone as tender as you've ever heard it. it's driving you batshit insane. “but you know me. i just want to make sure you're not stressing yourself out about your work too much. rather have my best friend's wellbeing intact than another book, even though your writing is my favourite. speaking of, that display! i'm recreating it at home. genuinely. s'amazing.”

you can feel your cheeks burning. “i can't even comprehend that display right now, m'too tired. but i’ll text you my thoughts once they make sense. and i'm alright, matty, honest. please don't worry about me, lovely.”

“that'll never happen, and you know it.”

“god, you're obstinate. but thanks. i appreciate the care.”

“even when you're insulting me, you're so eloquent. you've got a gift,” matty laughs down the phone. “how's deadline week going, anyway?”

“it's done. just sent the final draft away for edits. s'why i'm still up, actually.”

“really? congrats, darling!” the genuine happiness in his tone makes your heart hurt. “god, i wish i was home now, so we could go out and celebrate.”

“me too. but we'll see each other this weekend for early christmas dinner, yeah?”

“that's what i wanted to talk to you about, actually. you know those roast potatoes you made last year?”

“you mean the ones you and alexa fought over the last spoonful of?” you laugh, remembering the two of them racing to the tiny kitchen in your flat to try and nab them.

“m'still fucking fuming that she got them. bitch,” matty grumbles, then giggles. “nah, she's like my sister, i love her. but yeah, those potatoes. can i have the recipe for them, please?”

you suck air in through your teeth. “well… no. that’s a family secret, lovely. m'sorry.”

“oh,” matty sounds so genuinely deflated that you could cry - you seldom see him upset, but the thought of his pretty face all sad makes you feel incredibly guilty. “that's alright, darling, i understand. my nana was the same with her soup recipes. you'd have to marry me if you wanted them.”

you hum out a laugh, brain suddenly scrambled at the thought of walking down the aisle towards him. god. get a grip! 

scrunching your eyes closed and blinking them open again - a tried and tested way to stop yourself going off on tangents - an idea pops into your head, so obvious that you’re not sure why you haven't suggested it already. “well, in lieu of us getting hitched within the next week,” you smile, enjoying the way matty laughs softly at the other end of the line. “i could come over early to yours and make the potatoes for you, if you'd like?”

“i quite like the sound of the first option, to be honest…”

what the fuck?! you have to clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp. or a scream. perhaps even a moan.

“...but i'm more than happy with the second one. thank you, darling,” matty's smile is as audible as his relief. “you're a lifesaver and a legend. come over whenever on sunday, yeah? wake me up if you have to. actually, no, i'll pick you up. s'the least i could do to thank you. and it means we get to spend even more time together.”

“that sounds nice,” you all but sigh into your phone. “i'm excited to see everyone.”

mostly you, though.

“as am i, darling,” matty yawns. it's the cutest sound you've ever heard. for fuck's sake. “m'not bored talking to you, honest, just tired. this is actually the most fun i've had in weeks, this phone call.”

you want to assume he's lying out of politeness, but something in your brain tells you he's being sincere; it's not like you can say anything to dispute him, either, given it's also the most fun you've had in weeks. “matty, you’re in new york. at christmas time.”

“yeah, alone! s'boring. macaulay culkin made it seem a lot more fun when i was a kid,” matty snorts. “plus, i saw you the last time i was here. any trip you're not on is just automatically a bad one.”

christ, what is with him today? “flatterer,” you smirk, before grimacing and continuing to talk. “but i assume you've not been… totally alone, the whole time? i don't like the thought of that being the case.”

you hope to god he's too tired to pick up on your actual meaning; the sight of him with another girl isn’t unfamiliar to you, but that isn’t to say you don't mind it. quite the opposite, in fact.

thank christ, he misses it. “no, i’ve been good. slept by myself every night,” he laughs.

you giggle, relieved. “really? wow.”

“why are you surprised at that?”

“you're you, matty.”

“yeah, well, i'm going through a metamorphosis-”

“kafkaesque of you.”

“knew that one was coming as soon as i said it,” matty sighs. “but in all seriousness, in the past couple of months, i've just… fully realised what i want in life, you know? and it's not what i used to want, or get up to.”

interesting. “well, that's good. m'happy for you, lovely.”

“yeah, thanks. and what about you, miss? you, um, bringing anyone to christmas dinner?”

you snort. “obvs not.”

matty hums. “why'd you say it like that?”

“like what?”

“like,” he pauses, trying to find the words. you can just picture the shape of his eyebrows as he does. “derisively. as if it's a silly question.”

“because it is a silly question, matty.”

“is it?”

“yeah,” you giggle. “i wouldn't even have time for a one night stand, let alone a relationship. not that there's anyone particularly interested, right now, anyway.”

“oh, there is,” comes the reply. “there really is.”

“if you say so.”

“believe me, darling, people want you. they're down bad. totally in love with you.”

“oh, you are so high right now, aren't you?”

“i mean, yeah. but i'm right!”

“uh huh,” you smirk. “i think you need your bed, matty.”

“pot, kettle.”

“alright, point taken,” you peel yourself off your chair, joints cracking slightly worryingly as you stand and pad across the flat to your room. “i'm going there now.”

matty sighs happily. “good. but send me a selfie as proof. accountability and all.”

it's an innocent enough ask, and not a totally unprecedented one - in the times where your self-neglect was at its worst, you would send matty and your other friends selfies so they could make sure you were alright - but the concept of sending matty a late-night pic from your bed does something quite odd to your brain and stomach.

still, you’ll oblige. but will he?

matty giggles when you ask him as much. “yeah, i'll send you one in return. i'm all about reciprocation, me.”

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “good to know.”

he laughs, that stupid hyena cackle of his that might be your favourite sound in the world. “christ, i've missed you.”

“it's reciprocated,” you smile, switching your phone between hands as you get into bed and hissing quietly at how cold the sheets are. “alright, i'm in my bed. and you should be too.”

“you're right, i should be,” matty says. his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, the rasp of his cigarettes prominent; despite yourself, it goes straight between your legs. “soon, though, darling. promise.”

“good,” your voice comes out breathier than expected, a setting you haven't used in some time. “i think we both need it.”

“yeah, i think we do, too,” matty yawns again, following it up with a sigh. “right. i'm going to hang up now, darling. i really don't want to, but i feel like if i don't then one of us is gonna fall asleep before we can exchange pics. and i can't be having that, honestly. miss looking at you.”

you giggle, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs back and forth. jesus christ, what is this man doing to you? “don't get too excited, i look like shit.”

well, you've looked worse lately - you at least showered and clipped your hair up and put on a clean outfit today. but still, far less glamorous than matty's used to.

or not - “i've literally held your hair back while you yoshed in a plant pot, darling, i think you're alright.”

“and on that note, let's wrap it up,” you laugh, rolling back to lie down. “what time should i be ready for on sunday?”

“oh, um… half twelve? that should be enough time to get everything sorted.”

“half twelve it is,” you yawn. “ok. bedtime. have a safe flight, lovely. talk soon?”

“‘course. don't forget that selfie, by the way. eagerly awaiting it.”

“et toi. lots of love, see you soon.”

“back at you, darling. goodnight.”

the call ends. you close your eyes and, for the briefest of moments, let yourself dwell on the fact your best friend - who, let's be honest, you have a bit of a crush on - shamelessly flirted with you to the point of bordering on phone sex, and let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance he might feel the same way you do.

but it's matty. sweet, cheeky, affectionate matty, who'd find a way to flirt with a brick wall if he was bored enough. because that's what he is, really - bored, high, alone on a phone call with a girl late at night. it's just a natural thing for him to do in those circumstances. you're not special, you were just… there.

that notion stings more than you expected. but you persevere, opening your camera and fixing your glasses. he's your best friend, after all, and he asked you to do this to make sure you were alright. nothing more than that.

still, as you close your eyes and smile, you hold the phone with both hands so your boobs push ever so slightly more together. just in case. then you caption the pic as requested, and hit send.

matty’s reply buzzes in a few seconds later, eliciting a shocked giggle from your lips: fucking love it when you wear your glasses. a follow-up appears in another few seconds: if that's you looking like shit… you're defo the sexiest bit of shit i've ever seen.

fuck him for getting you flustered like this. honestly, fuck him.

and, oh, when he sends a selfie in return, shirtless in low light, hair in its natural state, one hand behind his head… don't you want to do just that?

you bite your lip as you compose your response: my condolences to the single girls in nyc who are missing out on you looking like that tonight.

matty: i know, poor them lol. but their loss is one specific single girl in london’s gain, though, yeah?

you: fuck yeah

matty: you crack me up

matty: miss you sm

matty: anyway, sweet dreams. see you in them, i hope

matty: but see you irl on sunday lol xx

you: miss you too, lovely. goodnight xx

***

sunday, 12:56pm

a mass of black fur rams into your legs as soon as you step through matty's front door. you laugh, dropping your bags and crouching to pet an over-excited mayhem, while matty grumbles behind you. “at least let her get in the house, mayhem, christ!”

“don't listen to him,” you coo at the dog, nuzzling into you quite adorably. “i'm just as happy to see you as you are to see me, baby. got a present for you and everything.”

“you did not buy the dog a christmas present,” matty groans, gently pulling the coat from your shoulders.

“of course i did. got you one as well.”

“thought we agreed we weren't doing presents this year?”

“well, i'm a dirty liar,” you brush down your dress and turn to face matty, smiling. “that, and i saw something when i was in glasgow that i couldn't resist getting you.”

matty's eyes widen near-imperceptibly as he takes in the dark red fabric clinging to you like a second skin, raking up and down your body almost too quickly for you to clock. 

almost. you bite back a smirk. got him!

much to your chagrin, though, he recovers quickly and turns the tables. “well, it's difficult to keep control when you see something… attractive,” he murmurs, gaze lifting to meet yours. “i like that dress, darling, you look gorgeous. and,” his tone and face brighten. “i actually got you a gift, too.”

the revelation is just as shocking as the way he looked at you is. “you did?”

“we're both dirty liars, it seems,” matty grins. he nods towards the kitchen. “make yourself comfortable in there, darling, and i'll go and get it. only be two minutes, promise, and then i'll help you find whatever you need, yeah?”

“you've not done a mad rearranging of your kitchen cupboards since the last time we all came over for dinner, have you?”

“nah.”

you wave nonchalantly. “then i'm good, i know where everything i need is.”

matty smiles down at you - there's an expression in his eyes that you can't quite name - and gently nudges you down the hall. his hand is light against your back, but it sends shockwaves through your nervous system regardless. “alright. give me a shout if you need anything, though, please.”

“i will, lovely,” you smile back just as sweetly. “want me to put some christmas music on? get into the festive spirit and all?”

“anything but band aid.”

you laugh, and matty joins in. “i was thinking more sinatra, anyway.”

“perfect.”

and that's exactly how he'd describe the scene in the kitchen he walks into thirty minutes later. the room is warm, made cosy by the oven that's been slow-cooking turkey for a little while now, soundtracked by frank crooning out have yourself a merry little christmas. mayhem snoozes in his bed by the massive window, which shows snow dusting over the garden like icing sugar on a cake, and then there's you. still keeping an eye on the potatoes bubbling on the hob, you sway gently to the music as you pour dried spices and seasonings into a bowl, your face as content as matty feels.

it breaks into a big smile when you see him in the doorway, white dress shirt hugging his chest quite deliciously. “oh! you got changed. i like it.”

“had to keep up with you, didn't i?” matty smiles, wandering into the room and laying a gift bag on the counter. he peers into the pan of potatoes. “thank you for doing this, by the way, darling. means a lot.”

he opens his arms, and you slot into them before they wrap around you tightly, resting your chin on matty's shoulder and smiling. “no one else i'd do it for.”

matty hums happily. “god, i've missed you. you're always a total peach to me. makes me feel good.”

“a peach? you've spent too much time stateside, matty,” you giggle, pulling away just enough to look at him. “thank god you're home for a bit. but thank you, lovely, i'll take the compliment.”

“for once, you'll take one,” matty teases. his face turns slightly more solemn. “yeah, m'glad to be home. it's a shame you won't be at any of the UK shows, though. i always like them more when you're there.”

“well, when hollywood calls, you have to answer,” you shrug, then smirk. “you just want me at the shows so i'll praise your narrative structuring again, don't you?”

matty's eyes close in bliss. “don’t tease, you literally barrelling towards me backstage screaming about midpoints and how proud of me you were is genuinely the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“oh, shush,” you roll your eyes, suddenly shy.

“i'm serious! it'd be like joan telling you she thought one of your sentences had perfect structure. a writing compliment from you is a gift, darling.”

“well… thank you. and speaking of gifts,” you - with great reluctance - pull away from matty, bending down to grab a wrapped box from your bag. “here. joyeux noël.”

your best friend takes the present from you, murmuring a “thank you” and smiling at the tag addressed to him. he holds it to his ear and shakes the box, eyebrows raising at the slight rattle.

sighing, you roll your eyes. “just open it, matty.”

his face lights up. “alright.”

after carefully peeling the tag from the box and placing it in his pocket, matty tears through the paper and lifts the lid off. he squints at the sides of the smaller plastic boxes inside, before realisation hits and his jaw drops. “this is…”

“cassette recordings of ten blue nile gigs throughout the eighties and nineties, in their entirety,” you finish, smiling. “thought you'd like them.”

“like them? darling, this is- i don't even know what to say, other than thank you,” matty looks at you, awed, and pulls you into another tight hug. “how the fuck did you manage to get them?”

“the guy in one of the record shops i went into in glasgow was selling them. they're his recordings,” you say, half into matty’s neck. “and he'd digitised them, so he didn't need the tapes anymore, and he wanted them to go to someone who'd genuinely use them. remembered you saying you'd bought a tape deck, and i know how much you love that band, so… i kinda had to buy them.”

matty turns his head and presses a kiss onto your temple; while you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming in delight, he speaks again. “you really are one of the best people i know. christ, i'm so overwhelmed by how perfect that present is. i need a drink,” he pulls away and heads to the fridge. “d’you fancy some champagne, darling, before i give you your gift? you might need it, actually.”

“that's not ominous at all,” you quip, then nod. “pour me a glass while i sort the potatoes and get them in the oven, please.”

matty nods, pulling out a bottle of perrier and grabbing glasses to take over to the table, while you drain and pat-dry the potatoes. he hums along to the background music while he fiddles around with the foil covering the champagne cork; you smile, eyes flicking up periodically to look at his cutely confused face, then back down to the food you're currently buttering and seasoning. it's incredibly domestic, a cosy little christmas dinner tableau, so much so that it hurts your heart to think that life isn't always like this for you and matty. and mayhem, obvs, curled up so adorably in his bed that you have to resist awwwwing every time you look at him.

still, it's hard to be melancholy when matty's irritation at the bottle foil is so amusing. you giggle at his grumbling, turning around to look at him scowl once the potatoes are safely in the oven. “need a hand?”

“no thanks, darling, i'm- ok, yeah, please,” matty sighs, leaning back in his chair and stretching. you pretend not to notice the way his shirt rides up and exposes his hip tattoo. “can't find the tab on the foil.”

“hmm, let me see,” you wander to the table and sit beside matty, moving your chair closer to him. well, to the bottle. “ah - that's because there isn't one.”

“well that's fucking stupid. how are you meant to open it?”

you smile, swiping your index nail across the foil; it slices clean through, and you're able to peel the covering off the cork. “like that. these aren't just for aesthetic purposes, you know.”

“that was actually quite hot. let me see them?” matty gently takes your hand in both of his own, admiring the abstract line pattern on your fingernails, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over the gel. “yeah, definitely hot. let me open the champagne from here though, darling, yeah? can't risk these pretty nails being damaged.”

you bite the inside of your cheek again; this time, to stop from giggling flirtily. “have at it, lovely.”

“i like it when you call me that,” matty smiles, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and the cork in the other, and slowly twisting. “makes me feel good.”

“well, you are lovely,” you smile back. “and opening that champagne quite effectively, i must say.”

“learnt from the best,” matty winks. “you're right, though, it's a lot less messy. although i don't mind that, sometimes. s'fun.”

“yeah, me too,” you smirk, glad to be sitting down and not having to worry about your legs caving in at matty and his words. “kinda fun getting it all over your hand, isn't it?”

matty's eyes widen again, and the cork breaks free with a loud pop; before either of you can cringe at or make light of it, though, mayhem jolts awake with a yelp at the sound, and quickly runs over to sit at your feet. 

you coo at him, reaching down to scratch his sweet head and reassure him (and berate his dad). “aww, mayhem. you scared the baby, matty! look at him, he's terrified! s'ok, sweetheart, i'll keep you safe. come on, you can have your christmas present to cheer you up.”

matty rolls his eyes, but he can't keep the smile from his face as he watches his dog eagerly follow you to your bag. “you know, mayhem, you're such a sap, honestly.”

“oi, don't talk about my friend like that,” you frown, face lighting up as you find what you're looking for in your bag. “aha! here you go, mayhem. merry christmas.”

the dog takes the guitar-shaped dog toy with relish, plodding back over to his bed and playing with it contentedly. matty leans to the side to look at mayhem's gift, bursting into laughter when he sees it. “fucking brilliant. that'll be his new favourite, by the way. but you're his favourite, so it checks out, i s'pose.”

“really?”

“oh, he loves you. he never gets so excited to see anyone else,” matty nods, pouring champagne and sliding a glass to you. “bet he'd enjoy seeing more of you. as would i, actually - i really like spending time with you, darling.”

you nod, touched. “so do i,” you raise a glass. “to seeing more of each other next year.”

matty clinks his glass off yours, repeating your words with a soft smile. you take a sip of your respective drinks, humming in satisfaction as the champagne hits your lips. you nod again as you swallow. “christ, that's good.”

“agreed. and now that we've had a drink,” matty puts his glass down, then leans back in his chair and reaches to grab your gift from the counter. he presents it to you with a grin. “merry christmas, darling. save the box til last, yeah?”

“ok. thank you,” you smile sheepishly, opening the bag and pulling out its contents: a notebook, with a pen tucked into the front cover, a book, and a thin, a4-size box. laying them on the table, you inspect each facet of the present in turn, starting with the notebook. “a parker pen? matty, this is beautiful.”

“that one's also kinda a congratulations gift for getting your manuscript in. there's a little message on the inside, too,” comes his reply. 

you flick your gaze up to find him blushing, and it makes you smile even wider. carefully, you lift open the black cover, and find matty's familiar scrawl on the inside: to my favourite writer… this is for the next one. lots of love, matty ♡. a little giggle leaves your lips, and you reach for your friend's hand to squeeze it. “you really are the loveliest, you know.”

“shhh, it's nothing,” matty softly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “the next bits are the good ones, really. m'excited to see you react to them.”

“better not keep you waiting, then,” you smile, reaching for the book; you let out a little cry of excitement when you read the title. “on beauty! i haven't read this since i was at uni, my god. thanks, matty, i can't believe you remembered me saying that! oh, this is amazing.”

“open it.”

your head shoots up. “what? why?”

matty smiles. “just do it, please.”

“alright,” you do as requested. when you see what’s on the title page, your jaw drops. “matthew…”

“oh, shit, the full name. am i in trouble?” matty quips, smirking as he takes another sip of champagne.

“no, no, just… you got zadie fucking smith to sign a book for me? with a personal message?” you all but sob, lip quivering, completely overcome. “she's telling me she loves my work? what the fuck?”

“well, she's got good taste.”

“matty,” you wail. “this is the best gift i've ever been given.”

matty giggles. “no it isn't.”

“i'm telling you, it really is.”

“nah,” matty gently tugs the book from your hands and replaces it with the box. “this might be, though. but you need to stop crying before you open it, though, darling. can i just…?”

tenderly, so tenderly, matty takes your face in his hands and uses his thumbs to carefully wipe the tears pooling on your lower lashline. at his touch alone, your breathing starts to regulate; the same can't be said for your heart or brain, which both go haywire at the intimacy of his actions, something not helped by him whispering reassuringly to you. “there you are, darling. you're alright.”

it's not a question, but you nod anyway. “thank you.”

“anytime,” matty lets go of your face and sits back; you miss him as soon as he lets go. “right. now you can open it.”

with a smile, you lift the lid from the box - it falters, though, as soon as you take in the words on the paper in front of you. “these are outlines.”

“yeah, they are. look closer, darling.”

you squint at the paper, a choked noise escaping your lips. “feel free… fuck off. zadie gave you her essay notes?!”

“she did. and told me to give them to you.”

“how?”

“well,” matty grins, shuffling in his seat. “i went to see her and nick while i was in new york, and i asked her to sign the book while i was there. when she found out it was for you… she insisted you have those. printed more off for me and everything. she thinks you're the shit, darling.”

“you're sure she didn't say i was shit?” you hiccup, sliding the box onto the table before your tears hit the paper and picking up your glass for a long drink.

“positive. she only had lovely things to say about you,” matty takes your glass and refills it, beaming at you. “so, yeah. bit of a weird present, i know, but i knew you'd appreciate it.”

you laugh through your tears, wiping your eyes and shuffling your chair next to matty's to hug him. “i really do. and i appreciate you even more. thank you, lovely, you're too good to me.”

“nah, you deserve the best, darling,” matty’s hand comes up to rest on the back of your hair, stroking it gently.

you wallow in the tender moment for a second, before pulling back to smile at him. “m'sorry for crying, christ.”

he shakes his head. “don't worry about it, s'cute. and you still look fit when you cry, so…”

“shut up,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder.

“really, you look perfect,” matty smiles, eyes soft. “m'glad you came over early today. not just because it means we get the good potatoes, but because we get to do this, have a bit of peace before everyone gets here. s'nice. really nice.”

you nod. “it is. thanks for having me. and for the gift.”

he kisses your hand. “anytime. thank you for my gift. and just for being you, i s'pose.”

“it's like you want me to keep crying.”

“well, like i said, you look fit,” matty grins. “but nah, i'll stop. let's have a nice time and get rid of this champagne before everyone else gets here, yeah?”

“sounds like a plan.”

so that's what you do - sit at matty's kitchen table, drinking champagne and watching mayhem playing with his new toy, talking and laughing with your best friend. outside, the snow falls faster and faster, blanketing the garden in pristine white, but it's falling nowhere near as quickly as you are for matty. when the front door goes, you’re actually welcome for the excuse to leave the table, the kitchen, the intense care in those beautiful eyes that threatens to shatter your sanity and perspective.

it's your newly engaged friends, laden with more champagne and christmas crackers. once you've exchanged pleasantries, your friend sends her fiancé into the kitchen with the bags so she can interrogate you. “now why are you here so early? you're a little bit unsteady on your feet… oh my god, did you and matty fuck?”

“no! christ! and keep your fucking voice down,” you hiss, looking back down the hall to make sure the coast is clear. “i came over early to help with dinner. and we opened champagne. that's it.”

her eyes narrow. “but you want to fuck him, don't you?”

you open your mouth to answer, but pause for a split-second too long; she cuts back in again. “oh, you do! well, you should.”

“i don't just want to fuck him, babe,” you sigh, leaning against the cold concrete wall. your brain is screaming at you to shut up, but you can't. “i… like him. in a more-than-platonic way. like in a deep way.”

“so… tell him that.”

you blanch. “today?”

“yes! it's christmas. we've all seen love actually - it's the perfect time!” she quietly claps, beaming. “and you won't see him again until my birthday dinner, so if the revelation goes tits up… you've got two months to get over it.”

“really filling me with confidence here.”

“sorry,” she kisses your cheek. “i just like the thought of the two of you being happy, that's all.”

“i know, it's just-”

“darling?” matty wanders down the hall to you, pulling your friend into a welcoming hug, then turning to face you. “sorry to interrupt, but your timer is going off.”

“oh, thanks, lovely,” you smile at him. “be in in a minute, yeah?”

“alright. looking forward to it,” with a wink, he's gone again.

your friend smiles at him, then turns to you. “he is looking forward to you returning to the same room as him. how interesting!”

“yeah, because it means we all get the roast potatoes i made. that's it.”

“oh, you made those again? amazing,” she nods appreciatively, then looks at you and tilts her head. “he could still just be looking forward to being in close proximity to you again, though. wonder if there's any mistletoe around.”

“shut up, please, i am literally begging.”

she laughs, tucking you under her arm and walking to the kitchen. “alright, i'll leave it be tonight. but i'm just saying - i think you have to seriously consider that matty might want you under his christmas tree this month just as much as you want him under yours.”

“and i think you have to seriously consider that you might be delusional.”

“well, we'll soon find out, i'm sure.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #into the birthday partyverse #christmas75 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

[yume-yuurei]

Smitten Ace × reader drabble

I recently came back from a ve~ery long trip, and I've got a few ideas to share... to be honest, I used to be pretty annoyed by Ace when I first got into twst, but the more content I find of him, the more attractive this prick seems >:/ I swear, liking him as a character feels embarrassing... but who cares? Basically, this post is all about what I imagine travelling with a smitten Ace might be like.

So, almost half of my trip was spent riding the train to get to a camp with a hundred or two of other kids from my region, so you can guess it was eventful. Imagine going on such a trip with the first-years team, having to take a train for three days straight - it's basically like becoming roommates for a short while.

To get at least a sliver of privacy, you call dibs on a top bunk from the very start; that way you can hide away in a space of your own when social interactions start getting exhausting. Hearing that, Ace rushes to claim the bed opposite of yours. It takes him some effort to convince Deuce, who was actually supposed to take that place, to trade, without blowing his cover. When you enter the train car, Ace is already unpacking his things, jumping down his bunk (almost landing on Sebek) to throw your luggage onto a shelf.

Settling down isn't easy, with how many passengers are in the train car and how little space there is, but eventually everyone takes their seat.

The road promises to be long, and what better entertainment is there if not playing card games? Obviously, Ace has brought a whole pack of them, a laminated limited-edition deck with am intricate design that he snagged from his brother. Passing cards out for everyone and starting a game. As expected from someone who's been basically holding cards since crib, he wins every single time, pulling kings and aces seemingly out of nowhere (or, perhaps, right from his sleeves...). When he exits the game, Ace leans closer to you, watching the way you use your deck and giving subtle hints on how to turn the situation in your favor, smirking proudly when you start picking up and winning more frequently.

Whenever your little squad sits down for a meal, Trappola takes a seat as close as possible - either in front of you or at your side. You two often trade or share, swapping food you don't like for something you have a liking for. Ace would never be caught dead admitting to it, but I feel like he might sometimes lie about hating some snack or desert, just to have a reason to share with you.

I don't even doubt that he'd be the one to initiate playing something like truth or dare later into the evening, having prepared a full list of embarrassing questions and wild dares specifically for this occasion. Expect him to bluescreen if, when dared to kiss the most handsome guy around, you pick anyone except him.

And eventually night rolls around. Clad in a complect of comfortable night clothes, you fluff up a pillow and a blanket, wrapping yourself up cozily and turning on one side. You face Ace, barely making out his features in the dark. His two crimson eyes stare into your face, and if at that moment all lights were on, you would've noticed a hint of fondness in his expression. Propping his head up on a hand, Ace whispers,"

Asleep yet?"

You two talk quietly for a few more hours into the night. School, family, plans for future - it's so easy to share with him, conversation flowing naturally. Contrary to the confident and boisterous voice he usually equips around others, right now he sounds gentle. No persona to upkeep (assuming that all others have fallen asleep long ago), nothing to hide or prove; and as you feel your eyelids grow closing and head sinking into the pillow, you succumb to heavy sleep of exhaustion.

The last thing you hear before dozing off is a far-away:

"Good night... dream of me, yeah?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yuurei's fics #the way of a housewarden #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #another drabble I wrote during class #plss I'm reposting it for a third time hnnn

[crown-anon]

@hearts1ck my beloved

November 1st

CW: explicit; more CWs under the cut

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; reader has male anatomy; more specifics under the cut

edited 14 March 2021

anonymous asked

consider. okay. CONSIDER. consider masochist george. okay?? okay. okay LISTEN.

I think I have a problem with gimmicks also. because. because. ever since strawberry milk george, I. I have not stopped thinking about strawberry flavored lube. because! listen okay hear me out.

(this is absolutely 110% a response to discovering that you share a birthday with him. what of it?)

I know everyone likes pillow princess george and. that's okay. that's FINE. these are not mutually exclusive.

george looking up at you with The LookTM wearing some pink strawberry milk lingerie. not even lingerie really! just something cute like that

& him being like. "I know you love me 👉👈 but I need you to fuck me like you don't"

so I was. thinking. that brat george is the exact kind of person to say (playfully & consensually) "but I don't wanna give you head, I just wanna fuck >:(" after you've got him worked up, maybe from teasing him throughout the day, or edging him a little. but you still need some type of lube. so you go to apply the first bottle you see and he's pink when he asks you "😳 is that ... strawberry ... ?" and you're confused like ??? bro you just asked me to fuck you into next week why're you interested in the flavored lube

but. but listen. he would get so enthusiastic about it. at first it's just "maybe I can stand to eat them out just a little bit before ..." and then after you come the first time it devolves really, really quickly into the need to just. take care of you. and it stretches on until you've come three or four times, and you're still shaking, and he's just. completely gone in subspace

hmm ... george climbing up onto your lap when he's done with you, going in to give you a kiss, and he tastes like strawberry. and he ends up moaning right into your mouth because he's been so horny but so? understimulated?? that he outright jumps as soon as his dick grazes your thigh. it would only take a couple stuttery grinds before he's finishing on both of your stomachs

and he's just so cute when comes, or when he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet. and it's your birthdays. so, you decide you'll give him a reason to cry. and he'll finally get put in his place! it's a win-win for both of you!!

istg every time I send you an ask I discover something new about myself. you. you have made a dreamteam simp out of me. I am but a shell of the man I once was. I think I should thank you? [👑]

hearts1ck

i say this nearly every time you send stuff in but...... by god you own my soul. all of it. this – i – first of all, the implications of masochist george losing his fucking mind when you’re rough with him? guhhhfjklgjgf. and ,..d,,f,,, ,, ,, george in pink lingerie. i. i . a... pink satin slip maybe or .... ohghfd; oh my god those. that cat panty/bra set. im ascending im losing my brain as i type this i cannot –

okay im back on earth. he’d get into that rhythm and settle like liquid while he gets to work on you, and his subspace face is so self-satisfied and nearly smug so he’s just having the time of his life,,, and he makes such a loud noise when his dick twitches against your thigh and maybe... JUST MAYBE he whimpers extra watery when you drag his hips to grind against where you’re wet and dripping/your spent cock as if he’s the one who’d get overstimulated by it. when he finally leans away, eyelids heavy, you gently fit your hand over his jaw and ask, “did you even ask? it’s one thing to come without permission, but not even caring to ask? georgie, i might just be offended,” and he whines “green”s against your neck before you even check-in

and because u made it abt both of our birthdays ,,,, spanks for each year we’ve been alive methinks ??? and then the scratch down his ass gets him hard again and he’s so embarrassed by it, ,,, , ,, ,, ,, ,, ,

also thank god you’ve joined the george boat. i’m so proud of myself for hopefully being part of the reason you got dragged over here HJFKDHSKD

#👑 anon #(my beloved) #keep #anon thoughts: george #redsick #SHAWTY WANT THE WHOLE CREW SHAWTY BAD

as soon as you said birthday spanks I decided I had to write more about this. and I was going to leave more snippets in your askbox like the fucking gremlin creature I am, but then my thoughts started. actually having structure? and then I started writing it. and I tried to do homework and write on study breaks only but. I just kept coming back to this. this is the polar opposite of writer's block. I think I'm cursed or something. so here I am rushing to finish this so that I may rest in peace!!

yes I've been writing nonstop since I sent you that ask. what of it. what the fuck of it.

when I said I discover something new about myself every time we interact, I. I'm serious. I think I might be insane or something. I'm way too sadistic. you'll see. what the fuck is this? what the fuck did I just write??

this would have done so much critical psychic damage if I had posted it on November 1st in real life, but mental illness says I can't let my horny thoughts rattle around in my brain for that long. so!! it's you guys's problem now xoxoxo

I'm not fucking proofreading this. love you though 💗

I did end up proofreading actually. oops! looks like posting at 23:00 isn't always a good idea.

November 1st

CW: explicit, anal (kind of vague), bondage (collar + leash), corruption, domspace (I think??), edging, handjob, humiliation, masochism, oral, praise, sadism, spanking, subspace, swearing. I call George a whore and a slut at least once. and also, George calls yellow at one point. this one kind of surprised me so just. Be Careful. I cannot believe I wrote this. I don't know where this came from.

format: one-shot

people: GeorgeNotFound

pronouns: he/him; I use the word "sir;" reader has male anatomy; I use the words "cock," "dick," and "head;" reader can ejaculate

—

dawn shines through drawn curtains, illuminating the tile floor and your robed figure reflecting off it. batter sizzles in the skillet as you flip the last pancake over. this side looks golden brown, like honeycomb or caramelized sugar. that delicious, freshly-baked fragrance mingles with scented candles. it's perfect, you smile. he's going to love it.

you lift the pancake with a spatula, stacking it on top of the others on his plate. you bring it to his seat at the table, along with the butter, the syrup, the honey, the jam…and you go to pour him a drink.

"hey baby," you greet warmly to the sleepyhead rubbing his eyes in the entryway, still clinging to a pillow. his hair's a mess, only wearing socks and a sweatshirt that reaches down past his thighs. you reckon he'd only just crawled out of bed.

"morning…" he yawns, stumbling past you to take his seat.

"milk?" you ask, he only nods. "did you sleep okay?"

he hums affirmatively. "I…can we…"

one track mind, you joke inwardly. but you don't blame him. "of course," you open the fridge.

you hear him pause. "…is it too early for that?"

"no, no!" you give him a lighthearted laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest…I want it, too."

he's silent under the noise of you rummaging through the fridge. "I—"

"sorry—it looks like all we have is strawberry milk. is that alright?"

"yeah…yeah, that's alright. I…actually…wanted to try something new." you shut the fridge, he's fidgeting in his seat.

"hit me with it," your expression is gentle. you pass his cup off to him, but he holds his hand over yours a little too long, looking up at you.

"fuck me like you hate me."

you don't know if it's hearing him swear, or the way he said it so calmly, or how he closed his eyes and swallowed hard before his tone could dip down into something lower. but like a match in an torrent of gasoline, suddenly you're burning up.

you only realize you're staring when he bites his lip and looks down. you start to say something, but the words don't form.

he laughs nonthreateningly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "is that a yes?"

you laugh with him. "I…yes, absolutely yes." you turn back around to make your own stack of pancakes. "you should eat first, though."

"what?" he teases. "will I need the energy?"

you smile. "yeah. I think you will." you can practically feel him open his mouth in protest, but he stays silent after that.

and it stays mostly silent while you cook your pancakes. you hear the clinking of his fork on his plate, but it isn't very disruptive. it sounds like he's hurrying to finish his food.

when you go back to the table with your own platter, he's already done eating. he's red down to his neck, fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt, looking at you expectantly. you spot a pair of tassels peeking out from under it, just below his hip bones. is that…

he pulls the hem up just a bit, holding your gaze. he smiles, apparently satisfied watching your face heat up.

"I—you should go…go get ready," you manage. he gets up before you even finish your sentence, only stopping to give you a quick kiss on the cheek.

except it isn't quick, when he slides his hand down to rest firmly on your collar, and leans in to trail kisses down your neck. "a-and leave that on," you stutter.

he pauses, just under your jaw. "leave what on?" he murmurs.

your breath catches, you shut your eyes. "whatever the fuck it is you're wearing under there."

he's hardly grazing your skin, but you can feel how hot he is next to you. it takes all of your willpower not to shiver.

he pulls back quickly, only his hand lingering. "I don't know what you're talking about." and just like that, he disappears into your bedroom.

you reach up a hand tentatively to your collar, hot to the touch. I'm in way too deep, you decide, and force yourself to take a bite of your food despite your nerves.

—

"that," you hiss. "that fucking outfit. that."

"oh, this?" he bites his lip, hooking his thumb in the keyhole. "this's just what I went to bed in last night."

"fuck you. we both know that isn't true."

he tugs gently on his top, pulling it a little to the side. "what's the big deal? can't I wear something special for my birthday?"

"it's special, all right," and you leave it at that, opting instead to slot between his legs where he sits waiting on the edge of the bed. you bring up a hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb across his cheek. you'll never get enough of the way he looks at you, like you're intoxicating.

…? you frown.

"is something…missing?" he perks up instantly at "missing."

"what…?" he chooses his words carefully.

"the collar—your collar. where is it?" you turn away to start going through your bedside table, but the way his lips quirk up into a sly smile isn't lost on you.

that's lube…that's a vibrator…where the fuck is it…? "w-what collar?" he stumbles over his words.

your mind jumps to say, the collar that came with that outfit, or I know you know what I'm talking about, but you won't give him the satisfaction. you decide to speak a little darker, only a firm "George." you hear him swallow.

"w-well," his voice is shaky, "you only told me to leave on whatever I was wearing under my shirt. and…I wasn't wearing that collar at breakfast…s-so technically…"

you stop looking immediately. you turn to take him in, legs crossed, stance confident, but expression showing uncertainty. you can see the regret on his face. "get up." he takes a shallow breath. "get up."

"I'm—"

"don't I'm sorry me," you snap. "you look for your fucking collar on your own."

he slips off the bed, looking ashamed, but starts digging through the drawer all the same. "I really am sorry," he murmurs. you take his place sitting on the bed. he finds what he's looking for rather quickly: a simple white leather collar with a bell, and a leash. he hands them off to you shyly. "um, here…"

"good boy," you praise. "kneel."

he shuts his eyes and does as he's told. you can see the bliss wash over his face just at being ordered around. his lips part a little as he lets out a heavy breath. if only I knew what this would do to him, you muse, I'd have done this ages ago.

you fasten the collar, revelling in how he shivers at the gentle sensation of cold leather hanging around his neck. you leave it a little bit loose, but still comfortable, and hook the leash in its place. he sits obediently still on his knees, looking deep in thought.

"Oh, I know what I'm gonna do to you," you bait. "how old are you today?"

"mmm. twenty-five." he looks down.

you smile, holding tight onto the leash. "I'm gonna edge you. twenty-five times."

he flinches away immediately, yet hums in pleasant surprise when the leash snaps taught. the bell jingles stiffly. "no way. that's way too much."

"I think you should've thought about that before you wore that to breakfast," you decide, tugging a little. he's caught off-guard and stumbles forward, stopping himself by leaving a clumsy pair of kisses on the inside of your thigh. the metal and leather feel refreshingly cool against your feverish skin. "we've got all day, baby."

you expect to hear some kind of protest, you're crazy. or a playful taunt, I'm better off doing this by myself. but he knits his brows and openly moans at the thought. "all day…" he repeats.

he looks up at you, almost pleading, and you can hear the resignation in his voice when he whispers "alright."

"get up here," you command. "on top of me." as he climbs up into your lap, a little too eagerly, you add, "and take your dick out."

you shrug your robe off your shoulders while he's working on his panties, and without thinking, you ask, "color?"

he stops, leaving his head poking cutely over the waistband. he looks up at you again. "…what?"

"um…color," you explain. "like, how are you doing? is this okay? I don't actually want to hurt you. uhhh…green means good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop."

he stifles a laugh. "you're such a nerd. I'm okay."

"alright." you blush a little. "we can stop whenever you need to. this is for you…" you think of something horribly unsexy to say. "…birthday boy."

now he's really laughing, with his whole body. you think the way it makes his collar jingle is cute. "oh my god. shut up. just shut up," his expression turns serious, and he drops to a whisper, "and fuck me."

that got you hot again. you pull him by the leash into a kiss, you bite his lip, you eat him up. and you grab the both of you together with your other hand, you moan in tandem. you can feel how you took him by surprise in the way he twitches under your thumb, the way he leans into you with his whole body. you part from the kiss and he leans back on his heels, panting hard, holding on to your shoulders for support. you can feel him shaking a little.

when you move your hand all the way up the first time, you squeeze both of your heads gently, and he practically falls into you. muffled in the crook of your neck, he begs, "god, do that again."

so you do. again. and again. what was a string of stuttered breaths turns into a single broken moan as you jerk the both of you off. when you think you're getting close, you let go of yourself to focus all your attention on him.

"fuck, sir," he whines—hahaha, that sir made your cock leak a little. he shut his eyes tight. "I-I-I think—I think I'm—"

just like that, you stop, and he goes slack, practically laying on you. but he doesn't grind back, or even move to touch himself. that won't last very long.

you let him come back down, knowing edging takes a lot out of you; maybe even more so than actually coming does. slowly but surely, his breathing steadies. you rub between his shoulderblades affectionately, still trying to ground yourself, too.

once you've found your voice again, you question, "are you gonna count for me?"

he makes a sound against your skin, somewhere between excitement and fear. "…o-one." you revel in how fucked-out he sounds already.

"one what?" you prod.

he seems at a loss, like he's forgotten himself, what he said. after a minute or two of pondering, he catches on. "…sir."

it's your turn to moan. your dick jumps at the honorific, still mostly untouched against your stomach. "good boy." and you dive back in. twenty-four to go.

—

it's noon. you're working on nineteen. and your partner's getting much more…expressive. he's started biting his hand to keep himself quiet, but he's still…

"I-I—oh fuck, I'm—fuck, I-I'm—I'm—" he whimpers through his teeth. and he yelps, whole body shaking, bell jingling incessantly, when he comes all over your hand and stomach.

you take your hand off him immediately, and this time he does try to reach down, ride through it, but you grab both his wrists to stop him. he grinds down uselessly against your thigh and your dick. although you're still hard, and only a hairline trigger away from coming yourself, it doesn't stop you from keeping this brat in line. you only bite your lip and close your eyes.

he leans his forehead against yours, moving in to give you a kiss, but you push him away.

"did you never learn how to fucking count?" you growl.

he winces. "I-I-I-I'm…I'm sorry—"

you scowl at your hand, covered in come. "here, slut," you raise it up to his lips. "clean this off for me."

he tears up a little, but takes your fingers into his mouth all the same. pretty quickly, though, he spits them back out.

"it doesn't taste good…" he complains.

"oh? oh, it doesn't?" you mock. "but it felt good, when you came without my permission, like a cheap fucking whore."

a couple of tears spill over, roll down his cheeks, yet he says nothing, only moving back in to lap his come off your hand. you can see it in his expression that he's not very happy about it, but he doesn't protest further.

"is this good enough, sir?" he asks, when it seems that he's gotten it all. it looks clean enough, you agree. you grab him by the chin, hooking your thumb in his mouth. you don't even have to tell him to suck.

"you come without my approval again, and it's over. you can go back to playing minecraft—or what-the-fuck-ever—with your friends for your birthday. do you want to sleep on the couch, Georgie?"

if he wasn't crying before, he's definitely crying now. he doesn't shake his head, but he circles your fingertip with his tongue enthusiastically, as if to say, I'll be good, I'll be good this time, looking up at you doe-eyed.

"bend over for me," you demand. "across my lap."

he does so immediately. he slips a little bit while he's changing positions, you hear the bell ring, and he scrambles to correct himself. he settles with his ankles crossed and his head in his hands, propping himself up on his elbows. you feel a little bad, you admit, but you won't budge; he has a safeword, you trust that he'll use it.

"let's try that again," your tone softens. "I want you to count for me, okay?"

he nods.

you pull his panties to the side, pause briefly, and bring down your hand with a satisfying smack.

"ohhhhhh—" he moans, jolting a little. "—holy shit, did you just spank me?"

your stomach drops, you go to rub him gently where you just hit him. "is that okay—?"

"it's hot, it's so hot, fuck," he shifts in your lap. "um, sorry…one."

seriously, something about hearing him swear awakens something in you, every time. you're fired up. you spank him again.

"mmm—two…" is he…? "three…"

you pause to massage his ass again, and to speak. "you're…you're hard again, aren't you?"

you didn't even spank him yet, but he lets out a moan. "fuck, I—I just. I want you. I want this. so, so much."

you wonder if this is actually the same George who was fidgeting with his pillow in the dining room this morning.

"you're so bad, getting turned on by something like this," you tease. he only moans in response.

"four—five—six—seven…" he chokes out. "it's starting to sting…"

you take a break, kneading the skin where your angry red handprint is starting to take shape.

"eight…nine…but god, it hurts so good…" he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "ten…"

at ten, you linger for a moment, holding a handful of his ass. "does it?"

"yes—yesyesyes," he buries his face in the pillow, and shivers. "fuck, eleven…twelve…"

you pull his panties down to his knees, and switch sides. he lifts his hips up, so I can reach him better, you guess. you don't miss the telltale glint of a butt plug, but you'll get to that later.

"thirteen—fourteen—fifteen—sixteen," he moans between slaps. he's gripping the pillowcase so hard his knuckles are white.

in this new position, the way he jumps with every hit makes his cock brush against yours just right. fuck, you're still hard from earlier. this time you're the one who whimpers.

"seventeen, eighteen," he pauses, breathless. you pull gently on his leash, he arches his back and moans, "n-nineteen." his bell jingles.

he grinds down, just for a moment, and the friction is delicious. you're a little dizzy, you think you might've thrust back. you both sigh at the feeling.

"…t-twenty…see? I-I can count…I'm a good boy…I'm good for you…aren't I?"

"you are," you murmur, but you aren't sure he hears you. "you're so good…"

"twenty-one—twenty-two…I-I feel like I haven't done anything right today…twenty-three…"

"…George…?" you hear a muffled sob.

"twenty-four…" he mumbles.

"George?" you start to get concerned. he just keeps crying. "hey…" you whisper. you gently prompt him to turn him over; the pillow's a little wet. you pull the panties off all the way, and get him out of the bra, which had a little stray come on it. you help him sit up in your lap, and pull him into a hug.

"am I really just a whore…?" he asks brokenly.

"you've been so good for me, baby. you've done everything I've asked." you wipe his tears away with your thumb. "are you okay?"

"but I—" he coughs. "—I came too soon, I came without your permission…"

you kiss his hair, and hold him to your chest. "you've been so patient. I'm proud of you."

he finally wraps his arms around you. "I-I'm sorry."

"nonsense," you reassure. "your comfort takes priority. are you okay? color?"

"I…" he searches for the words. "I dunno. yellow? I…that hurt, I think. being…degraded?"

you comb through his hair with your fingers. "I understand. thank you for telling me. I love you."

—

you stay like that for a minute. you grab him a snack and a drink, but for the most part, you just enjoy each other's company, tangled-up together. you don't bother putting your clothes back on.

it's later in the evening. you're straddling him, peppering his shoulders with kisses, and he's giggling underneath you. he turns over to give you a short and sweet kiss.

"baby?" he says, looking expectantly.

"what is it?" you sit back on your heels.

he hesitates. "…I wanna keep going. from earlier."

you're serious again. "are you sure you're okay?" you grab his hand, bringing it up to kiss his fingertips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm alright," he assures. "I remember you promising me an all-day thing, though."

you blush, a little surprised by his forwardness. "of course. I think…I…" you laugh. "I wanna fuck you."

"yeah?" he smiles, leaning up close. "show me how much."

you hold his jaw while you kiss him, biting his bottom lip between your teeth. he tastes like the coffee and cream you made him earlier. you feel his breath hitch. he reaches up to hold your shoulders.

you pull back. "hey, blow me first."

"what? why?" he giggled.

"it's been a couple hours, I'm not hard anymore," you coax. "I thought you liked taking orders?"

he cringed. "but come tastes gross!"

you slid off him and hopped off the bed, opening the drawer. "suit yourself. you get to watch me jack off, then."

"fine by me, I think you look good when you masturbate."

"ohhh, I forget, you're too blissed-out to pay attention to how I look when you're getting fucking owned."

"I am not!"

"you are too!" he sticks his tongue out at you.

you open the lid, pouring a little on your hand, a little on your cock. it's translucent pink, seems a little fragrant. you give yourself a couple of strokes with a sigh.

he's quiet for a second, then, shyly, "um…is that…strawberry flavored…?"

you bite your lip. "I thought you weren't gonna give me head?"

"I was just curious." it's a weak lie, but you say nothing.

your eyes are shut, but you can feel him moving around a bit on the bed, you hear his bell ring a couple times. you feel a hand on your thigh, so you decide to peek. and holy shit.

your partner's made his way to the floor, on his knees between your legs, holding his leash in his mouth, his fucking mouth, what the fuck. his thumb's rubbing circles on the inside of your thigh. the half-lidded look he's giving you should be criminal.

"you—I thought you said you wouldn't…" you can't find the words. you reach out and take the leash from his mouth. you see your hand shake in front of you.

"I'm just watching…" he whispers, looking up at you, mesmerized.

you're only able to get a couple of pumps in before he's joining you, hand over yours as you get yourself off. just the extra sensation of somebody else's touch is enough to make you bite back a moan.

"fuck—!" you jolt when he licks a stripe up the underside. he mouths over the head, jerking you off on his own now. you move to grip the sheets in one hand, his leash in the other. and you come without warning. you see it end up on his hand and your stomach before you shut your eyes tight.

he's quiet while you're coming down, just helping you ride it out, giving you kisses on your thighs. when you look back down at him, he's got two of his fingertips in his mouth, licking them clean. he stands up abruptly, it startles you a little. you see his bell ring. and he grabs you by the hips and leans down to your midriff.

"…I don't think I cleaned you off all the way earlier…" he breathes, and he starts to lap up the mess of his and your come that's been on you since this afternoon.

what the fuck. why is this so hot? why is he so hot? all too soon, your spent cock twitches in interest at your lover. he cups it with a hand, smiling against your tummy. you're so sensitive it hurts. you think you mean to say something, but nothing comes out.

"hmm…?" he bites his lip. "you still want some more?" all you can do is whine. at this point, you don't know if it's in protest or invitation.

you don't get the chance to find out either, because fuck, he's really going down on you now. you don't know what the fuck he's doing with his tongue, or where his gag reflex went, but at this rate you're gonna come again.

"George—George, baby, I—slow down, I-I'm—" you plead. his leash slips out of your hand, you tip your head back.

he swallows.

—

the last thing you remember is coming harder than you ever have in your life. you think you held him by his hair. you might've fucked his mouth a little. he's never let you come in his mouth before…fuck…

it's nighttime now. he's riding your thigh, got one of his legs slotted between yours. the friction between his knee and your overstimulated cock feels embarrassingly good. you're so dizzy, all you can articulate is a loud moan. you don't sound at all like you remember. his bell keeps ringing and ringing and ringing as he grinds against you.

he leans down, one arm holding your hip, the other keeping himself propped up. he bites your shoulder, hard, hard enough to bruise. he comes on both of your stomachs.

"George," you beg. you're losing your voice.

"mmmmmmsir," he slurs. "fuck me."

"George, I…" you don't know what you're saying. the end of your sentence turns into a whimper.

"you need me to get you hard again? you need me to rile you up?" he turns to kiss your jaw, feeling around for your dick. "like this?"

"George," you sound urgent, until he squeezes right around the head, and you forget what you were saying. you're pretty fucking close to forgetting who you are entirely.

he sits up on top of you, grinning. "love the way you say my name, sir."

that name. all it takes is the way he says that fucking name and you're ready to go again. you flip the two of you over, so that you're towering over him instead. "you still didn't. fucking. ask me. if you could come."

he giggles, a little crazed. he hooks his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest.. "so what? so what? you gonna fuck me 'till I behave?"

"yes," you reach down, "I think I will." and you pull out the butt plug he (probably forgot he) had in all day.

"fuck—" he sobs. you watch his dick bob. precome drips into a pool on his stomach. "—green—green—so fucking green."

you're still sensitive from coming twice—you're pretty sure he is too. you lean down to give him a kiss, you moan into each other's mouths. he tastes like strawberries and his and your come. it is a little gross, you admit. but he's so tight and so fucking cute that you can't bring yourself to care. you part, and there's a line of salvia connecting the two of you.

"wait—" you say, but it comes out like a growl. "roll over."

he gets on his hands and knees, reaching back and spreading himself open for you. fuck.

you fuck him like that, holding the leash tight, loving the way he arches his back into the bed. the bell on his collar jingles incessantly.

you spank him, one last time.

"th-that's twenty-f-five—oh, fuck, sir," he growls, clinging on to the blankets for dear life.

you pin one of his hands in place and reach down to touch him. he starts laughing again.

"mmmmmmay I please come, sir? I—fuck—I'm so close, soclosesoclose," his breath stutters, you can hear the breaks in his voice. he buries his face in the blankets.

I'm close, you think, but the words don't make it out. "you're so good—you're so fucking good—come for me—fuck, come for me."

—

you're a mess. there's some drying solution of come and lube on your stomach. not to mention whatever the fuck's going on with your hair. your robe is discarded haphazardly on the floor. you think you've got a hickey, but you can't remember where.

actually, you're both a mess. he's also covered in come, sweat, and lube. he's got a red ring around his neck where you pulled him by the leash a little too hard. he's just covered in bruises. he clings to your arm, still fast asleep. you both passed out pretty quickly after…whatever that was, but you got back up a couple hours later. it doesn't look like he did, though.

actually, your whole bedroom is a mess. a blanket or two ended up discarded on the floor. there's an empty bottle of edible lube somewhere around here. your kitty lingerie set, still dirty, somehow ended up hanging in the closet. the first time you woke up you were both cuddling with a butt plug that you misplaced in the heat of the moment.

you don't think you've ever seen him like that. you can't even put it into words. you've never spanked him. he's never called you sir. you've never come in his mouth. he's never…begged for you like that before. you've never been so exhausted after coming that you both just, just fainted.

you feel lightheaded, and dead tired. you know you both must have gotten back up and gone at it at least a couple more times, but it's blurry, you can't remember. all you know is your vibrator's missing, and you feel…unusually empty, like you do the morning-after getting railed a little too hard.

last night…what the fuck happened last night?

you contemplate getting up, slipping your arm out of his embrace, pulling the covers back up around him, leaving to make breakfast. you're kind of disgusting, several hours after sex without cleaning up properly. you want to get yourselves some washcloths, maybe take shower together, or run him a bath. you know he's gotta be way more sore than you are.

you catch yourself staring, lost in thought; he just looks too cute when he's very clearly roughed up, but still sleeping soundly. and with the way he wanted…the way he needed you yesterday, you don't think he would want to wake up alone.

maybe it's okay if we sleep in a little longer.

you stroke his hair and whisper, "happy birthday, baby boy."

—

edited 14 March 2021

#limeade-zest #georgenotfound x reader #george x reader #george davidson x reader

[topsytervy]

Good Night ~ Rafe Cameron

Ahaha I did a Part 3 to goodbye. It kind of got a little dicey at the end but it’s chill. You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Blurb: You and Rafe go out for some drinks and I don’t know what else to say.

Word Count: 3,323

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, grammar/spelling mistakes, I think that’s it

~~~~~~

Rafe smiled as he unlocked the door to his apartment and walked in, closing the door behind him as he placed his keys in the little dish on the counter.

He walked further into his apartment, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of a chair before walking down the hall to his bedroom to change into pajamas. He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling as a smile crept onto his face. 

He let out a breathy laugh as he ran his hands over his face as he thought about his day with you in the car. It was a dream come true to have alone time with you after all these years. All he wanted was 5 minutes with you and he got 8 hours instead.

His phone vibrated on his nightstand and he reached over, grabbing it and unlocking it before his grin grew.

My plans for tomorrow fell through and I don't work the day after, so drinks tomorrow night?

Rafe looked up towards his ceiling. "I'm starting to think you exist, big guy." 

Yeah. I'll pick you up at 7?

I'll see you then.

Rafe set his phone back on the nightstand and positioned himself under the covers, closing his eyes as he thought about your conversation when he dropped you off.

Rafe held open the door to your apartment complex for you before walking in behind you.

"Thank you," you smiled as you began your journey up the stairs to your apartment.

Rafe stood at the bottom of the steps and pointed to the elevator. "Why are we not using the elevator?" He asked.

"I got stuck in one a few years back and I decided that I'm staying far away from those things for the rest of my life." You shrugged. Rafe chuckled lightly and took his first step up. You looked back at him with a grin. "Hope you plan on skipping leg day cause I'm up on floor six."

Rafe waved his hand, dismissing your sentence. "Please, this will be a cinch."

Halfway up, Rafe looked over at you as he heard the slight panting coming from you. His lips formed into a smirk as he spoke. "Are you okay over there?"

You nodded. "Peachy."

"Mhm,"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes as you two continued up the stairs, Rafe offering to carry you the rest of the way but you denied his offer. 

Rafe watched as you brought your tired feet up the last step, opening the door that separated the stairwell from the hallway of apartment doors.

You led the way to your apartment door and pulled out your key, shoving it into the lock. "Thanks for letting me ride with you. It was way better than the ride with Kie, JJ, and Pope." You glanced at him as you turned the key.

"It's no problem. I enjoyed the company." Rafe leaned against the wall, praying his voice wouldn't waver at his next sentence. "So, you wanna go out tomorrow night? Hit the town or whatever?"

Even though he knew that you two were on alright terms now, after all the car ride was filled with catching up and bad karaoke, there was still a part of his mind that was nervous. 

Nervous that you would tell him that, as fun as the last two days were, you couldn't see yourselves being more than civil acquaintances. Nervous that you'd say, 'yes, as long as the guy I've been seeing in secret for the past month can join us'. Nervous that you'd say 'let me check my schedule and I'll let you know’, but then ghost him.

Nervous that he would have to watch you walk out of his life again.

"I kind of already have a prior commitment to tomorrow," You told him before reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone, "but I'll let you know when I can squeeze in some time for you when I check my work schedule." You smiled as you extended your unlocked phone to Rafe.

"You promise?" Rafe asked as he hesitantly took your phone. 

This was the beginning of one of his scenarios he created in his mind and not one of the ones that ended with you two saying 'I do'.

You shot Rafe a look. "Rafe, you and I both know that I wouldn't be looking this calm and collected if I was lying to you. I'd be a stuttering, panicking mess."

Rafe chuckled lightly at the truthful statement of your terrible lying as he began putting in his number under his name before texting himself a ‘hi’ so he'd have your number. 

He handed your phone back to you with a grin. "To be fair, you were a stuttering, panicking mess when we first met, Y/N/N, and all you were saying was hello."

You blushed profusely at the memory of you being nervous as hell when you met Rafe for the first time and Rafe wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and tease you about the sudden redness on your cheeks like he used to do whenever you blushed.

But instead, he just added, "Don't worry. You were a cute stuttering, panicking mess," before he walked back towards the stairwell.

As Rafe slipped off into dreamland, you stayed awake, waiting for your kettle to go off so you could make your tea.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, Rafe’s contact staring back at you. You clicked edit and erased his name before typing out his new name.

Bub

You smiled slightly at the familiar nickname from years ago and hit save before opening Spotify. You went to click on your liked songs before remembering something from the car ride with Rafe and went to the search bar, typing in Rafe’s Spotify name that you still had memorized.

"You're music is so fucking basic, Rafe." You laughed as you once again listened to some random pop song that you had already heard way too many times on the radio.

Rafe shook his head. “My music is not basic. I just have different playlists with different genres. It’s called being organized Y/L/N.” He answered with a grin.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow,

Rafe nodded. “Mhm. If I’m in the mood for rap, I have my rap playlist. If I want alternative, I have my alternative playlist. And so on.”

“Mind if I look through and choose one?” You asked. 

Rafe grabbed his phone from his hoodie pocket and unlocked it with his fingerprint before handing it over to you. You found Spotify and clicked it open, going to his playlists. You were going to click on his alternative playlist but another one caught your eye.

My Girl’s Favorites.

You glanced over at Rafe. 

“My girl’s favorites?” 

“Hmm?” He glanced over at you and you turned the screen to him. “Oh. Guess I never deleted that one.”

“Oh. You want me to delete it for you so you don’t have to remember her?” You clicked on the playlist and went to click on the three dots but Rafe spoke up.

“No!” His hand reached out and he placed a hand on your forearm to stop you. You turned to look at him and moved your finger away from the dots. “That’s… that’s your playlist. It’s probably a little outdated considering it’s been five years but… yeah. That should be all your favorites from when you were 16.” He admitted, glancing out his window before turning his attention back to the road ahead of him.

You bit your lip before clicking play on the playlist, gasping when Mr.Brightside came on first.

Rafe looked over at you and smiled as you immediately went to turn up the volume before beginning to yell the lyrics as you scrolled through all the songs that were apparently your favorites back in high school.

“This is going to be one hell of a trip down memory lane.” You commented as your eyes widened at some of the songs that you had forgotten about.

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. You’re in for a treat.” You glanced at him and you saw his cheeks redden slightly. “I have, on occasion, listened to it.”

You smiled and thought about Rafe listening to all of your old favorites while he was alone. If you were being honest, you still had a playlist of Rafe’s favorites that you found yourself putting on from time to time. 

You smiled as you found the playlist of your high school favorites and clicked on it, playing the music that brought back so many memories. The kettle began to whistle and you quickly turned off the heat and removed it from the burner, pouring the water into your mug that already had a teabag in it.

You grabbed your phone and your tea, heading off into your bedroom so you could begin your nightly hour of coloring to help you unwind before bed.

******

When you and Rafe pulled up at the club at 8 the next night, you got out of the car, shivering slightly in the cold breeze s you waited for Rafe. Once out, he held out his fist. 

“Rack, paper, scissors for designated driver?” 

You waved him off. “I’ll be DD.” You told him and Rafe had a look of confusion on his face. 

“Really? That easy?” 

You shrugged. “I’m used to being DD. I almost always am with the pogues.” You went to grab his keys but he pulled them away.

“Y/N, when’s the last time you got shit-faced?” He asked.

When you didn’t answer, Rafe pocketed his keys. "I’ll be DD tonight. You, my dear, are going to drink to your heart’s content.” 

You ignored the slight flutter your heart did at my dear and went for his pocket to grab his keys. “Seriously, Rafe. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t want to ruin your fun of getting wasted.”

Rafe grabbed your wrists gently and pushed you away from his body with a small laugh. “I find the thought of you getting wasted way more entertaining.” You shot him a look and he turned you around, pushing you to the back of the small line. “Think of this as your opportunity to let loose and have some fun.”

You rolled your eyes before walking to the back of the line with Rafe behind you.

Two hours had passed since you two entered the club, sitting next to Rafe in a booth in the corner after you two had spent the last twenty minutes dancing. Rafe had two beers the whole night and you… well, Rafe would say you were closer to the shit-faced side of the scale from what he could tell. 

Rafe looked over at you and saw you yawn before picking up your drink and placing the straw in your mouth. Well, attempt to. You missed your mouth a couple of times.

"Alright, sweetheart. I think that is our cue to get you home." He told you, finishing off the beer he'd been nursing for the past 45 minutes.

You whined and grabbed his bicep with your hands. "Rafe, I'm not tired." You finally managed to get the straw into your mouth.

"Oh yeah? That yawn says otherwise. Stay here while I close the tab." He slipped out of the booth and walked over to the bar. 

After getting the bartender's attention and letting him know he was closing the tab, he glanced over at you, smiling as he watched you finish off your drink. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a dude slide into the booth next to you, a smile on his face as he reached over and touched your hand, saying something. Rafe watched you take the straw out of your mouth and respond with a shake of your head as you slowly slid out of your seat, placing your glass on the table as you said something back to him.

Rafe looked back at the bartender who tapped his shoulder and took his card back with a thanks before making his way back to you quickly.

"Rafe!" You cheered, throwing your arms around his neck. 

Throughout the night, he noticed how with each drink you got touchier and more affectionate. Not that he minded, of course, but the sudden movement took him off guard for a second before he slid his arms around your waist to keep you from tipping over.

Okay, half to keep you from tipping over, half because he wanted to.

But, you know, tomato, tomato.

"Hey, Ready to go?" He grinned, his eyes shifting from you to the guy who was now standing behind you. 

You nodded your head and you took your arms from his neck, heading towards the door as Rafe’s hand found its home on the small of your back. Rafe led you outside and to his car, opening the passenger door for you. The sleepiness seemed to finally be hitting you now that you were away from the crowd and loud music, the quiet night taking over instead as you yawned once more. Rafe opened the door for you and you whispered a quick thanks before climbing in.

“Can you buckle yourself in?” 

You nodded as you reached for the seatbelt. "Tonight was fun Rafe." You told him quietly as he watched you struggle to grab it.

Rafe smiled. "Yeah, it was." He grabbed the seatbelt and handed it to you, causing you to smile back and click it into place as he shut your door.

He walked over to the driver’s side and slid into the seat, shoving the key into the ignition before turning it and starting the car.

The ride was quiet except for the radio and when Rafe glanced over at you about halfway to your place, you were fast asleep, head resting against the window. 

When he pulled up to your apartment building, he decided against waking you up, cause what kind of a gentleman would he be if he woke a princess from her slumber just so she had to walk up six flights of stairs while drunk to her apartment, and got out of the car.

He opened your door just enough to slip his hand inside and place his hand between your head and the window before opening the door all the way. He reached over your body and clicked the button to unlatch the seatbelt. 

You stirred slightly as you groaned and Rafe looked at you the seatbelt retracted.

“It’s just me, Y/N.” He whispered, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms around his neck.

You tightened your grip around his neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands going to the bottom of your thighs. 

“Watch your head,” He told you as he pulled you out of the car.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck as he shut the door, beginning the journey to your apartment.

You sniffed as Rafe started up the first flight of stairs, causing one of Rafe’s hands to go to your back, rubbing your back softly.

“You okay?” 

“No.”

Rafe’s face fell at your answer. “Why?”

“Because I lied to you.” You murmured into his neck.

“Oh?”

“I never got stuck in the elevator. I made that up so I could spend a few more minutes with you.” You murmured into his neck.

Rafe felt a smile creep onto his face. “Yeah?”

He felt you nod and he chuckled. “You could’ve just invited me in for tea or something, you know?”

“My plans didn’t fall through either. I canceled them. It was a tinder date but you’re way more interesting than that guy.”

“Oh really?" He smirked, his ego slightly boosted over the fact that you chose him over some random guy.

"Mhm. I blocked him too."

"That’s nice, Y/N/N." His smirk turning into a grin. "Are you gonna delete the app entirely?"

You shrugged. "Maybe." You sighed, one of your hands beginning to play with his hair. 

The rest of the trip upstairs was quiet, Rafe hoping you didn’t fall back asleep when he came face to face with your door.

"Where are your keys?" He whispered, just in case you had actually fallen asleep.

You dug into your bag and grabbed the keys, handing them to the man without taking your face from his neck.

You kissed his cheek as he unlocked your door and opened it before setting you down.

"Do you wanna stay? It's late and I don't think you should drive anymore." You stared at him.

Rafe shoved his hands into the pockets. "Uh...yeah. Sure. Someone's gotta take care of you, right?"

You smiled as you grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, closing the door behind him. You lead him into your room and handed him a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants you never got around to returning to him before directing him to the bathroom.

You climbed into bed after getting dressed and Rafe came back into your bedroom, placing a bucket on your side of the bed. 

"Just in case you have to throw up during the night." He told you, knowing you rarely ever made it to the bathroom.

You once threw up in an empty cooler once cause you couldn't make it to the trash can that was 5 feet away but that’s a different story.

You smiled and he turned to walk away but you grabbed his wrist. He turned to look at you and you opened your arms. "Come cuddle with me?" 

Rafe smiled. "Are you sure?"

You pouted at him and patted the spot next to you. Rafe climbed into your bed, opening his arms and you rolled into his side, your head resting on his chest.

"I missed this a lot." You sighed, inhaling his scent.

"Me too, Y/N. Me too." Rafe kissed the top of your head.

You looked up at him before placing your lips on his softly. Rafe smiled as he kissed you back before pulling away after a couple of seconds.

"Go to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning." He whispered, his thumb rubbing circles on your side.

"Okay, but Rafe, you should know something else I lied about." Rafe looked down at you, waiting for what you were about to say. "I'm not that drunk." You shrugged, a small smile on your face.

Rafe stared at you.  "I carried you up the stairs for no reason? Six fights of stairs when I could've taken the elevator or you could've walked them yourself?" Rafe shook his head. “Did you use the five years to work on your lying?”

You let out a small laugh at his words. "You should've known I'm not a lightweight. I mean, JJ is one of my best friends. We didn’t even have that many drinks tonight."

Rafe shook his head at you again with a tsk. "I know your mom didn't raise you as a liar. I'm going to have to call her and tell her her daughter has been lying to me."

"But it was to spend more time with you." You grinned as you took your finger and booped his nose.

He took an arm from your waist and grabbed your wrist gently, kissing your hand. "I mean, I guess I can forgive you if that’s your reason." He smiled. 

"That is my reason." You giggled.

Rafe squeezed your side. "Then I guess you're forgiven then, sweetheart."

You threw your leg over his and closed your eyes, your arm resting across his abdomen. "That’s good to know. I can go to sleep now without worrying about you being mad at me." You hummed. "Goodnight, bubs."

Rafe grinned, kissing the top of your head once more before closing his own eyes. "Goodnight, baby."

~~~~~~~

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx

[heresathreebee]

That G-D Ring of Yours

High Fidelity’s Robyn Brooks X Female reader

Summary: You seek comfort from your neighbor Rob

Masterlist

There's probably gonna be a part 2

Word count: 2.5k words

Warning(s): +15 | implied cheating, internalized homophobia, heterosexism, author and Rob swearing, no hate to polyamorists but major hate to bad faith players, shameless self insert, no beta, barely edited, long as fuck I'm so sorry

Author's note: I'm having anxiety for no discernable reason and my brain has decided this is ideal fuel for a fic, so please enjoy. EDIT: ha ha yeah still anxious but we're doing stuff about it

-------------------------------------------------------

"-- And she just touched my hand by accident and I just felt this–  this spark between us…" 

It was so sweet how he was talking about it. Or at least it would be were this not your fiancé explaining how he had been seeing another person behind your back. Had you rushed into things with him? Gotten hitched after three months because of familial pressure to settle down and start your family? Quite possibly.

But it didn't make that stabbing in your gut hurt any less. 

You had been a little gung-ho from date number 1, but he had been right there with you the whole time. Date number 2 happened the following weekend and then you just kept seeing each other more and more until before you knew it you had been introduced to each other's extended families and announced your engagement on Valentine's Day. 

You started to suspect something was amiss on Sunday, when you were braiding your hair on the bed and he had gone to take a shower. He accidentally set his phone screen aside with a text chat still open. Thinking nothing of it (he had already told you he was talking to Mark about getting drinks tonight), you looked at the name and saw it belonged to a woman you had never heard of before. Your immediate reaction was 'she must be a new coworker or a cousin,' but then you glanced again and saw the text conversation mirrored the same kind of ‘sentiments’ he texts you. 

The dirt burned into your brain for eternity: 

You had looked away then. You were actually not going to say anything at all to him that night– had planned to bring it up after Tuesday dinner with your auntie's family, but something came up. It turns out that Jessabelle also frequented the same Starbucks as you (and she's your age, not a teen like you worried). You can't even find it in you to be mad at her since it seemed like she had no idea who you were when she showed you the picture of her date at a baseball game. You tried not to puke as you asked for her number and to send her that picture "for her contact profile." 

You hadn't heard a word your fiance had said since the beginning of the phone call and you cut him off with some excuse you barely remember. You tossed your phone carelessly onto the couch and laid back on the cushions in defeat. What now? 

You weren't really a drinker or a smoker, and you didn't exactly have friends who would be supportive right now. You could hear them now, your family too– asking you what you did wrong, telling you to just forgive him or how to get even, or simply saying 'well what do you expect? Boys will be boys.' 

Maybe… no, you definitely need to get this off your chest before you do something stupid like pretend to forget about it. You had a bad habit of that because you tend to fall fast and hard. Perhaps your neighbor could give you some advice. 

Thank the Lord for fire escapes. Rob lived on the floor beneath you, always playing something good from her huge collection of vinyl records. You've told her at least a hundred times before if she played nothing but Phil Collins for the rest of eternity, you could die happy. You crossed your fingers and hoped you weren't being weird or invading her privacy. 

Thankfully, she seemed to be expecting you. She even motioned that the latch was undone and waved you inside. Ok the second wine glass made your face grow hot. 

"I'm not interrupting am I?" 

Rob gave you a warm smile. "I could hear you pacing around your kitchen for about an hour. Was about to come and get you actually." 

She pressed the glass into your hand and you made an effort not to grimace. Rob liked her drinks cheap and strong and she never held back. You tried a sip just to be polite, and she snorted at the face you pulled. 

"That's right, you like that sweet stuff. What's it called again?" 

"Stella Rosa," you mumbled, grateful when she takes the glass back and hands you a water to replace it. 

"Favorite flavor," she asked looking at her phone. 

"Uh… the peach and the rosé. They're all pretty good, not gonna lie." 

"OK, take this, grab a blanket from the hall closet, and tell me what's going on." 

You curled up on Rob's couch and put your feet up. There were piles of records all over the place, empty beer cans and a pizza box or two on the coffee table. Your neighbor tapped away at her phone screen before silencing it and slipping it in her back pocket. She gave you a minute or two to speak up, sipping her drink like you two had all night. Which actually you did as you did not want to see your fiancé right now. 

You felt two fingers gently tap your forehead. "Come on, dreamer, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." 

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I feel a little over dramatic saying my life is about to fall apart." 

Rob raised her eyebrows at you. "Damn, OK." 

You rush to correct yourself– explain your weird sentiment in more detail but you end up just vomiting words until your voice is hoarse. 

"I mean– like– like it's not falling apart per say or whatever– I… the rest of my life is fine its just my relationship that's screwed. Which I guess I'm more worried about because it's gonna screw up all my other relationships for a while too– dang it, let me start over–" 

"Babe! Slow down. Breathe." Rob switched drinks with you and against your better judgement you took a sip. Oddly enough it did calm you down. "So… it's your fiancé, right? What did he do?" 

You stared at her trying to unscramble your thoughts. "He… I found out he was kind of... dating another person. After I found out, he tried to explain that he didn't think I would mind–" 

Rob barked, "let me guess: he didn't think you were exclusive? Pull the Main Chick, Side Chick schtick? Tried to claim 'polyamory' after he got caught?" 

Two and two clicked together at last. "Yeah… yeah, he did!," you scoffed, "and it's not like it didn't ever come up in conversation: we spent our third date talking out our, like, sexualities and fantasies and fetishes and shit. If he was polyamorous, wh- why wouldn't he have brought it up then?" 

"That is so fucked." 

You took a deeper draft of her wine, coughing before setting it aside. Up until now, you've been numb. Now there's this wave of anger boiling up to the surface and you hear yourself getting louder. Rob doesn't flinch but she does give you this look of empathy unlike anything you've seen before. 

"If he– if he would have just asked me, I would have told him it was fine. My family does shit like that all the time: nobody bats an eye! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, he wouldn't have been so freaking sneaky about it. He literally lied, Robyn!" 

You whipped around and for a brief moment you knew you looked crazy. "He said he was going out for drinks with his guy friend, but he was making plans to go to a baseball game with a girl I've never heard of! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, or if he 'thought I would understand,' then why would go out of his way to lie about who he was with?" 

Someone buzzed Rob's door and she left you on the couch momentarily, coming back quickly with two bottles of your favorite wine. "Damn girl, these are kinda bougie: Peach or Rosé?" 

"I--"you choked, "Robyn you didn't have to–" 

"Peach it is!" She unscrewed the caps and handed you the whole freaking bottle of white, downing the last of her merlot and getting a fresh glass for you. 

You felt a little guilty she had spent money on you. But then again it had been her choice. If she didn't want you there, Rob wouldn't have let you in in the first place. Maybe you were just a tinsy bit worried you shouldn't be here. 

You and Rob took a break from talking to put on music and get a little tipsy. It came much easier with the help of the Stella Rosa, though Rob initially complained it was 5.5%, she did get accustomed to the sweetness pretty fast, and after consuming half the bottle, realized it was a little easier to get carried away with a drink like this. She admitted it was her first time trying rosé and now she was hooked. Eventually you started talking again, just spilling your guts out with no filter anymore. 

"I really think I just hate myself," you said cuddling the cool glassware. "When I found out, I wasn't even thinking of it as a betrayal of my trust– it felt like I was trying to come to terms with it so I could continue with the relationship. Not because it would make me happy but because… I don't know… it's what everybody else wants me to do. They don't even know about it and I was fully prepared not to tell them even though they'd want me to marry him whether they knew or not." 

Rob barked a laugh of surprise. "Doh-K!" 

"What?" 

"Nothing, nothing…" she said, "keep going." 

You stared off into the middle distance and leaned into her side. She was a tiny bit warm despite her lithe figure. Made you want to throw your blanket over her shoulders and share your greater warmth. 

So you did (you're not great at acting out your desires but this is nice!)

"It's just easier," the words left your mouth unbidden, "I don't even know what that means, but it's true. I don't want to marry him anymore but I don't want to break it off. Not marrying Fiancé means disappointing my family. It means having to find an entire new man to marry sooner rather than later because I'm already 'behind' and lowering my already low expectations. 

"It's not gonna make me happy, but I just think it's easier to keep this wedding going because at least I won't have to find somebody new who might not be as good for me just because I didn't want him. Another man won't make me happy so there's no reason to drop him... except that I don't want him." 

Rob's brow furrowed. "Are you saying it's easier for you to please your family than it is to be happy?" 

"Yes? I– no, I– … I don't know," you sigh. "I guess you could say my priorities are a little… mismanaged." 

"Sure, you could say that." Rob wrapped her arms around your shoulders and you inhaled the scent of her soap and cigarettes. "What if you tried… like… not doing that anymore...? You just said you do whatever your family wants you to do. So, just like do what makes you happy for a change." 

It really does sound so simple the way she puts it, doesn't it? Why are you doing this to yourself? You're not dependent on them for money or security or happiness for that matter. So... why has your whole life been centered around pleasing them? 

"I think… I think I've never really sat down and thought about what makes me happy," you admitted. "I think it's just been that way forever and I might have been too scared to try anything else." 

Rob hummed. "Are you still scared now?" 

Are you? You look into her eyes and ask yourself a question that has never crossed your mind with such depth. You used to be scared– but what is it about your happiness that you are so afraid of? OK, let’s start a little simpler: what are things that make you happy? 

“I like…” you swallowed, trying to break down the barriers you’ve built years and years ago. “I like… coffee. I like… short skirts. I like… girls– I like… my job. I like… music. I think I’d enjoy camping, you know, some day…” 

Your words… these things seemed so arbitrary and trivial. But in your house, these things cause dissent. “My family has an opinion about everything. There’s no right way to live in all of their eyes, but I think I figured out a way to get past it. Keep my head down and do what’s expected of me. Graduate college, get a respectable job, find a man to marry, drop the job and become a mother. Just… don’t make waves. It seemed better because the cousins who didn’t or couldn’t… well they became the butt of every joke at the family dinner. Lisa had one miscarriage so she was a ‘failure’ and Don never dated girls so he was gay and that was ‘bad,’ but grandma Zelda did everything a good Christian woman could do and they still gossiped about her behind her back… 

“And I just… I just let their ignorance control me for my entire life.” God, you could cry right now, but somehow it just felt too good to say it outloud. “That.. that is so fucked.” 

Robyn snorted, and you turned to her as if you’d forgotten she was there. There it was again, that sympathy. Not pity, she did not burden you with tears of her own or try to be angry for you. She just listened and understood. You twisted the diamond encrusted ring on your finger and stared at her. You felt it, that feeling in your heart. No one else had given you that look, like she could really see you. 

“You’re not going back to Fiancé, are you?” Her question was equal parts worrisome and hopeful and you already knew the answer in your heart. 

“No.”

And that was it. Decision made. Actually easier than you'd thought. Maybe not down the road but it felt good for now. There's the telling your fiancé it's over, the moving out, the public announcement, the inevitable feeling of failure, your family, god, his family too. Untangling your lives would be long and hard. You're not sure if you have that level of commitment and motivation in you but fuck it. Problems for tomorrow.

You rest your head on Rob's shoulder and hope your not pushing any boundaries. She doesn't stop you though, in fact she snuggles you deeper into her. You get the feeling she's been here before though your not sure which side or how bad it was for her.

"I like you way more in the few times I've met you than any man I've ever dated," you heard yourself say. "I'm sure that means something but I'm too tired to decide anymore. No tonight at least."

Rob chuckled. "I like you too, sugar."

If you made it this far, hi 💛 appreciate you, leave me a comment! Or just comment "💛"

#Rob Brooks x Female reader #high fidelity rob brooks #three bees writing #rob brooks x reader #black reader insert #I just think about her sometimes #🐝🐝🐝✒ #angst?

[abysswhiskey11]

Fallin’ For You. [Jim Kirk x Reader]

Pairing: Jim Kirk x Reader.

Summary: Jim and you were high-school sweethearts. You two went through it all together. His rebellious phase, life’s ups and downs at the time. But, one day, you abruptly left. Leaving Jim. What happens when the two of you meet years later? Will you both stay or will you both leave?

Warning: Maybe, language? Does s*** count? angst, but fluff too!

A/N: The fic’s based on a song, called Fallin’ For You by Colbie Caillat! Also, i haven’t edited it so, i’m sorry for any errors in advance!

I don't know

But I think I may be fallin' for you

Dropping so quickly

Maybe I should keep this to myself

Waiting 'til I know you better

You and Jim had met in highschool. It was just as cheesy as anyone would imagine. Sweet, first love.

You had walked in just in time for your first day. Swearing, you climbed off of your motorcycle. Rushing in, you bumped into someone and fell flat on your rear.

“Whoa, there. You okay?”

Your breath hitched the moment you eyes connected with his gorgeous blue ones. They were full of concern and curiosity. That’s when you noticed his extended hand.

You took his hand, got up, dusted yourself and spoke, “Yeah, sorry, i’m almost late. It’s the first day.”

Jim’s heart was thundering, as he took in your beauty.

He shrugged, “I’m always late.”

You chuckled, “Let’s try not to add another one to streak then, shall we?”

I am trying, not to tell you

But I want to,

I'm scared of what you'll say

And so I'm hiding what I'm feeling

But I'm tired of holding this inside my head

You sighed at the state of Jim as he opened the door. He just rolled in eyes and let you in. You gently touched his face, tilting it to see the cuts.

You mumbled, “Please, let me patch you up.”

He softly swatted your hand away, “Why are you here, Y/N. Just go.”

Your lip twitched, “For you.”

“Oh, not on behalf of your father?”

“I can’t help that my dad’s the Police Chief. Come on, those look bad.”

He reluctantly nodded, “Under the sink.”

You fetched the supplies and started dabbing at the wounds.

“Won’t you ask me why I did it? Why I do it?”

You just shook you head and started bandaging the cuts. You felt him stop you. Looking into his bright blue eyes, you felt your heart break for Jim. All you could see was pain, anger and...fear.

“I always get in trouble with the law, Y/N. You’re telling me you don’t wanna know why?”

You smiled sadly, “No. All I care about is you.”

Jim’s lips came crashing down on yours. He could feel you reassuring him, it just made him want more.

I've been spending all my time

Just thinking about ya

I don't know what to do

I think I'm fallin' for you

I've been waiting all my life

And now I found ya

I don't know what to do

I think I'm fallin' for you

I'm fallin' for you

You pulled up to the school and pulled your key out of the ignition. You looked around and spotted him. His messy blonde hair was hard to miss. Jim was joking around with his tight knit group of friends, smirking and laughing once in a while. He must have felt your gaze on him, as he turned around to see you. You would never forget the way his face lit up. And Jim would never forget the smile growing in your face.

You held up the coffee cups as he made his way to you. His lip twitched up, as he took it from you.

“Thank you, starlight.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, astronaut.”

You spent the few minutes you had talking, laughing and flirting. It had been 2 years since you both became official. Time had gone so fast, yet you remembered every small detail.

You gasped, “Penguins deserve the world! They are sweetest, cutest and the most badass when provoked!”

Jim laughed, “You just described yourself!” But soon, his eyes went wide, “Okay, okay, but have you seen Flamingos? I mean, they have so much to unbox! Their neck, their legs, their absolutely ridiculous colour!”

Nodding, you put a finger to you chin, “The only thing these two have in common is-!” And, you faltered, “....Oh my god, they have nothing in common.”

Jim and you burst laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. Jim snorted, which made you laugh even more. As things, calmed down, you wrapped your hands around his neck. Jim’s snaked around your waist. Yet, you could see him holding back his laughter.

“I love you, Y/N. You really are my starlight.”

“I love you too, Jim. Happy 2 year anniversary.”

As I'm standing here

And you hold my hand

Pull me towards you

And we start to dance

All around us

I see nobody

The tears were flowing freely on your face. You clenched you jaw, willing them to stop but they never did. You let out a strangled cry. You knew you couldn’t ride like this and shakily pulled up. The minute you got off, you collapsed to your knees. Your head pounded, and you heart felt like it had been ripped out. Full of guilt, you took deep breaths, trying your best to compose yourself. Your phone ringed.

“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I’m out of town. I’m reaching the airport in 5. Yeah, yeah, i’m fine.”

Meanwhile, Jim raised his hand to knock on your door. But then, the huge padlock caught his eyes. His breath halted. Shaking, he ghosted his fingers above it. He ran to your neighbour, banging on the door. An old lady, opened the door, smiling sweetly at Kirk. Her smile fell when she saw him clench his jaw, clearly holding back tears.

“The Y/L/Ns. There’s a-a padlock on their door. Whe-Where did they- Y/N- What..?”

She smiled sadly, “You must be the Jim Y/N talked about. Sweetie, they just moved away. Like 30 minutes ago, they packed their bags and went off to the airport. Didn’t say the reason.”

Jim knew he was hyperventilating by now. He just couldn’t understand it. He could register the old lady reach for something behind the door.

“She asked me to give these to you.”

He looked down and felt his heart breaking more. If that was possible. He slowly plucked the photographs of the two of you from her hands. She smiled sadly at him and said something but, all Jim could focus on was you. You had left.

He walked away briskly, running a hand through his lock. He just didn’t make it far before he let out a strangled scream. He took out his anger on the printed memories of you two. Tearing, and ripping. But then, his emotions hit him like a train. He loved you, and you were gone, just like any other person in his life.

Here in silence

It's just you and me

I am trying not to tell you

But I want to

You rested your head against the window, staring at the clouds outside. Your mind was a mess. Just like your heart. You clenched your fists, and shut your eyes tightly, as memories flooded you. The first time you two said the three words.

“You are the last person I expected a lecture from!”

“This isn’t a lecture, Jim! I’m just trying to help.”

He yelled again, “That’s what everyone says! You’re just trying to fix me when I’m not even broken!”

You pleaded, reaching out for him, “I’m not, Jim! I just want you to follow what your heart wants! And I know you well enough to know this isn’t it.”

He scoffed, “You do not know me! I know you’re tired of all this you have to put up with! So why don’t you just leave!”

“I won’t leave because I love you!” Your voice soon turned into a whisper, “I love you, and I’m fighting for you! For us! So please, Jim, fight for yourself, too...”

You sniffed, shaking your head and clutching your jacket. Jim took huge strides towards you. He couldn’t believe that someone like you loved someone like you. He caressed your cheek and ran his hand through your hair. You stroke his bicep and looked up at him.

Jim squeaked, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of it. I’m scared. I’m scared because I’m in love with you, too.”

You kissed his forehead, and ran your hands through his hair, “Then, we’ll get through this together.”

I'm scared of what you'll say

And so I'm hiding what I'm feeling

But I'm tired of holding this inside my head

The club was packed. So many people were on the dance floor, just grinding into each other. Jim was one of them. His hands were on the waist of some alien girl as they swayed. It had been months since you left, and yet, Jim couldn’t let you go. You were a constant at the back of his mind. He tried to bury it. And, here he was, a playboy, someone who just wants to have sex. He wouldn’t accept it but he knew.

He was trying to find you in other women.

He also knew he wouldn’t get you.

It didn’t stop him. He just never got attached or developed feelings. He hated you. Or that’s what he said to himself.

I've been spending all my time

Just thinking about ya

I don't know what to do

I think I'm fallin' for you

I've been waiting all my life

And now I found ya

I don't know what to do

Jim pushed the glass door open and stepped into the office, “Sir, can I know why me and my crew are docked right now? And, about this classified mission?”

The Admiral smiled softly, “Ofcourse, Captain Kirk. You’ll be working with MACO. Specifically, a Major. As soon as she arrives-“

You growled, entering, “Admiral, I might torpedo someone. My team and I-“

Jim’s heart stopped.

No. It couldn’t be her. That voice still haunted me in my dreams. I whipped around and instantly regretted it. It really was her. She stood there just as surprised as me.

You felt like you were a deer caught in headlights. All the memories of the past that you tried to push under the carpet bubbled up. You heart screamed in pain. Those electric blue eyes. They were burning holes in you. Yet, you cleared your throat, and walked up to the Admiral.

You felt your throat constrict as you shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to focus, till you could no longer feel his eyes. You walked towards the table.

The Admiral motioned to you, with his eyes on Jim, “Captain Kirk, this is Major Y/N Y/L/N. Military Assault Command Operations. MACO for short.”

This time he looked at you, “Major, this is Captain Jim Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. A science vessel.”

You deadpanned, “Captain.”

He growled, “Major.”

You spoke, “Sir, why are making two ends meet? Military and Science?”

He sighed, “We need you to infiltrate a rebel base. But, they have something that belongs to Starfleet. That’s where the Enterprise comes in. You, Y/L/N, need to help secure the base and the rebels. Arrest them. And Captain, you need to secure the various experiments. The official briefing is in an hour. Gather your crew.”

briefing is in an hour. Gather your crew.”

Jim started, “With due respect, sir-“

His cut-throat tone made you gulp, “I don’t care what personal history you have with each other. I need this job done. And done by the best of the departments. So, talk it out.”

You nodded, “Affirmative, sir.”

He walked away, leaving the two of you behind.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How have you been?”

He replied, “Major, we have work-“

You sighed, rubbing your forehead, “We both need to focus on this mission, Kirk. The only way is to-“

He cut in, “-Ignore it. Alright? I don’t care.”

Sighing, you nodded, “Alright, Captain. See you then.”

I think I'm fallin' for you

I'm fallin' for you

Oh, I just can't take it

Jim moved through the crowds and you tagged along. There was tension between the two of you. Anyone passing by could see that easily. Suddenly, you arrived at the Bridge.

Jim cleared his throat, “This is Commander Spock. My second-in-command.”

The Vulcan shook your hand politely, “Hello, Major Y/L/N. Good Afternoon.”

You chuckled “I just smacked myself in the face picking up my comm. It really is a good afternoon.”

Spock rose his eyebrow, but smirked.

Kirk spoke, “We’ll head to the Medbay then.”

You could feel it. The tension. In the turbolift, whenever you walked together. Every time, and your guilt just got worse and worse. After what seemed like eternities, you arrived at your destination.

Once again, Jim introduced you to a blue shirt, “Bones. This is Major Y/N Y/L/N. Major, this is CMO Leonard McCoy.”

“Call me Bones, love. Everyone does.”

You drew out the word, “Okay.” Suddenly your eyes fell on the ball of fluff sitting on the table, “Oh my god, awe!”

Bones gaze floated to what caught your attention, “A tribble? Their only two purposes in life appear to be to eat and to reproduce.”

“Just like humans.”

He chuckled and turned to Jim, “I like her.”

“We should get going. Gonna hit warp in 10.”

You grimaced at Jim’s tone, “Alright, Captain. I’ll be at the bridge in 20.”

At this point, Leonard knew something was wrong. He stopped his best friend and grabbed his shoulder, “Hey, Jim-“

Jim’s voice was full of irritation. And hurt. “Can this wait, Bones?”

Hesitantly, he nodded, “Okay. Yeah.”

The same day, Jim spilled all the secrets to his best friend. Bones.

My heart is racing

The emotions keep spilling out

I've been spending all my time

Just thinking about ya

A few days later.

Jim sighed, “Can i just...undo that?”

Bones deadpanned, “Nope.”

“Oh man, cause that was embarrassing as hell.”

“Yep.”

Spock walked in on the two. Raising his eyebrow, he questioned, “You’re not sober, are you?”

Bones groaned, “I’m reasonably functional.”

The Captain spoke, “That’s a no.”

soon, the two broke into a laughing fit as The Vulcan’s gaze rose to you.

You were currently sitting on top of the counter Jim and Bones were leaning against. He could see amusement dancing in your eyes.

He gave you a pointed look, “Aren’t you gonna do something?”

“I’m paid to protect y’all from various aliens and abuse from any and everyone, not your own stupidity.”

Jim giggled, poking your side, “You’re the best bodyguard ever.”

Spock rolled his eyes and went out the door. You almost saw him smile at you lot.

Bones grinned, “This is gonna be controversial and debatable, but that went well.”

Now the three of you were laughing and wheezing.

The next morning, you expected the two men to be much, much more hungover than you. The reason being that you could hold your alcohol. Striding inside the Medbay, you were ready to pick on Jim and Bones for their killer headaches but, you instead found them chatting. Normally, may you add. You could hear supplies being one of the topics.

Apparently, the two had noticed your shock filled expression as the realisation dawned on them.

Jim smirked at you then turned back to Bones and spoke loud, so that you could hear, “She thought she’s special just cause she can hold her alcohol.”

Coming up beside him, you smacked his shoulder. Bones smiled and shook his head. He had to accept the fact that he had grown close to you. He saw you as his little sister. A little sister who could kick any and everyone’s ass. Jim had told him the history between the two of you on the first day. Hence, he had been sceptical about you. But, slowly and steadily, he grew to admire and respect you.

The way you would coo to a tribble. All little things added up. And he could see in Jim’s eyes, that he could see them too. Just from a different perspective.

He could see the love and hurt flashing in his eyes. Battling and debating. Bones just hoped Jim would figure it out. For both of your sake.

You hummed, “In my defence, we finished an entire bottle of whiskey.”

You were glad that things were working out on the Enterprise. For you, and for everyone. The first few days were bumpy but soon, you grew warm towards all the members of Jim’s crew. And by a miracle, even Jim himself. You knew he had not forgotten and he hadn’t forgiven. But, right now, all you both wanted to do was to push the elephant away. As far away and for long.

I don't know what to do

I think I'm fallin' for you

I've been waiting all my life

And now I found ya

Jim muttered to himself, refreshing his padd over and over again, “What the hell?”

When he realised what was actually happening, he sprinted off towards your room.

Meanwhile, you were packing your uniforms and belongings in a suitcase. Folding and stuffing repeatedly. You felt a sick feeling at the bottom of your stomach. You didn’t want to leave. Suddenly, your doors opened. And in walked the gorgeously blue-eyed man.

“Hey, J-“

He stated coldly, “You’re leaving.”

You took in a deep breathe, “My job’s done. I have-“

His voice raised, as he scoffed, “There you go again with the same crap to justify your shitty actions!”

You gaped at him, “Where is this coming from?”

He snorted, “Oh, ofcourse you’re gonna play dumb about it. Just like you have all these days!”

This time, you yelled, “You don’t understand Jim! You never will!”

“You didn’t even help me try to, Y/N! You don’t get to blame me!”

Instantly the anger vanished, “I’m not-“

“Neither do you have the right to be jealous when I flirt with someone else!”

You stared at him like a deer in the headlights.

He just scoffed to your reaction, “Yeah, I’ve seen it. You don’t have the right to, after all this time!”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and pointed to you, “You don’t have the right to stroll up to me and my crew and pretend we’re friends! Cause let me make you clear we aren’t! We are far from friends or more!”

You were in the verge of tears by now, “I’m not pretending! I’m trying to make amends! I’m try to make amends for leaving! For abandoning you! I am trying to get out of this web of lies I’ve spun!” You sighed in frustration and turned away from him, “Till this day, I regret what I did! I loved you, Jim! I had to choose between us and my goddamn life!”

Jim froze at that. All his rage vanished, as the realisation slowly started creeping in, “What do you mean your life?”

You just growled at your helplessness in the situation, “I am sorry.” Leaning on your wall, you back was towards him. Your voice broke, “I know it won’t help but i broke just as much as you did, when I left.”

Suddenly, he turned cold again, “You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

You scoffed at him in disbelief. Tears were steaming down your face freely now but you didn’t care. Yet again, your voice rose, “You tell me what I was supposed to do after witnessing a murder! You think Witness Protection was my idea?! That maniac almost killed me and my family! I went for MACO because that’s the only reason I could live my life freely and protect my family! You weren’t there when I called your home, Jim! You had left for Starfleet! I wasn’t gonna take that away from you!”

The pair of you went rigid at your confession.

Million thoughts were running around your head. You didn’t want this to happen. God, no. You wanted, you needed to protect him. Yet, here you were, you secret out. Shaking your head, you composed yourself and sniffed, “I need to go. The shuttle’s waiting.”

He watched you go. The doors shut. That’s when it all dawned on him. The reality of the situation. The hurt, the pain, the anger of it. Once again, he ran. He ran towards you. He ran towards the woman he loved and will always love. He ran to get you back.

Jim caught your wrists and turned you around, not letting go of your hands, “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to let you go. I never stopped loving you, Y/N. I never will. You’re my first and last, Y/L/N. Don’t let go.”

Never before had you even considered this happening. But, it was happening.

Jim didn’t hate you. Not at all. The reality was the exact opposite of what you had been thinking.

Gasping, you tore his your hands away from his and pressed them against his cheeks. Pulling him towards you, you connected your lips with his.

Nothing about the kiss had changed.

You still felt the exact same fireworks. You still felt the exact same love. So did Jim.

Pulling away, your whispered to him, afraid it wasn’t real, “I still love you too. God, I do. Last time, I didn’t have a choice, but this time I do. And, I choose you, Jim Kirk. I’ll choose you over and over and over.”

You never left after that. Not the Enterprise, not Jim, not your crew.

I don't know what to do

I think I'm fallin' for you

I'm fallin' for you

I think I'm fallin' for you

I can't stop thinking about it

I want you all around me

And now I just can't hide it

I think I'm fallin' for you

I can't stop thinking about it

I want you all around me

And now I just can't hide it

I think I'm fallin' for you

I'm fallin' for you

Oh

Oh no no

Oh

Oh, I'm fallin' for ya

#jim kirk #jim kirk x reader #star trek #star trek aos #jim kirk aos #chris pine #bones mccoy #spock #james tiberius kirk

[iamcinema]

IAC Reviews #19: Wishbone (2000)

Hey, is anyone still alive out there? I hope so.

Coming off of last year was a disaster, and well, we didn't enter 2021 on the highest of notes. I guess you could say I've been burned out and not having a ton of motivation to do a lot, even with how much I've been grinding on Letterboxd over the past few months. I think I'm ready to come back, and since there's a storm is brewing outside, let's make today a movie night...and boy, do I have a treat for you.

I think I've made it kind of apparent that I have a weakness for terrible, low-budget, trash fires. There's something oddly charming about them where they always find a way to lure me in, and given the scene on Letterboxd, there's a bunch of SOV masochists out there waiting to get their next fix. While digging around for material to cross off my lists on titles to find and add, I was reminded of a terrible, low-budget film that was shot in my hometown over 20 years ago. I'm full of fear for what's to come, and you should be too.

________________________________________

Wishbone is a 2000 horror film directed by Timothy Gaer and co-created by Michael Fasciana, centering on a woman named Laurie who receives an unusual artifact from her eccentric aunt she acquired from a pawn dealer that causes those around her to disappear when they make wishes on it. Hmm, seems simple enough. Let's what we're in for, and I'm absolutely not ready because the IMDb page says this shit is over two hours long, despite a version on Youtube having it just a bit over 90 minutes. Let us pray.

Wishbone in One Gif:

This acting is might be the death of me, but I'm not sure what's going to be the catalyst that causes me to fall down the stairs and break my neck: the sound quality, the weird editing, or the music...oh, god what the fuck is the music doing? So much noise, noise noise!

Okay, so let's dig into this before I take too long of a break and I don't come back to this. I've already had to pause the movie a few times to catch my breath or just rewind and go back because there's a good amount that I keep missing because, apparently, the star of the film is the score and not Laurie. This is so, so slow. I've seen a lot of long horror movies, but at least with those, it feels like things are happening. Even Blood Lake had filler that did something to some degree, and with that, it was consistently bad. This movie doesn't even know what it wants to do. So, as a disclaimer, there's a good chance I'm probably missing some key details that I didn't hear because it seems that characterization isn't important if the music insists on talking over everyone.

________________________________________

So, to date, this might be one of the worst horror movies (and movies in general) that I've ever seen and it might be one of the slowest things in the entire megaverse. This is over 90 minutes of, somehow, nothing and something happening simultaneously - if that makes any sense.

This takes its sweet ass time moving along and there's so little pay-off. The majority of the characters are either nameless or we aren't introduced to them in a way that matters enough for us to care about them. It's kind of like with Violent Shit and other low-budget slasher films where the majority of the characters serve no purpose but to be disposable. Next to the two main leads, Laurie and Joe, and maybe a few others, everyone is just forgettable and even then I couldn't honestly tell you anyone's name if it was explicitly brought up. IMDb isn't helpful either, and at this point it just makes me care even less. I'm not sure if my patience has been tested too much with this, but it's kind of sad that I'm more invested in seeing what the background characters are doing than Laurie and Joe - even though I can't really hear what the hell they're saying.

Yeah, I really can't move on without talking about the sound and the music. Why is it always the audio with these movies? This has an estimated budget of $100,000, or $154,779.43 today in August 2021. How do you have the ability to somehow not make this look like a potato for the most part, well for the day shots that is, but you don't have it in you to get a good mic and someone who knows how to mix and edit correctly? I would sort of understand if you spent the majority of the money on talent to cut corners, but this is just ridiculous. Did they use the cameras' built-in mics to catch the audio here?

I feel like I need to interrupt the movie constantly to tell them to speak up because if I turn up the volume, I'm just getting bombarded with this really weird soundtrack that doesn't fit. I shit you not, during one of the kill scenes, the music booming over it sounds like it was ripped from Kevin MacLeod's "lounge" library and then the reverse happens where ominous music is playing over a more touching scene - and that's not even a dig at Kevin as an artist. That's just how inappropriate and unfitting this editing is. The weird fucking thing about this specific kill scene is that it sounds like the audio is stacked, so there are two different instrumental tracks going on.

How do you fuck something as basic as tension up like that? The audio choices are so painfully inconsistent and it doesn't know what it wants to do. There are moments where you can hear the dialogue just fine, but then the music comes in out of nowhere to segway us into the next scene and it starts to muffle things out. If it isn't that, then the dialogue is just so soft that you'd think there was a pillow on the mic or we're hearing them from the opposite side of a sound-dampened room.

This is what I meant earlier when I said I apologize in advance if I miss anything crucial because I can't make out half of these conversations. So, I'm having to keep going back if I care enough or just having to pause and take breaks because there's only so much I can handle. This means that there's a good amount I'll blank on because I have to keep going back because I can't remember the majority of these no-named characters. Who the fuck are you people? Why am I supposed to care?

If I'm understanding the non-existent rules of the wishbone, you're connected to whoever dies in some way. So, why is any of this relevant to what's going on? If it's random, then it's another reason for me not to care just because some frat kids made a wish at some point. Again, who the hell are you and why am I supposed to lament over them? Why is there so much useless filler here? Did I mention that this is over 90 minutes long and there are *three* fucking party scenes? Party scenes are to Wishbone as ten-minute-long jetskiing and beer game scenes are to Blood Lake.

Oh, speaking of other shit that's annoying. Let's talk about general editing because the sound isn't the only thing that's a mess here.

I swear that almost every single scene in this ends with a fade-out/fade-in shot. Only one or two scenes come to mind where this doesn't happen, and the first time it did I thought my browser was freezing because it abruptly cut to black and then smash cuts to a party scene. I've never, ever seen a movie that abused this that much before and it's on par with something I would have seen made by a bunch of high school kids. So, when we have a moment where this doesn't happen and it plays out normally, it feels like a breath of fresh air. I'm sure this movie's run time could have been shaved down by at least a minute or two if this wasn't a problem, along with all the useless close-up shots that serve nothing to the plot.

It's such a waste of time. I'm so fucking tired. How was this movie's budget $100k? Did they spend most of it on renting the Scranton Police Department for a few shots or did it go towards their impromptu trip to Party City? I'm so tired and I don't care anymore.

Do you want to know what the real kicker is? With just barely twenty minutes left, the whole lore about the monkey's wishbone paw comes back and that's when Laurie and her friend Karen think something is weird. Isn't this whole realization trope that happens within the first or second act, not now with your Great Value brand version of the Dream Warriors?

Also, it's not specified how much time has gone by since the start, but it has to have been at least a week or two. It's incredibly weird how they paint the main characters and the unnamed background ones as such good friends that they don't think it's weird how almost all of them have disappeared - especially one girl who doesn't seem off-put that her boyfriend (or ex) disappeared after getting into an argument at one of the parties and none of his friends could reach him either at his own house.

The final showdown is an utter pain in the ass to get through because the conflict ends as abruptly as it starts and it's so unsatisfying. We get to see the face of our villain, I guess, and then more or less cut to our leads holding hands down the street set to the same looping lounge music we've been dealing with for over 90 damn minutes. Is everyone else who went with them dead? Did they live? Who cares! That's one thing the movie and I can agree on since we never see them again. We end on a shitty cliffhanger that's supposed to prepare us for a sequel, which thankfully never happened.

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And that was Wishbone. Holy fucking shit, I've never been so thankful for a movie to be over in my life. It's 11:07 PM as of tinkering with some minor revisions and I've been in purgatory with this for over five hours, and yet, it feels like an entire lifetime has gone by.

I've raved about how bad Blood Lake was with its incredibly bad pacing, but this is next level awful and a testament to bad filmmaking if I've ever seen it. I expect a lot of the things I complained about from super amateur filmmakers who are shooting on an actual shoestring budget, not people who had that much money to fuck around with. How did they have that kind of a budget, and the most they can give us is bad audio, Windows Movie Maker levels of basic editing, three wrap parties, and a few crumbs of gore that we could see?

This was physically painful to see and I'm in much worse shape having endured it than I would have been if I sat through something liked Boardinghouse, and that has a two-and-a-half-hour-long version tied to it. This is just a marvel and I mean that in a so-bad-it's-bad way, not like how SOV enthusiasts who love this stuff pine over. If I had to give one thing going for it, one single granule of gold that I enjoyed from this, it's the limited shots we get of the area so I could make a game out of seeing what local spots I recognized. If playing I Spy is the only way for someone to endure your movie, then I don't know what else to say.

Wishbone is a hot mess where shit's happening, but also nothing is happening at the same time. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. In fact, I wish this movie never existed or would die in the ether and never return to our mortal realm ever again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go have a smoke and hope I don't get run over by a hearse tomorrow.

RATING: 0.5/10

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