#ITS SIX THIRTY AM
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awake but against my will
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got my check in time for surgery
naturally, it is first thing in the morning therefore i have to be up at like 5am, same as all my other surgeries EXCEPT the one i had when i worked nights, that one was at 3p :I
#mochi rambles#mochi's medical mischief#i was starting to get worried id need to call and harass the scheduler since its almost end of work hours but no were good#i am not looking forward to getting up so damn early but hhhhh at least ill be done and over with#and at least im already waking up at like six thirty#and traffic wont be bad going in since its in the city proper#my poor wife tho....
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wip
#wip#eah oc#its one am and i have class at eight am but i have to leave the house by six thirty#and prepare my shirt at five
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#[ HIIIIIIIIIII EVERYONE WELCOMEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <33333 ]#[ THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING HERE ITS SO GREAT TO BE ON HERE WITH A FRESH START AND ON NEW CHAPTER WITH GOD EXITS!!!!!!!!!!! ]#[ I... I STILL SNDJGJDS NEED TO FINISH THE POWERPOINT BUT!!!!! ]#[ the list of the muses are located in the pinned post and of COURSE I am always more than happy to answer any questions about them!!! ]#[ IT'S A LOT I KNOW BUT... my brain really snapped from having eight main God Exits characters to. ]#[ thirty six including [ redacted ] and. sjnbHFSJNKFM ]#[ but give me a moment to figure everything else and we can trULY get the party starting!!!!!!!!!!! orz ]
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basically i’ve realized that ezra was my star wars protagonist
#took me six years to understand this#ykwim? like how yknow for some people its the original trilogy fornsome people its the prequels or the sequels#for me it was this. him#pointing#uuuuuuuu i need to use a tag i havent used in a while.#swr#jfdhdhsjdjdhdhdhsj#this is so weird man im having a moment of clarity but it isnt#also its like twk thirty am rn
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Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.
Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.
You're going to need:
A 3-Ring Binder
Transparent Sheet Protectors
Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)
A backpack (optional)
So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.
Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.
You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).
Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).
When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.
Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.
A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.
I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.
You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.
There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.
It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.
So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.
I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.
Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.
Anyway good luck and happy adulting.
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for you i'd wait forever
pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader
summary: bradley breaks things off with you before a deployment because he doesn't want you to worry about him (4.2k)
warnings: some swearing, bradley's commitment issues, happy ending i promise!
a/n: okay so from what i gathered from my googling is that tapping out is typically for new military graduates (i think?) but this idea was so cute so pls forgive the inaccuracies i have no idea what i'm doing at all <3 and also pls forgive me for the utter lack of writing since the beginning of the year, these last few months have been brutal (creatively and otherwise) but i am hopefully back!!! xx
Bradley thought he knew the tolls of being in the Navy. It was tough on not only him, but the people in his life. For the most part, he’d always put his career first. His life had always been on a set track, and although there were plenty of setbacks, he forged ahead until he got where he was today.
And then he met you. Fell in love with you. Finally knew what it meant to have someone in his corner who was just his. Who knew him for him only, not as Goose’s kid, or Mav’s protege.
For the first time in his life, he could actually see himself spending the rest of it with you. Marriage, house, kids, grandkids—the whole shebang.
That was his first mistake. The more he thought about what life could look like with you, the more he thought about what your life could look like without him. What would happen if something happened to him and he didn’t make it back from this next mission coming up in a few weeks.
He thought about his mom and how she lost his dad—her husband. The man she thought she’d be spending the rest of her life with.
Bradley’s thoughts grew quite grim after that. Countless what if’s and thinking about every possible outcome and he eventually made up his mind. He had to break up with you.
He didn’t want to. Not by a long shot. You were probably the best thing that ever happened to him in his thirty plus years of life. But deep down, he knew that it was the right thing to do. He was about to leave for six, seven months, with little to no contact with anyone who wasn’t Navy. That would definitely take a toll on your relationship. You’d never been through something like this before, and there really was no way to prepare you for what it would be like.
You would worry about him every single hour of every single day, he knew that for a fact. Bradley barely remembered what it was like when his dad was away because he was so young, but he did remember how worried his mom was all the time.
Looking back, he understood now. He didn’t want that for you. The worry would hold you back from other things you wanted to do in life, things that brought you joy and gave you purpose.
With the mission creeping up on him faster than he would’ve liked, he knew he had to do it sooner rather than later.
That was how Bradley found himself on your doorstep right now, pushing down his guilt by telling himself over and over that breaking up with you was in your best interest. He hadn’t called beforehand to tell you he was coming by, so when you answered the door and beamed brighter than the stars when your eyes landed on him, he almost wanted to chicken out.
“Hi!” You exclaimed, immediately pulling him into a warm hug. His arms closed around you out of instinct, thumb rubbing over the sliver of exposed skin at your waist, nose nudging its way against your neck the way he always did when you embraced him.
He inhaled the scent of the lotion you loved to use, that flowery one that sometimes made him sneeze. You always said you’d buy a different one the next time you went to the store, but you always forgot. He didn’t mind it at all though. A small bout of allergies was nothing compared to the inevitable smattering of apology kisses you pressed to his face when you realized you’d forgotten.
Fuck, this was going to be way harder than he thought.
Your hands made their way up his biceps to cup his cheeks, eyes darting around his face. “What’re you doing here? Oh my god, did we have something planned? I’m so—”
“No.” He gave his head a shake, offering you a smile. “No, we didn’t have anything planned. I just…wanted to see you. To talk to you.”
“Come in, come in, I was just about to start dinner,” You hummed, escaping his embrace with an arm hooked through his to tug him over the threshold. “Trying a new recipe I found the other day, not sure if it’ll turn out good or end up being a shitshow, but—well, you can help me be the judge of that, I guess!”
“Is it okay if we talk first?”
If you were confused, you didn’t show it, just changed direction seamlessly, making your way to the couch instead of the kitchen. You sat down, patting the cushion next to you for him to settle on and he did, rubbing his clammy palms against his thighs.
“Is everything okay?”
Everything was far from okay, he wanted to say. Instead he inhaled a deep breath before his next words.
“I wanted to tell you I’m shipping out in a few weeks.”
Your face fell a little, but you nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. What do we do? Is there anything you can tell me? Like, what’s the best way to get in touch with you, when’s the best time, that kind of stuff? Or is sending letters better? Sorry, I feel like I’m asking a lot of questions. I don’t—I’ve never really done anything like this before, so—”
“I think we should break up.” He blurted.
You hesitated before answering, blinking at him like you’d somehow heard him wrong. “What?”
“It’s hard having someone overseas for a long time, even more so when it’s a partner. It was really hard on my mom, and hard for me having to watch her worry like that for months, and I—I don’t want that for you.” He said quietly, not daring to meet your eyes until he gave his poor excuse for an explanation on why he was doing the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do to you.
The moment he’d realized he’d fallen in love with you, he’d promised himself he would never abandon you, never break your heart or your trust, and here he was, doing that exact thing. It was tearing him apart inside.
“I don’t want you to have to go through all that, so it’s just better if we—that we break up now. Before I go.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry. It’s for the best.”
“Why are you doing this?” Your voice broke just after the last word, swallowed up by a hitched inhale of a breath that had his resolve wavering just the slightest bit. He could barely look you in the eyes the whole time, and now…he didn’t think he could stand the sadness and hurt flooding every single one of your beautiful features.
“All the worrying and the uncertainty of not knowing what’s happening, I don’t—it wouldn’t be fair to you. I care about you too much to put you through all of that.”
You were silent for the longest time, eyes glued to the floor as you processed the information. He thought you were about to start crying with the way your brow creased, but when you finally looked back up at him, your gaze had hardened. “Did these last six months mean nothing to you? You’re just gonna throw everything away because what—you don’t think I can handle it?”
They meant everything to me, he wanted to say. You mean everything to me.
If he was really being honest with himself, it was him who couldn’t handle it. Still, he forged on, thinking it best to just rip off the bandaid. He could live with being the asshole if it meant sparing you from the terrible experience of him being god knows how many miles away for months.
“I’m sorry. I wish you nothing but happiness, Y/N. You deserve better than anything I could ever give you.”
“You wish me nothing but happiness?” You chuckled humorlessly, shaking your head. Bradley’s eyes tracked you across the room as you paced back and forth, guilt ridden expression on full display. All he wanted to do was take all of it back; to kiss you senseless and tell you everything was going to work out, but he couldn’t. He’d burned the bridge, cut the rope. Broke your heart. He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. He probably was. “Screw you, Bradley. I mean it.”
“I’m sorry.” He repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was all he could say.
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Y/N, I—”
You rushed at him, pushing, shoving, sending him stumbling step by step towards the front door until he almost crashed into it had he not managed to pull it open a split second before you shoved him outside. He’d never forget the look of betrayal in your eyes right before you slammed the door in his face.
Bradley forced his feet to take him back to his car, then to drive away before he could have a chance to even try and make things better. He’d most likely end up making things much, much worse. Though he didn’t think it could get any worse with the way he was feeling about himself right now. You were angry at him, and you had every right to be.
But had he lingered at your door only moments after, he would’ve heard the thump against the wood that was you sliding down to the floor and the sob that escaped your mouth.
All because of him.
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Bradley was happy to finally be coming back home after ages away, but then he realized it—he didn’t have anyone to tap him out this time. His mind jumped to you first, but there was no chance in hell you’d be there for him. You’d probably moved on months ago. Forgotten about him. And with Mav away on another deployment, he really had no one.
His chest ached the longer he stood at attention, jaw clenched tighter than he meant it to be as he watched the rest of his squad get tapped out by their loved ones. Coyote’s parents, Fanboy’s sisters, Hangman’s nieces and nephews, Phoenix’s girlfriend. They were all emotional reunions, and Bradley was happy for them, he really was. But it sucked being the one with nobody there for him.
He wasn’t expecting the soft tap on his arm when it came. He thought it was a mistake at first; someone else’s family bumping into him accidentally, so he didn’t move. But when the hand didn’t leave its place wrapped loosely around his bicep, Bradley knew it really was for him. He turned around, squinting against the blinding sunlight to see who’d come for him.
“Hi.” You said softly, hand dropping back down to your side. He couldn’t help but let himself take you in, eyes drinking in every single achingly familiar detail of you until you shifted nervously under his intense gaze. You looked so beautiful he almost felt dizzy, just like he remembered but at the same time somehow even better.
“You came.” He said, disbelieving. He could still hardly believe you were actually here.
“I promised you I would.”
“But that—that was before…everything happened. Why are you—what’re you doing here?” The last thing he wanted to sound like was ungrateful, because he was quite literally the opposite, but his mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that despite him breaking your heart seven months ago, you still remembered what you’d promised him in the very beginning of your relationship.
“What does it mean to tap someone out?” You asked quietly, tracing a finger along the planes of Bradley’s bare chest. Your legs were tangled under the covers, both of you still basking in the aftermath of getting reacquainted with each other again after Bradley had been out of town attending a weeklong training exercise.
His skin was still damp with sweat, but you didn’t mind one bit, too busy exploring the expanse of muscle shifting under his bronzed skin again. “In military terms, I mean.”
He chuckled, hiding a content smile into the hair at the crown of your head. “That’s a weird question.”
“Humor me, Bradshaw.”
“Yes ma’am.” Bradley stroked a rough palm down the smooth skin of your arm, taking a few beats to come up with an answer that would make sense. “Tapping out is a super long standing tradition in pretty much all military units, I think. It comes at the end of a mission, when we’ve come back to base.”
His arm repositioned itself under your head as he scooted closer to the warmth radiating from your body, nose nuzzling deeper against you just so he could engrain the smell of your lingering fruity scented shampoo into his memory forever.
How you still smelled so good even after your…physical activities just before this was beyond him, but he loved it.
“An aviator’s loved ones are usually the ones to do it. Friends, family, those kinds of people. When you tap out your aviator, literally you’re releasing them from formation. But I guess it’s kind of a gesture that means…you’re home.”
Your wandering fingers stilled against his skin, lingering right above his heart. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.”
“Who usually taps you out?”
Bradley remained silent. It was an innocent question, he knew that. He’d told you a little bit about his parents, and you were just curious. Still, it sent a pang of sadness through his chest whenever he thought about what it would’ve been like if they were still around today.
He cleared his throat, sniffing once. “Usually Mav. Or sometimes one of my squad’s family. If no one can, I just gotta wait til everyone else is done.”
“I wanna do it.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna be there next time you come back from a mission. To tap you out.”
“I appreciate it, honey, I do. But you don’t need to.”
“I want to.” You said firmly, pulling away from him to prop yourself up on your elbow and look him in the eye. You looked damn serious too. He raised a quizzical brow. “You said that to tap someone out means to tell them they’re home. I want to be the one to tell you you’re home. Here. With me.”
Bradley opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then snapped shut when no words came out. He really was at a loss for words. No one had ever done that before. Sure, Mav’s offer was always a good one to fall back on, but Bradley had never had someone he cared about as much as he did about you telling him they were going to be there for him.
The next best thing he could think of instead of saying anything at all was to kiss you. So he did.
He pushed himself up towards you, sliding a hand around the nape of your neck and pressing his lips against yours. Not bruisingly hard, but enough to let you know he was all in. The other hand curled around your shoulder, splaying across your back to bring you back in closer to him, until your chests were flush and you could feel his heartbeat thundering under your palm.
He was home. You were his home.
“I told you I’d be here to tap you out, and I meant it.” You said simply, holding his gaze. “I keep my promises, Bradshaw. Even after the way you left things.”
Red hot guilt crept its way through his chest like vines, bringing all the memories of the last time you saw each other right back up to the surface, even after how hard he’d tried to shove them all down. If there was one thing he regretted in life, it was how he left you that night. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for that one.
“I don’t even know what to say, Y/N, I—”
“Then let me say something.” You blurted, wringing your hands. Bradley nodded instantly, still too dumbfounded to reply. “I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to say to you today for months. I don’t even know if I should.”
“You should.” He encouraged, nodding quickly. He’d always wanted you to be able to speak your mind with him. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear it.”
“Okay. Okay, well first of all, you’re an asshole, Bradley.”
He nodded again. He deserved at least that much. “I am. Absolute asshole, I know.”
“But I never stopped loving you. Even though I was angry and sad and confused as fuck as to why you would do that to me, I still loved you. And eventually, I realized that it wasn’t anything I did wrong. You were scared. Of losing me, of me losing you. So you decided it was your responsibility to pull the ripcord before you crashed and burned.” Bradley winced slightly at the comparison and you grimaced at your own poor choice in words. “I—sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay. You’re right. You didn’t deserve that.”
“You said you didn’t want me to worry while you were gone, well, I did that anyways.” You chuckled, like you were remembering a fond memory instead of the constant state of anxiety you’d been in. “But instead of worrying that the man I love might not make it home, I was terrified that if you didn’t come home, I’d spend my whole life replaying our last conversation in my head. Wondering if there was something I could’ve said or done so you wouldn’t have given up on us so easily.”
“You think that was easy for me? Sweetheart, walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my whole life.”
“Sure seemed pretty easy.” You scoffed lightly, only a tad spiteful. A low blow, you realized, when Bradley stiffened for a split second, but you held steady.
“It wasn’t.” His reply was immediate and firm as could be, but somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better. “You have to understand, breaking things off was the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t—I thought that if I didn’t, you’d wait for me.”
“I would’ve waited, Bradley! I did wait for you! For you, I'd wait forever because I love you, but you didn’t even give me that choice. You made the decision on your own instead of talking to me about it. That was what hurt the most.”
“I’m sorry.” Bradley said quietly, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers laced through yours almost tentatively, feeling so familiar but so foreign at the same time. There was a point in your life where you never thought that concept would apply to Bradley. “I never should’ve left like that, I wish I could take it all back.”
“I think I understand now why you did it. I understand that fear that comes with the experience of losing a loved one like that. But Bradley, you’re not responsible for my feelings. And I don’t care how scared you get, I’m not going anywhere. From now on, we work things out together, no matter what you think is best.”
“From now on? Does that mean…?”
“You’re my home, Bradley Bradshaw.”
Bradley took your face in his hands and he kissed you, long and hard, pouring every ounce of pent up feelings he’d been bottling up for the past seven months into it. Pain, fear, love, hope—all of it. You were never one to believe in such emotion being able to convey itself through a simple physical action, but now you could honestly say you understood it.
Your hands spread across the broadness of his back, fingers pressing into the crisp starch of his uniform like you were afraid of letting him go , even though he was home and everything was okay now. Losing him the first time made you angry. You didn’t even want to imagine possibly losing him a second time.
He drew back, only far enough to press his lips to your forehead, hands still holding you close as could be. “Thank you for coming.”
“I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises.”
“C’mon, I wanna introduce you to the squad.” He said softly, lacing his fingers through yours. The way he all but bounded over to the group of aviators a little ways away was almost boyish, as was the excitement in his voice when he approached them. “Hey everyone, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Bradley announced, sliding a hand around to the small of your back.
Everyone’s eyes turned on you, conversations petering to a gradual stop as they looked between you and Bradley. You shifted nervously, suddenly feeling unsure with all the attention on you, but Bradley’s thumb rubbed along your skin, soothing you just a bit. “This is Y/N. My girlfriend.”
The tall blond reacted the quickest, snapping loudly before aiming a finger in your direction, along with a shiny smile. “Wait, I know you! You’re the one in that photo Rooster keeps tucked in his helmet. Lemme tell you, he looked at that picture every damn day, it was like—”
Bradley let out a very forced laugh, aiming a not-so-subtle daggered glare at the other man. “Okay, Hangman! That’s okay, I really don’t think—”
“You’re a real saint, taking this one back. If I ever pulled the shit he did, my car would’ve been keyed to all hell when I came home.” Hangman chuckled, giving his head a shake.
“Hangman. Shut. Up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up, you shut up!”
“You’re the only one talking!”
“Alright, alright, you’re both grown men here,” The dark haired woman sighed, turning towards you. “At least, I hope so.”
You chuckled at that, casting a glance over at Bradley to find him already looking back at you, the back and forth with Hangman already long forgotten given the way he was smiling at you, like you were the force that made the world go round. Taking you in under his arm, he dotted a kiss to your hairline as your fingers came up to intertwine with his again, watching you interact with his squad like you’d known them for years.
It was everything he ever wanted. And now that he had it, he’d never be dumb enough to let it go again.
His mind drifted back to his parents’ fate— how they never got to live out their life together. How there was no guarantee about anything when it came to Bradley’s own fate with you.
And sure, it was scary to be so uncertain about the future, but you’d both climb that hill together when the time came. For now, Bradley could let himself be content. This second chance at a life with you wasn’t one he was planning on taking lightly, not by a long shot.
“Let’s get off this damn carrier and hit the town! Drinks at the Hard Deck, last one there buys the first round!” Hangman’s drawling voice drew Bradley out of his thoughts, just in time to let the words sink in.
You, on the other hand, stifled a giggle at the sight of seeing a group of full grown adults scatter as fast as Bradley’s friends did. Watching Hangman nearly shove Coyote to the ground upon seeing their cars were parked next to each other was something you’d never not get a kick out of.
But Bradley, he didn’t seem as worried about it all. In fact, he walked leisurely with your hand firmly in his, swinging both of them between the two of you as you made your way to your own car.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be the last one there?”
“I’ll buy the round, I don’t care.” He shrugged. “I wanna spend some time with my girl.”
“Your girl.” You hummed, giving his hand a squeeze. “Gotta say, I’ve missed hearing that.”
“I’ve missed saying it. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, honey. Starting with, do you or do you not have a voodoo doll made in my image that you stabbed with pins when I was away because I broke your heart?”
You scoffed, letting out a not so attractive snort. “Bradley, I mean this in the most respectful way possible—what the hell are you talking about? Where would you even get that idea?”
“I—uh, I had a dream about it? A few weeks into deployment.” He admitted sheepishly, cheeks burning red in embarrassment. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You don’t, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You replied, giving his chest a firm pat. You didn’t have a voodoo doll of him, of course, but playing along was worth it just to see Bradley squirm.
“Wait, wait, wait, but you didn’t say no.”
“I didn’t.”
“So you do?”
“I didn’t say that either. But if you’re not sure, I’d watch yourself the next couple weeks.”
His brows furrowed in confusion and a bit of fear as he watched you walk away from him with some bounce to your step. “I…really don’t like the sound of that. Hang on, get back here. Explain, please!”
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#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x you#rooster bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x y/n#rooster bradshaw x y/n#bradley bradshaw angst#bradley bradshaw fluff#first fic in forever WHO CHEERED#it's me i cheered#when i tell you it was a relief to know i can still write things#ok shut up kait#ENJOY <3
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[Image description: A series of images depicting a song-based comic about Stanley and Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls.
Image 1: The top panel shows Stan, a grey-haired older man in a suit, breaking out of handcuffs in an interrogation room. Lyrics to the left read "They tried the handcuffs, but they won't lock."
The bottom panel shows Ford, a similar man with less grey in his hair, wearing a sweater and jacket. He has a shock collar on that emits blue electricity. Lyrics to the right read "electrical courses, but they won't shock."
Image 2: The top panel shows Ford holding a gun, looking behind him and running. There is a "Wanted" poster of him, on the wall beside him. Lyrics to the left read "You pulled the fire alarm."
The bottom panel shows Stan holding a suitcase of money, looking behind him and running. Behind him is a police car with its lights on, and a cop laying on the sidewalk. Lyrics to the right read "You tried punching a cop."
At the bottom of the image, six busts of Stan and Ford show them aging over thirty years. Lyrics above them read "You're just too tired to stop."
Image 3: An all-black background. White text shows the lyrics "You old pine box." Below is a white outline of a coffin.
Image 4: The left panel shows Stan in a basement, looking down at a journal with his head in his hands. The top of his head is breaking open, and flower pot shards drift away. A plant with a few leaves grows out of his head. Lyrics atop the panel read "You old pine box, with your head full of rocks, sharp like a cracked flower pot."
The right panel shows Ford at a cooking fire, drawing plans for a weapon called a "quantum destabilizer" as he glances suspiciously behind him. Eyeballs with bat wings fly out of an open portion of his head. Lyrics atop the panel read "You old paper head, on your skull full of bats, there's no percentage in that."
Image 5: The top panel shows a younger Ford in the foreground clutching a journal. Behind him, Fiddleford, a man wearing circle glasses and a cultist robe, is walking away from Ford. Further back is Caryn Pines, a dark-haired woman reaching out to Ford. In the very back is Filbrick Pines, a man with sunglasses and a mustache. Lyrics to the right read "They called relations, but they declined. They called the fanclub, but they'd resigned."
The bottom panel shows a younger Stan in the foreground with a grim look on his face. He is walking away from a crashed car on fire in the background. Lyrics to the left read "Left your car in a field and some questions behind."
Image 6: A night view of the second stories of some buildings. In the middle building, Caryn is leaning outside the right-hand window. She has grey in her hair, and is smoking a cigarette and looking up at the stars. Text in the sky reads "Your mom thinks you're out of your mind."
End ID.]
Song: They Might Be Giants - Old Pine Box. Again, I recommend reading with the song playing!
Another year, another Gravity Falls lyric comic, because I am always in my feelings about it!! I could froth at the mouth for ages about Stan and Ford being more similar than they might think - self-isolating, determined, desperate - but instead I drew this.
This is another one I had cooking in the back of my head for, probably, years, because my brain makes so many connections between TMBG songs and GF. I hope you like it!!
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childhood sweethearts (14) II a.russo x reader
playlist one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen
childhood sweethearts (14) II a.russo x reader
"you're early? sorry who are you and what have you done with the alessia russo?" you gasped in mock surprise as you opened your front door, the blonde almost forty four minutes early to be exact.
"i've been saying i'm a changed woman! time management is now very important to me." alessia grinned as you moved aside to let her in, cheeks warming at the soft kiss she placed against your lips as she shuffled past.
"do you have enough layers on michelin man?" you teased as she unwrapped herself from the cocoon of clothes covering her, hanging things up as she went. "well it's freezing out there! and you never dress appropriately so i always wear extra so i can make sure you're warm." alessia admitted as you melted, surprised you weren't a puddle on the floor.
"what would i do without you?" you tugged her down into a grateful kiss as her strong hands grabbed your waist. "freeze to death probably." the taller girl mumbled against your lips, pulling away with a smile.
"also can we really call it time management if you're almost an hour early? wouldn't time management mean you were on time?" you teased as she made a beeline for your sofa.
"time is just a concept anyway. i can send you a great ted talk on it!" the striker pointed with a promising look before sinking into your lounge with a content sigh. "what?" alessia frowned as you moved in front of her and placed the back of your hand against her forehead.
"just checking you're not deathly ill. ted talks? not taking six hours to get ready? you made it all the way to the lounge without tripping on the edge of my carpet? have you by chance had a recent alien encounter?" you questioned seriously as the taller girl rolled her eyes and swatted your hand away.
"i just missed you." she answered honestly and once again you melted. "i saw you not even two hours ago!" you laughed but there was a fierce adoration in your eyes as you gazed down at her. "yeah and it was a long two hours." alessia huffed, pout forming on her lips as you rolled your eyes playfully.
"go get ready please! our reservations at seven." her foot shot out to kick your bum as your eyes widened. "less! you told me you'd come pick me up at seven." you spoke in shock as the blonde shrugged.
"did i?" alessia hummed looking away contemplatively as you sighed with frustration. "nah just kidding, its at seven thirty." the blonde grinned as your eyes narrowed, shaking your head and hurrying
"sounds like you should really work on your time management babe!"
~
"you look lovely." you settled as strong arms wound round your waist and alessia's chin made itself at home on your shoulder. "so do you, beautiful as always." you smiled, twisting your head to meet her in a gentle kiss.
"you're so cute lessi." you beamed as her cheeks flushed slightly pink. "am not." she buried her face in your neck as you grinned, placing in your earrings as the strikes lips softly peppered kisses beneath your ear.
"ready to go?" the taller girl kissed your cheek one last time and stood up properly as you nodded, rolling up her sleeve and checking her watch which you'd never admit to her but was a simple action you found ridiculously attractive.
"alessia!" you laughed in shock as you stood and just as quickly were swept off your feet into a bear hug, legs wrapping around her waist as she hoisted you up and onto her hips squeezing tightly.
"well i told you i'd pick you up at seven didn't i?" the italian grinned wolfishly, clearly very proud of her joke.
~
"so whose there?" you asked with a slight frown as alessia parked up in front of the darts bar, playing with the rings on her finger as her hand dropped into your lap. "the arsenal girls and a few of the united girls, they're up here for an away game and beth invited them." alessia answered softly sensing your nerves.
"hey if it's too much we can leave, maybe go back to my place and watch a movie? makeout a little." she smiled charmingly, interlacing her fingers with yours and squeezing gently.
"no no i know you've been wanting to see ella, i'll be fine. promise!" you assured, pecking her lips as her hand shot out to grab the back of your neck. "for good luck." she mumbled against your lips causing you to laugh softly before pulling away.
"i'm holding you to the movie and the makeout afterwards though." you poked at her with a stern look as she nodded, kissing your lips a few more times before you broke apart and stepped out of the car, the blonde quick to drape her arm over your shoulders and pull you into her side.
"you've met most of the girls before anyway but this time you're a little more sober." alessia teased quietly as you both handed your ID's over to the bouncer who checked them and handed them back with a nod.
"don't remind me!" you blushed and playfully punched her shoulder, already spotting the girls in a private room toward the back of the bar. "well hello! about time you both got here." you both stumbled a little as a body crashed into you and wedged themselves in the middle.
"you especially mate! come on, lets grab a drink." leah waved off alessia's protests as her arm replaced the strikers over your shoulder, guiding you to the bar as you sent her an apologetic smile over the older blondes head, watching as alessia was swarmed by a small army of her teammates.
"i'm gonna miss those little terrors. please if they offer to run the program again, we're completely in." leah promised, handing you a gin and tonic as the two of you hung around chatting. "they adore you. and thank you for the tickets! i don't think i'll be able to get them to sit still on monday." you laughed, leah waving off the gesture.
"go on, i'll introduce you to all the girls. don't tell less but i think some of them are more excited to meet you than see her!" leah whispered making you laugh as she grabbed her drink.
"the poor girl never shuts up about you at training and we always know when she's textin you because she's got this big dopey star eyed grin as she stares at her phone." leah teased as you caught alessia's eye across the room, sending her a smile and a nod as she raised an eyebrow wordlessly checking in.
leah taking you around the room you were passed from hug to hug, having met most of the girls at least once but easily an hour flew by as you got the chance to properly speak with them, feeling much more at ease the longer you did so.
"well well well, i knew it." you turned around with an amused smile, ella letting out a deep and dramatic sigh. "knew what ella?" you laughed as the mancunian placed a hand on your shoulder.
"you're just head over heels in love with me! obsessed, can't stay away." the girl nodded before you both broke out into laughter as she pulled you into a hug. "less looks really happy, thank you." the girl murmured in your ear in a much more serious tone as your face warmed.
"thats probably because she doesn't have to put up with you everyday!" you quipped as she scoffed and hit you on the arm. "nah she probably tells me she misses me more than you!" the brunette stuck her tongue out before the two of you started to properly catch up.
"hi pretty girl." you relaxed as arms wound round your torso and the scent of her perfume engulfed you, a small kiss placed discreetly behind your ear. "mind if i steal her?" alessia asked leah and beth who waved her off, too busy arguing with ella over how the rules of darts worked.
you let the taller girl pull you away from the hustle and bustle of the group, tugging you around a corner and camping out near the bathrooms where it was a little quieter. "hi." alessia smiled softly, ducking down to press a few tender kisses against your lips.
"you already said that." you teased as she rolled her eyes. "and i'll say it again, hi." her body pressed a little more into you, your back meeting the wall as you were drowned in the sight, smell, touch and feel of her.
"it makes me really happy to see you with all of them, you're my family and so are they." your heart leapt and skipped a beat at the sincere confession, lost in the baby blue pools of her eyes as you. "you're such a little softie now." you grinned as she groaned and buried her face in your neck.
"stop saying that. i could beat you up when we were twelve and i'll do it again now!" she huffed, causing you to squeal at the ticklish sensation of her warm breath against your neck. "mm sure you would. i'd just tell your mum!" you teased.
"yeah and she'd take your side in a heart beat, you were always her favorite daughter anyway." the striker pulled away with a pout which you wasted no time kissing away. "and don't you forget it russo." you warned tapping her chest with your hand.
"i wanted to ask you something." the blondes demeanor shifted, hands moving from your hips to take a small step back and put a little more space in between the two of you. "i'm all ears." you promised, eyebrows furrowing just a little in curiousity.
"i wanted to ask if-"
she was interrupted by the banging of a door beside you as the bathroom swung open as a few of the girls stumbled out with a laugh. "less! marys been askin for ya." ella warned, booping your nose as she stumbled past with maya, clearly a little tipsy.
"what did you want to ask?" you questioned once they'd left, catching alessia's attention once more. "later, once we have a bit more privacy." alessia smiled but there was a flicker of something in her eyes you couldn't quite place as she grabbed your hand and lead you away.
your stomach clenched nervously as she pulled you over toward a girl almost as tall as less, whom you recognized well despite never having met her and you knew meant nearly just as much to alessia as ella did.
"finally! where have ya been hiding her hm?" mary beamed as she spotted alessia, grabbing her into a tight hug as the blonde laughed and mumbled something back.
"and you don't need any introduction, feel like i've known you for years with the way she rambles on and on over the phone about you!" mary grinned as alessia paled. "mary!" the strker hissed, cheeks tinted with embarrassment as the goalkeeper hugged you tightly.
"you look after her yeah?" the girl mumbled quietly as you swallowed but nodded, the beaming smile which met you as she let go easing some of your nerves, knowing she was just looking after alessia at the end of the day.
"oh leave her be! if anything less needs the shovel talk, i like your girlfriend more than you." leah sauntered over with a slight slur, both of your faces blushing a little pink at that word which neither of you had actually discussed.
"right! another rum and coke then captain?" mary sensed the slight awkwardness and swept the blonde away toward the bar. "sorry." alessia apologized as you cocked your head to the side curiously. "why? you've got no reason to be sorry." you assured, placing a quick kiss to her lips before ella yelled out challenging the two of you to a game of darts.
~
"i'm telling you, you take it! i'm hopeless at the whole hand eye coordination thing." you shook your head firmly, almost stabbing the striker as you tried to thrust the dart back in her hand.
"oi this isn't a fencing drill! careful." alessia laughed, ella impatiently groaning for one of you to hurry up. "look i'll help you." the girl chuckled, maneuvering you in front of the throwing line and pressing her front into your back.
"fingertips, close one eye." her hand gripped yours, adjusting the way your fingers held the dart and moving your arm up slightly, a soft laugh left your lips as she pulled one of your eyelids gently down with the pad of her pointer finger.
"look over the top of the dart and don't throw it hard, or else it'll just go too high. we want to aim for the eleven so we slightly adjust-" she moved your elbow a little more forward, the two of you so wrapped up in your little bubble everyone else seemed to fade away, missing the loving smiles sent your way by the other girls around you.
"-then you inhale, exhale. throw!" the dart left your fingers and wedged itself into the wall, missing the board entirely as ella doubled over clutching her stomach with laughter as you groaned.
"see! i told you." you huffed, spinning around in alessia's hold who made no attempt to hide her amusement as you smacked her shoulder. "yeah you're rubbish at this." the blonde agreed, lips curling into a grin as you scoffed, held in a bear hug against your will as you tried to break free.
"i told you to take all the throws!"
~
alessia took a seat in between lia and vic and sipped at her water, neither one of you really having had more than a couple of drinks, her because she was driving and you because you'd been so anxious about making a good impression.
she watched on with an amused smirk as you argued back and forth with ella about why your fear of geese was much more rational than her fear of bananas, everyone around you both teasing they were both ridiculous and her heart warmed to see her two worlds meshing together so well.
but as she scrolled absentmindedly through instagram, clicking into a few of the girls stories she'd been tagged in with a smile, all of it was wiped away entirely as she watched leahs close friends story.
she was up and on her feet in seconds, nearly crash tackling the shorter girl who looked up in surprise at the clear panic plastered on her friends face. "whats wrong?" leah asked as alessia tugged her off to the side.
"leah you need to delete this right now, you can see us kissing in the background!" alessia thrust her phone in her national captains face who blinked a few times in surprise.
watching the video she'd taken of beth and jen singing along terribly to the kelly clarkson song booming over the speakers where sure enough you and alessia could be seen sharing a brief but sweet kiss in the background over beths shoulder.
"delete it leah, now!" alessia urged as the blonde nodded, grabbing out her phone and tapping around, showing her once it was gone from her close friends story. "less i'm really sorry i didn't even realise-" but her words fell on deaf ears as the striker stormed off.
"you ready to go?" you looked up in surprise from your conversation, but seeing a newly hardened look in alessia's eyes your protests disappeared, nodding and standing up to your feet.
you hurried to say goodbye to as many of the girls as you could, alessia seemingly in a hurry as she walked off alone and you followed quickly after her with a frown. "less what's wrong?" you asked softly once you'd left the bar and headed for the parking lot.
"nothing i'm fine." the girl mumbled back, tucking her hands into her pockets as you reached for them and your stomach lurched, a million and one doubts creeping in about if you'd done something wrong.
"hey. you're clearly upset, whats happened?" you tugged on the back of her jumper, hands flying to cup her flushed cheeks as you frowned with concern. "nothing, i'm fine." she forced a tightly lipped smile and let herself into her car as you made your way to the other side.
"lessi." you tried again, reaching for her hand over the console and breathing a small smile of relief when she allowed it to fall on her knee, her own hands gripping her steering wheel tightly.
"hey, its only me. talk to me love, whats happened?" you spoke gently, squeezing her knee as she let out a deep exhale. "leah posted some video on her close friends story and you could see you and i kissing in the background." alessia finally explained, pushing your hand off and starting up the car.
"okay." you frowned and nodded along, trying to prompt her to elaborate further but only met with an awkward silence as the engine roared and she pulled away, flicking on the radio. you tried to make conversation but only receiving singular word replies or a fake smile you gave that up, instead watching london pass by in a blur out the window as you sped home.
when alessia pulled up outside your flat and made no move to undo her seatbelt you put two and two together that there was clearly more to it and you could piece together where you thought her mind was.
"can you come inside please? i think we need to talk." those words had alessia's stomach dropping but you didn't give her much of a chance to protest, letting yourself out of her car and hearing her follow.
neither of you said a word as you felt around for your keys, pulling them from your pocket and letting the two of you inside, the silence building as you both stripped off your outer layers.
"do you want a tea?" you asked softly, alessia nodding wordlessly clearly caught up in her own head as she took a seat and you left her to it, moving quickly around the kitchen.
returning you placed a mug down in front of her as the striker mumbled a quiet thank you, bringing it to her lips with a small sip as you both sat with your thoughts for a moment on the sofa.
"i was trying to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight." alessia broke first as you sent her a small smile. "i know." you'd known that had been her question long before the two of you were interrupted.
"which is why i think we need to have a talk." you placed your mug down on the coffee table and tucked your legs underneath you, not missing the flicker of fear in the blondes eyes as she met your gaze before looking down into her tea.
"clearly the thing with leahs story really freaked you out." you stated your observations and waited for a moment to see if she would elaborate but when the taller girl remained quiet you continued on with your point.
"i don't think you're ready for this yet less." you forced out the words which felt like razor blades against your tongue, the blondes head snapping up as her eyebrows furrowed and she opened her mouth to protest as you held up a hand and she hesitated.
"i really like you and you really like me lessi. thats not what i doubt at all and i don't think its your feelings that are the barrier, i know they're sincere." you assured softly as she nodded.
"but you're not out to the public yet less and i think that needs to be something taken into consideration with all of this alongside the conversation we already had about how the fame and the social media side of things works." you reached out for her hand, relieved when she allowed you to take it, even pulling you a little closer as her mug joined yours on the table.
"alessia i would never ever in a million years even dream of pressuring you about your sexuality or how you express that to yourself, your friends, your family, the world, anyone, until you are ready." you promised, squeezing her hand gently as her eyes remained locked with your own.
"but look at how much you just freaked out over leahs close friends story. you said it yourself you already have such minimal privacy and i'd hate for you to feel like we're constantly having to look over our shoulders and be hyper alert whenever we're out on a date or out with your family or i come to a game." you continued softly, dropping her hand and moving them to gently cup her face as she slumped into your touch, legs pressed against yours as you shuffled even closer.
"we might have started our lives in the same place but now we come from different worlds lessi. you go and stand in front of tens of thousands of people every week for your job, you rub elbows with celebrities and give speeches at swanky award ceremonies in expensive suits or gorgeous dresses and do ads for adidas or model for magazines. I sit in a classroom wipe runny noses, make pasta necklaces and coordinate parent teacher conferences!" you gave her a sad smile which she returned, her hands coming to rest on your hips as she easily lifted you to be sat on her thighs staring down at her.
"but i don't care about that, i've never cared about that. i love what you do and how you teach and how passionate you are, and i'm so so proud of you." alessia whispered out, voice dangerously close to breaking which tugged at your heart and her grip tightened.
"i know, and i will forever and always be proud of you. like i said less you and i and how we feel about one another aren't the problem. you told me yourself how much your mental health suffered when everything became so toxic on social media with the transfer from united." you started, thumbs gently tracing her jawline.
"if someone posted a video of us kissing or holding hands or anything and the rumour mill started up about your sexuality and our relationship i would hate myself to see you get hurt like that again." you whispered out, unable to bare the thought of how heavy that would weigh on her.
"and we both know i don't really care for social media but if fans ever did some digging and found out which school i work at i could lose my job less." you reminded softly as alessia nodded with a pained wince.
"its a ridiculous concept that anyone needs to ever 'come out' but that journey and that decision it needs to be in your hands less, not at the fingertips of teenagers with no sense of boundaries and an iPhone." you promised firmly, eyebrows furrowing.
"but i love you." alessia breathed out, voice cracking as you smiled painfully. "and i love you. i've loved you since we were kids and i don't think despite how much time has passed i'll ever stop." you promised quietly.
"then why does this all feel like a goodbye?" alessia forced out and your heart broke at the tears which welled up in her eyes as her fingertips dug into your hips as if afraid you might disappear in the blink of an eye.
"its not a goodbye less, you'll always have me around. but you’d go and get glammed up at award shows and then come home to me in joggers on the sofa. you have an entire room of awards, trophies, medals, i have a few crayon pictures taped to my fridge. you are easily one of the most sincere, sweet, loving, caring, passionate human beings i've ever met and you deserve someone who can share the spotlight with you, not slink about and cower around the edges." you sighed, jolting a little in surprise as alessia moved you off her lap and stood.
"so what you're just, you're giving up on me, on this, on us?" the striker struggled to get out her words, face twisted and cheeks blotchy as her fists clenched. "no less i'm not-" you stood and tried to reach for her but she stepped away.
"i love you, you love me, we have been through so much together and worked so hard to fix things. why isn't that enough?" alessia frowned, chest heaving and head spinning as she struggled not to cry.
"you’re a stargirl alessia you always have been, so you deserve someone to shine bright with who doesn't need to be hidden or mean you feel pushed to do something you're not ready for yet! its because i love you that i just don’t think that someone you deserve is me." you confessed, trying to push down your own insecurities.
"no. no! i don't accept that. you're just tired and not thinking right and i'm tired and i just-i'm going to go home, we're going to sleep it off tonight and i'm going to see you at the game sunday afternoon and we can talk after that." alessia shook her head firmly, and before you could even say a word her lips were pressed against your cheek and the front door was closing after her.
~
only, that wasn't how it worked.
"lessi! darling you played brilliantly." carol beamed pulling her daughter into a firm hug, but the strikers eyes roamed the family and friends section, ignoring the praises and the hugs from her family only looking for one person.
"she's not here?" her eyes met her brothers who frowned as he pulled away from her. "i tried calling but she didn't pick up, i'm sorry less." gio apologised softly as alessia's face fell.
"its fine, thanks for trying." the girl sighed with a small smile, swept away by her parents and trying to force on a brave face as plans were discussed for their usual dinner.
"uh no, she's busy marking." alessia lied as you were brought up, mario questioning how many to make a reservation for, grateful for the fact no further questions followed as she excused herself to go and grab her things.
"hey, come with me for a second?" leah had picked up from across the stands the miserable look on the younger girls face and had been waiting for her in the tunnel, ignoring alessia's attempts to dismiss her and pulling her into one of the medic rooms for some privacy.
"is this about the other night? your head hasn't been in it all day. less i'm so sorry about the story i really should have looked but i was drinking and just clicked post and-" leah started to apologise as alessia shook her head firmly.
"leah i overreacted the other night and i'm really sorry, i know it wasn't on purpose and its not about that, well it sort of is but not completely and-" she struggled to get her words out, leah encouraging her to engage in a few deep breaths.
once she had calmed a little more the rest came out like word vomit, leah following along with a slight frown as the striker got everything off her chest about her-conversation? argument? disgareement? she wasn't even sure what to call it.
"okay. so now its been a couple of days, what do you think about everything she said?" leah asked gently, pulling herself to sit up on the med bench next to alessia who sighed.
"i don't know! i don't want to completely dismiss her feelings but to be blunt she's being stupid. if anything i don't deserve her and i don't care if our lines of work are rapidly different, if anything thats why i love her so much and i feel like we work so well together." alessia admitted honestly as leah hummed to show she was listening.
"but she has a point about the whole social media and boundaries thing. i'm not ready to come out but i shouldn't have to be in order to engage in a meaningful relationship? why does society get to ruin that for me just because people don't understand privacy." alessia huffed, kicking her feet out with a scowl.
"but then on the other hand i'd love nothing more than to be able to show her off because well...you met her and you know how wonderful she is. but people would just find every little reason to tear her down and i'm not able to protect her from everything, especially not faceless internet trolls." alessia groaned, leaning back on her forearms and looking up at the roof.
"but then why should any of that stop us from being together? i'd never want her to feel hidden or like a dirty little secret but there are ways we could go about maintaining our privacy. plus i guess her not being famous eliminates people being able to cyber stalk her, she hardly even uses social media." alessia frowned, a slight curl of leahs lips all that showed the amusement that came from watching alessia work herself through this.
"so then go tell her all of that lessi." leah bumped her shoulder into her teammates with a nod of encouragement. "okay. okay yeah i will!" alessias eyebrows knotted together and she jumped down to her feet.
"less!" the blonde paused, hand on door as leah called out, holding up her car keys which had slipped from her pocket.
"might need these romeo."
~
without really giving a believable excuse why but grateful no one pressed her about it alessia had cancelled dinner with her family and raced from the emirates right to your place.
but circling the block twice and unable to find a park she cursed to herself and retreated to her own flat, and then of course right as she stared to walk it started to rain.
when you heard knocks at your door that evening you assumed it was the pizza you were eagerly waiting for and leapt to your feet, eyes widening in shock to find a soaking wet alessia russo holding a boquet of soggy flowers on your doorstep instead.
"less?? jesus christ you're drenched! did you walk here?" you pulled her inside and closed the door, the rain thundering down against your roof.
"are you stupid? do you want to get sick? go get in the shower!" you ordered sternly, dismissing your shock at her sudden arrival for concern about her wellbeing. "alessia! go." you tried to push her when she remained unmoving, grunting as you had no success.
"no. we need to talk!" alessia shook her head stubbornly. "so you walked here in the pouring rain? why didn't you just call me?” you sighed as the blonde paused, cheeks flushing red at the realization.
"because i need to say this now!" she recovered and you accepted the flowers held out toward you. "sorry, they got a little wet." alessia mumbled as you couldn't help but smile at the gesture, moving to put them down in the kitchen.
"can you please go take a warm shower and i'll get you some dry clothes? then we can talk." you tried but again were met with a shake of her head, a small puddle forming beneath her on your floorboards.
"sit down please." her hands fell to your shoulders, walking you backwards until you reached the bar stools, giving in with a sigh and taking a seat.
"you had your time to speak on friday, and i've had my time to think things over about what you said." alessia started as you nodded, crossing one leg over the other and trying to ignore the urge to strip her wet clothes off of her and push her into the shower, already seeing a slight shake in her body.
"as much as i respect you, and i respect your thoughts and your feelings i still disagree. i meant it when i said i love you, i'm so in love with you and i have been for years. we've only just worked through everything that ruined what we had last time and i will never stop being sorry for my actions even with your forgiveness and i need you to know that." alessia pushed as your face softened.
"i know less, i know." you assured softly as she sighed a little in relief.
"good. that being said, i can completely understand that you want to protect me as much as i want to protect you. i know coming out needs to be my choice and a journey guided by my hands but why should me not being ready to go public stop me from enjoying a relationship where i feel so loved and safe and comfortable." alessia started, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
"everyone who means something to me already knows, everyone in my support net and my circle knows and they still love and accept me regardless. i don't need the validation of coming out to a bunch of strangers but if it means i lose you then i'd do it in a heartbeat, there isn't anything i wouldn't do for you." alessia promised as you sighed quietly.
"less-"
"please let me finish."
with a nod and a quiet apology you fell silent again as she took a deep breath.
"you said i deserve someone to shine bright with, to share my life with and not slink around the edges of it. but there isn't a single aspect of my life i can't see you fitting perfectly into or making feel even brighter! i don't care if i come home after some big ridiculous award show to you on the sofa in sweats marking spelling homework, in fact i can't think of anything else i'd rather come home to." alessia let out a small laugh as you cracked a smile.
"i know we come from different worlds, i can't fault that. but i'd love nothing more than for them to come together, i know you would always be there for me through all the highs and the lows, and you won't ever completely get it, but thats the beauty of it. i love you because you're you, not because of your job or your salary or the fact you can't kick a ball to save your life!" alessia threw her hands up in the air.
"hey!"
"everything that you think is a barrier or a difference or further proof of how wildly opposite our lives and careers are only makes me love you more. i'm not saying we won't have challenges and arguments or disagreements, but nothing thats worth fighting for is easy. and you are the number one person i'd go to war for." she closed the gap between the two of you, her wet hands clasping your cheeks as your own settled on top of them.
"now last time i gave you this speech you were very angry with me but i found it in my phone notes and i'd really like to say it again if you can get through it all without you kissing me to shut me up?" alessia joked softly as you nodded.
"i know that you still cut the crusts off your toast and you refuse under any circumstances to eat olives or tomatoes. i know this because i'd always make sure i'd take them off your plate for you before my mum would notice." alessia started as your lips curled into a smile.
"i know that you bite your nails when you're nervous or feeling shy, and you fidget with your necklace when you're worried someones speaking about you. you'd twist my rings around to distract me when you knew i was nervous before a game and i'd never even need to tell you because you just knew when i wasn't myself. i've loved you since you were that god awfully shy short unathletic six year old who had scuffed shoes two sizes too big and the boys shirt on because your mum accidentally sent you in your brothers hand me downs." alessia continued on.
"i know that you still use chopsticks or a spoon to eat certain kinds of crisps because you hate the feeling of the dust on your fingers. i know that you hate most hot drinks because they remind you of the time you burnt your tongue on two minute noodles. i know that you couldn't care less about football but you'd listen to me bang on about it for hours because you didn't want to hurt my feelings or have me think you didn't support me. you'd let me kick balls at your head for hours because you knew it helped me, you were the first person i'd go to after a game and the only one i'd point to when i scored!" alessia's smile grew as you shook your head lightly.
"the airplane arms have always been around." you teased gently as you reached up to gently move a wet strand of hair out of her face.
"every time that I am around you my entire being, every single cell and fiber and mollecule feels fizzy. you make me feel properly alive, full of hope and laughter and the purest kind of joy. i know that you could run intellectual rings around anybody but you choose not to because you're a very good person, the best kind of person actually. you're kind and you're selfless and you've always put other peoples needs before your own. which is exactly why you've always pushed me more than anyone else i've ever met, and that you've always believed in me, maybe even far more than i ever believed in myself. i do know you. because its you, its always been you, and i think it will only ever be you." alessias voice shook a little as she took a moment to compose herself.
"so for the love of god will you please be my girlfriend?" alessia held her breath the moment the words left her mouth, biting down nervously on her bottom lip unable to read your face.
unable to find the words the blonde was a little taken aback as you stood to your feet and surged forwards, pressing your lips against hers as your arms wound around her neck.
you poured every single little ounce of love into that kiss, and alessia felt it.
"so thats a yes?" the girl pulled away, pupils dilated and slightly out of breath as she pressed her forehead against yours.
"yeah, thats a yes." you laughed, eyes welling up with tears at the overwhelming surge of emotions which flooded your body.
unable to stop the shit eating grin which devoured her face you laughed louder as alessia's hands hooked under your thighs and hoisted you up and into her arms, your legs wrapped around her waist as your mouths moved in perfect sync with one another.
"baby this is very romantic. but you are still soaking wet and your teeth are chattering, can we please go have a warm shower now?"
~
"okay! okay! 4D i need you to settle down please, listening ears on." you clapped out a pattern, half the class clapping back and the others still chattering away as they did every monday morning you'd try to settle them.
but with a gentle knock on the door they fell silent, eyes wide and soft whispers bouncing around the room at their visitor who looked to you with an apologetic smile.
warning your class about your superhuman hearing you stepped out of the room, rolling your eyes with a chuckle at the way the chatter exploded up again as you did though this time about the kitted out arsenal player who'd been standing sheepishly in the doorway.
"you forgot your lunch." alessia handed you the bag of food as you shook your head with a smile. "thank you baby." with a quick glance around you craned up to peck her lips appreciatively.
"now go! if you're late again kelly will have my head." you teased, the blonde grinning and pecking your lips one last time and stepping away. "i'll see you tonight pretty girl." she promised, blowing you a kiss and turning around.
"you know your bum looks great in those shorts 23." you teased quietly sending her a wink. "excuse me missy we're in a teaching environment. be professional!" the striker warned now walking backwards and wagging her finger at you, ring glinting as it hit the sun.
"but i know it does." she winked cockily with a smirk. “thirty years old and we’re still bringing the heat!” the footballer did a little shimmy as your eyes widened. "less watch out for-" your warning was far too late as she backed up into the rubbish bins, slipping over and tumbling to the floor with a loud bang as you winced.
"sorry! no need to worry we're all good here." you dismissed the heads which popped out of other classrooms, alessia hurrying to her feet and sending you one last apologetic smile before high tailing it out of the building.
with a sigh and a chuckle you returned to the classroom, the chatter falling silent as you raised an eyebrow.
"lets try this again then. good morning 4D!" you sung out with a smile.
"good morning mrs russo!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
aaaand that brings this delightful little series of mine to a close. thank you for reading my friends 🤎
#woso x reader#woso#woso fanfics#woso community#woso imagine#woso blurbs#alessia russo x reader#engwnt#alessia russo
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Nothing like seeing what time it is and realizing the past 2 nights youve been falling asleep mostly due to the aid of shots of rum.
And also Ghost may have given me regular tea.
#lack of specified reqiest et voila#its 1 am and sleep is just a concept atm#time to read inkheart until i fall asleep#woo#wake up at six for alarms snooze till seven thirty because life sucks in my pov#and try not to get too angry at myself and the world#i really need to do some things for myself#and do them the right way#one step at a time#i keep procrastinating#thats the issue#because im terrified of change and what it means for ghost and i#and i think he feels the same too#feeling stuck in the most comfortable space#and dreading moving on and becoming uncomfortable
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just returning here after 2 years of not being on this cursed app to say one thing and one thing only. i LEFT this app because of rampant antisemitism and dehumanization that i witnessed two years ago. my last post was about the death of sarah halimi z’l, which you were all silent about. today, six months after the most violent and deadly attack on jews since the Shoah, i return to see how the virulent and disgusting antisemitism that pushed me away from here is even worse than it ever was. i was on tumblr, with various accounts, for more than a decade. it was NEVER this bad but then again, the dehumanization of jews has become so normalized in the last five or six years, so idk why i’m surprised.
well i’m not really surprised. but i’m here because i want to say i told you so, but it’s pointless. you all don’t care. you don’t care that jewish people in your own countries, let alone israel (god forbid lollll) are being abused, attacked, bullied and dehumanized at pre-Shoah levels. you would rather that happen than exhibit nuance, empathy for everyone, or stay silent when you don’t need to say a fucking thing about a conflict miles and miles away from you, in distance and in reality. i’ve lost friends, i’ve lost my last year of education, i lost my mental health, all because when it comes to jews, no amount of repeating the same stupid, violent pattern of dehumanization will teach you non-jews (and yes, some of you jews too) the lesson of antisemitism and its poisonous, conspiratorial and dangerous nature.
we know you don’t care. it’s been made so abundantly clear, not just now but in the last six, seven, eight years. when the only antisemitism you cared about was in a harry potter book, or in trump’s dumbass comments, or in a movie about a jew with a prosthetic nose. and even then most of you didn’t care, you didn’t let us jews define our oppression — so we know you don’t care enough to give us that “privilege” now.
but i know, maybe twenty or thirty years from now, you’ll look at pictures and maybe even history books and remember what you said, did, and fought for. maybe you won’t. maybe you’ll still be sick, poisoned by antisemitism and unable to shake it off. or maybe not, and only then will you realize that you perpetuated this violence, evil, this dehumanization of jews. you called us nazis, you spit at our faces while we begged to be seen, you engaged in violent antisemitism comparable to nazi-era rhetoric. and maybe THEN you’ll feel bad. but then it’ll be too late.
to any jew that comes across this post, you’re not alone. my DMs are always open — i don’t come on this app much but will always be happy to talk. am yisrael chai ❤️
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THAT'S HER - a nrk smau 💌
"HYUNG THAT'S HER"
" who???" "THAT PRETTY ENGENE!!"
"WAIT THAT'S HER ?????"
PAIRING : idol!niki x idol!fem reader
SYNOPSIS : Nishimura riki aka niki, the maknae of the popular group enhypen never had a girlfriend but 4 months ago during his concert in america he saw the prettiest fan he had ever laid his eyes on. Yeah surely all engenes were pretty but this girl definetly caught his attention and safe to say after four months she is the only thing on his mind. What happens when he sees her again but now she's an kpop idol and what happens when they both get paired to mentor as judges in a dance survival show?
FEATURING : Enhypen , newjeans, yujin from le sserafim and more idols
GENRE : Crack, fluff, angst, bickering , broken humour
WARNINGS : Jake's age is slightly changed, suggestive jokes, kys jokes, cursing, let me know if there are more !!!
AERA'S NOTE : Hi everyone this is aera !! This is my first smau so please be kind as am just beginning. This is pure fiction totally made on my own, it has nothing to do with the idols in real life. I take pictures from pinterest <3.Feel free to correct me when you feel like as english is not my native language <3 I try my best to live upto your expections but if I can't am really sorry about that. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏻❤️🩹
TAGLIST :- @naijmi @eupherbia @kgneptun @kittyeij @imyourjoy0 @mrowwww @im-yn-suckers @ibsysbsfsunsbs @lillians-world-is-f1 @sunshinessky @hoondiors @babyy-bambii @nikipedia07
MASTERLIST
TEASER
PROFILE ONE - THE HOMOSEXUAL SUPPORTING CAST
PROFILE TWO THE IT GROUP
CHAPTER ONE Who let her out.
CHATER TWO We are changing the leader❤️
CHAPTER THREE Sleep with one eye open | part 2
CHAPTER FOUR She has a point tho
CHAPTER FIVE That's what I thought.
CHAPTER SIX ITS NOT A CRUSH
CHAPTER SEVEN My boy is winning at life
CHAPTER EIGHT Your mom deserves better
CHAPTER NINE That actually went well ?
CHAPTER TEN WHY TF AM I TRENDING ON TWITTER AGAIN
CHAPTER ELEVEN Let me pick u up.
CHAPTER TWELVE Lets pretend you're right
CHAPTER THIRTEEN I hope you embarrass yourself infront of him
CHAPTER FOURTEEN We are so goofy hehehe 😦
CHAPTER FIFTEEN AUSSIE HANGOUT PT 1 | PT 2
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Day 2 at the survival show
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I did it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Great then
CHAPTER NINETEEN welcome jake
CHAPTER TWENTY fake date
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE that motherfucker
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO We lost her to a man 😔
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE Depressed but well dressed 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR Trust me
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE #CHANGE THE CEO
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX WAR IS OVER
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN My girl 🫶🏻
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT FUCKING FINALLY
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE Open your door
CHAPTER THIRTY The end <3
Completed
© jakesgalxy
#enhypen#kpop#enhypensmau#kpop smau#smau#ni ki enhypen#nikienhypensmau#enha#enha x reader#enha smau#jake enhypen#jay#jay enhypen#nishimura riki#sunghoon#sunghoon enhypen#heeseung#heeseung enhypen#kim sunoo#yang jungwon#park sunghoon#lee heeseung#park jongseong#sim jaeyun
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Summary: The secession of Atlantis from Earth and its reformation as a city state is told through thirty-six unreliable narrators, in a mix of excerpts from academic books, interviews, poetry and so on, and a connecting straight narrative. (Summary from Fanlore)
Author: @cesperanza
Note from submitter: Despite only landing in novella territory at 52k words, Victors is one of the few fics that I think reaches the quality of a published novel while being totally inextricable from its fic roots. An insanely ambitious effort, completely worth the level of acclaim it's enjoyed in SGA fandom. It's THE McShep fic. Even if you're not a SGA fan, the way it plays with format is compelling on its own.
#official fic poll#haveyoureadthisfic#pollblr#tumblr polls#fanfiction#fandom poll#fandom culture#fanfic#internet culture#Written by the Victors#stargate: atlantis#sga#mcshep#stargate
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quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!
okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡
pairing: eren jaeger x reader
wc: 10.4k
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.
cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here
without further ado...
-
"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."
“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”
“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.
“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.
“Don’t forget. Find something.”
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.
What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone.
He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.
You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.
“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”
A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”
“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.
You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.
“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”
God, you wish he’d stop talking.
“Well, do you go to Oxford?”
“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”
“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.
You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”
Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.
“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.
“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”
“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”
“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”
“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”
“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”
Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.
“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.
“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”
“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.
“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”
Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”
“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.
“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.
“Peaches?”
“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.
“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”
“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.
“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.
“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.
“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.
“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”
Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.
“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.
“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.
“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.
“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.
“I said I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it.
“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”
“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.
“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.
“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”
“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.
“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”
“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?
You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.
“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”
“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.
“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”
The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.
For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.
You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.
“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”
“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.
“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?
“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.
“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”
“What time is it, then?”
You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.
“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.
“Huh?”
“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.
“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”
“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”
“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.
“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.
“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.
“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”
Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.
“Open up.”
You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.
Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.
“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.
“I’m never hungry.”
“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.
“Never.”
“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”
“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.
“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”
“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.
“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”
You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.
“Didn’t want to what?”
Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.
Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.
“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.
Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum.
“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”
You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.
“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”
“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”
“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.
“I do.”
“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”
“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.
“Hamlet?”
“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”
“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”
“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.
“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.
“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”
“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.
It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.
When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.
They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.
There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.
A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?
Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.
You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.
“There you are.”
Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”
“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?
His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.
“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.
Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.
“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”
He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.
“Where are we?”
“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.
Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.
“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”
It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.
A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.
“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.
“I’m not sure, I–”
“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”
And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.
“Oh–”
“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”
You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.
“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.
“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”
The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?
Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.
“Sleeping?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?
“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”
“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.
“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.
“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”
A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”
“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”
“Need company?”
“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”
“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”
“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.
“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”
“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.
“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”
Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.
“Eren?”
He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”
“Was I talking in my sleep?”
Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.
“No, why?”
“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.
“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”
When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.
“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”
“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.
“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”
“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.
Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.
His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.
“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.
“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”
Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.
“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.
“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.
“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.
“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”
“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”
“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”
“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”
It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.
“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.
“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”
“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.
A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.
“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.
The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.
His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.
You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.
“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.
“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.
“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”
Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.
“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.
“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”
“Tell you– w-what? Here?”
“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”
The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him.
You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.
“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”
“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.
“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”
He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.
“I…I’m scared.”
Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”
“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”
“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”
“Wait–”
“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”
“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”
“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.
“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.
“Keep going.”
“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”
“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?
“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”
A knowing smirk. “When?”
“When I saw you.”
Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.
“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”
“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”
“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”
“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”
Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.
“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”
He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.
“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash.
“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”
“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”
“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”
“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears.
The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.
“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”
“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”
He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”
“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”
“What was your answer?”
You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.
You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.
“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.
“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.
“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.
“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.
“But what?”
“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.
“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.
“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”
“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.
“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”
“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”
“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”
Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.
“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.
“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.
“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”
“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.
“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.
Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.
Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.
You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.
Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.
You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.
#eren jaeger x reader#eren yeager x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren yeager smut#eren jaeger fanfiction#aot#aot fanfic#eren jaeger x you#eren yeager x you#attack on titan x reader#aot x reader#that's all for now folks!!!!#more to come in part 2<3
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The Art of Turning 30
“So, am I allowed to talk?” Annabelle gave an awkward little laugh, that she immediately wanted to stuff back into her mouth. “I’ve never done this before!”
“You can talk.” Julian flashed her a quick, reassuring smile. “At least until I tell you not to.”
They both laughed, then. Julian’s laugh was not awkward.
It was six months until her thirtieth birthday.
She had met him at her girlfriend Camille’s twenty-ninth birthday party, a few weeks ago, only to be surprised that they’d somehow never crossed paths before. London was big, but it wasn’t that big surely, and Julian was an artist.
Annabelle felt like she spent half her free time at artsy bohemian parties and amateur gallery openings, though maybe that was why. He wasn’t an amateur, was he?
She’d looked him up online after and seen several shining reviews of his first exhibition, and a rosy buzz of anticipation at what he’d do next.
She remembered that buzz. People used to get that buzz when they talked about her. Apparently, his work was ‘visceral’ and ‘felt startlingly alive’.
It seemed impossible that he wanted to paint her, of all people.
Annabelle shifted on the stool, glancing around Julian’s studio space as he finished setting up his easel and paints. Oils. He’d said he was using oils. That mattered in painting, didn’t it?
The studio was everything she’d always imagined a professional artist’s studio to be. It was quite large, with clean wooden floors and white walls crowded with stacks of sheet-covered canvases in progress.
There was only one that was ready and visible; a painting of a beautiful blond man, probably nearing thirty too, lounging on the same stool that Annabelle was perched upon. He gazed out at the viewer with a hungry sort of hope. Like they were the best thing he had ever seen.
The studio smelled like drying paint and the sandalwood diffuser wafting its calming scent from the window sill. Sunlight coated the room like honey, or gold.
“You’re not going to make me look ugly, are you?” she asked.
He smiled again, meeting her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly.”
He probably flirted with all of his models, but she still felt a blush of heat rise to her face.
He looked like he could be in a painting, or one of those classical sculptures still concerned with archetypal ideals of beauty. Of course, she was with Camille, so nothing would happen…but still. The attention made her heart pound. Camille was usually too tired from work to flirt with her anymore.
Annabelle wasn’t sure how good she’d be at seeing a painting of herself that she hated, and not letting it show on her face. She’d probably tear up. It would be embarrassing for both of them. She shifted on the stool once more, and tugged at the hem of her summer dress.
“This is for your next exhibition?”
“I think I’m going to call it ‘The Art of Turning 30’.”
“Explains why I’m your muse instead of some gorgeous twenty two year old ingenue.” She laughed again. He did not. She continued, even as she willed herself to stop babbling, because he wasn’t looking at her with the expectation that she do anything. He plucked up a pencil, beginning his work. “It’s like, when you’re a woman, after you turn thirty your life is over, right? It’s like with my acting. And then by the time you’re forty all of a sudden all you can possibly be is, like, a mother or a witch. Or, you know, the dead wife. It’s all downhill.”
“You wouldn’t want to be a witch?” He raised a brow. “They always seemed pretty powerful to me. I could see you as a witch.”
“But do you know what I mean?”
“Can you turn your head a little the left, please?”
“What? Oh. Yes.”
She turned her head to the side, towards the window, and hoped the sunshine made her seem younger rather than highlighting every growing crag and wrinkle.
She could only watch him out of her periphery vision now; a wistful muse, seemingly unaware that she was being observed. She tried to look deep and mysterious.
“Perfect,” he said. “Thanks. You’re just perfect.”
The canvas of the blond man fell to the floor with a soft thump.
Annabelle jumped.
“Sorry.” Julian shook his head, another easy laugh on his breath. “The landlord never lets me put proper hangings on the wall here. Says it wrecks them. I guess so long as they don’t do that at the exhibition?”
“I don’t know, you could probably play it off as a stunt…lean into the photorealism.”
“Now, there’s an idea. Genius.”
She probably didn’t look deep and mysterious. She probably just looked smitten.
***
She sat for Julian three times a week for the next several months.
It became a pocket of peace in her life, the hours when it was okay to finally stop and be for a while, because everything else seemed to be hurtling through her fingers faster than she could clutch hold of it.
She’d always imagined that she would be a successful, or at least up-and-coming, actress and screenwriter by the time she turned thirty.
Sure, women only made up around 30% of the directors or writers behind the camera, but back in school everyone always said that maybe she’d be the one to change that. She wasn’t entirely sure when they stopped saying it, but they had.
It was three months until her thirtieth birthday.
“Here.” Julian caught hold of her chin, featherlight, angling her back towards the sun. The days were getting shorter. Time was running out for them both. “You were like this.”
She had got in the habit of always sitting a little wrong, because he’d always adjust her, oh so careful and attentive, like she was his masterpiece.
She would have probably preferred to be her own masterpiece, but being his seemed like the second best option. She could practically feel the ghosts of forgotten, underappreciated female muses-past screaming at her that no, it was always better to be somebody than someone’s, but frankly she wasn’t sure she could be picky.
She’d been getting less and less call backs, and was starting to feel more like she was a part-time waitress dabbling at film than a part-time actress-filmmaker working hours in hospitality to make ends meet.
It was like a window was closing. Her window. That morning she’d found an honest to the devil grey hair on her head!
Camille told her that she was being ridiculous – that she’d become increasingly vain since Julian started painting her.
Annabelle had snapped back that vanity wasn’t vanity for an actress. Her looks were her currency.
It hadn’t always been so hard, had it?
All in all, it didn’t seem like a sin to let him touch her. It was nice to be touched. There was nothing untoward in that.
She peeked up at Julian, standing over her, his star ever on the rise. Their stares met again. He smiled that quick, reassuring smile of his.
“You look tired,” he said softly.
“Sorry.”
“No, no.” He widened his eyes. “I didn’t mean—” he huffed gently, and let go of her. “I haven’t got to your mouth yet. If you want to talk about it.”
Annabelle grinned back before she could stop herself.
It had become a standing joke. She sometimes felt she spent their whole time together talking about herself, but he always said it was interesting and made the hours fly. He was a very good listener.
More privately, she sometimes suspected that he was leaving her mouth for last just so they could continue chatting, but she wasn’t allowed to see the painting to check. The thought was thrilling though.
“It’s nothing,” she said, even if she already knew she’d probably tell him everything on her mind. “I don’t know.”
What would she do when the painting was done? She’d see him at his exhibition opening, probably, but there would hardly be a reason for them spend time together like they did when she was sitting for her portrait.
Maybe it was silly to consider him one of her friends. She’d miss it, though. She’d miss him.
Maybe he’d want to do another one of her, but who was she kidding? Maybe in ten years, when he did a gimmicky but charming follow up. The Art of Turning 40: Where Are They Now?
What did he know about turning thirty anyway? He couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He had loads of time.
“There’s an intimacy,” he murmured, “to painting someone. Especially like this, in the old fashioned way. A lot of people use photographs and quick studies because they’re more convenient and you don’t have to catch the right light, you know? But I love it.” The air filled with their breathing, and the soothing dab of his paint brushes on his palette, mixing up the colours of her. “You really get to know people this way. It adds soul to the work. It’s magic.”
She felt, more than saw, his gaze cut over her again. Her blood was electric beneath his scrutiny.
He continued, softly.
“I knew from the moment we met that I wanted you to be my centrepiece for this one.”
“Flatterer.”
“It’s true!” He laughed. “You have this great energy. I knew you were going to be interesting, and I was right. And you know how to model well. Because you’re an actress, right? You’re used to people looking at you.”
An actress, no ‘wannabe’ or ‘aspiring’ or ‘failed’ tacked on front. She couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him as best she could without turning her head.
“My boss always says I should have more energy, then I’d wait tables faster.”
“What does Camille say?”
“Camille—” Annabelle blinked in surprise, then swallowed. Her hands curled in her lap. She resisted the urge to sigh.
“Uh-oh.”
“No, no,” she said. “It’s fine. I just – she thinks if I’m not happy I should do something about it. She’s always telling me about other things I’d be really good at that have better pay, or more sociable hours.”
“So, give up on your dreams already.”
“Yeah.”
Annabelle deflated. She knew that Camille didn’t mean anything bad by it, but that was what it implied, right? She was never going to be a famous and successful actress or screenwriter, so she should settle for something manageable.
“Well, she’s not a creative, like us,” Julian said. “She doesn’t get it.”
Like us. Annabelle was a horrible girlfriend for feeling a swell of pleasure at that. It was true, though. Still.
“We’ve been together for a really long time, and she’s been really supportive. I think she’s just finding the whole ‘me turning thirty’ thing annoying. Mainly because I won’t shut up about it. Which I’m sure you sympathise with!”
Camille said that anyone who claimed life stopped at thirty was an idiot. There was no limit for potential, no one age where everyone had to have their life together and perfect by.
She was probably right, but Annabelle could still feel the panic of it clawing at her the closer her birthday got. Even if she was successful after thirty, she wouldn’t be one of those young geniuses that everyone had expected her to be. She wouldn’t be exceptional.
She would just be Annabelle. It didn’t feel like enough. Maybe if she could see herself like Julian apparently saw her, it would be better.
“Chin up,” Julian said.
Annabelle cleared her throat again. “Right, yeah.”
“No, I mean.” His voice was deadpan. “Your head. You’ve moved. Drooped.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder. The melancholy shoved itself down again in the pit of her stomach.
He tossed her a wink from behind the easel, to indicate he was joking. Only trying to cheer her up and lighten the mood.
“So, I still don’t get to see what else you’re working on, huh?” she asked.
“I’d have to kill you.” He switched to another, smaller brush in her periphery vision.
She snorted.
“It would be very inconvenient all around,” he said. “Rigor mortis sets in fast. I’d never get the painting done in time.”
“Well we can’t have that. After you’re finished with me then, I suppose.”
“Our art is a part of us, Annabelle.” He shot her another glance in turn, brush poised above his image of her, considering. “So how, then, could I ever truly be finished with you?”
Her breath hitched in her throat. She debated possible responses to that, and how he could have meant it. Her body felt warm and flushed.
He gestured that she angle her head left once more, not looking away for a second himself.
Annabelle turned.
The summer waned outside the window, but in the painting she would still be in her sundress, legs tanned and toes painted sky blue.
Thank god he kept his studio warm. The minutes ticked by, the air between them settling tranquil once more.
“Sometimes,” she said, softly, “I wish we could stay like this forever. Freeze the moment. Is that stupid?” It felt a confessional thing to say. Bold.
“No.” She could hear the equally soft smile in his voice. “It’s not stupid. Isn’t that how I got you to agree to do me this favour?”
She remembered the party; an adult version of what they all used to do, even if it still felt like they were all pretending to be grown-ups. Or at least, Annabelle felt like she was pretending. She didn’t feel twenty-nine.
She’d clutched her glass of wine and hovered near a somewhat strained conversation about mortgages and the state of the housing market, and how none of them were going to be on the property ladder before they were fifty, before she caught sight of Julian coming in.
She echoed his words, and didn’t have to fake her wistfulness that time.
“To be remembered in art is the closest any humans’ get to immortality.”
He echoed the next line back at her. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
And she’d said yes.
***
“I’ve got a date for the exhibition,” Julian said, from behind his easel. “A few weeks after your birthday. Short notice, I know. Soz.”
“Ugh, don’t mention the B word. But that’s exciting! Can I come?”
“Of course you can come,” he said. “It’s why I’m telling you. This wouldn’t be possible without you.”
“I mean, while sitting here is terribly difficult,” she said, “I do feel like you should get some of the credit. Just some.”
She heard him laugh.
She’d grown to love Julian’s laugh; he was so ready to do it, at least in their sessions.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Camille laugh at something she said. Then again, she wasn’t sure the last time she and Camille had spent all that much time together.
By the time Camille got back from a day of teaching, Annabelle was usually already out for the night shift at the pub she waited in. Yet another thing in her life that wasn’t working like it was supposed to!
Camille said that could be worked on if, hey, Annabelle was willing to actually prioritise their relationship.
It had been one of their worst arguments to date.
“There’ll be thirty paintings in total, I think,” he mused, more talkative than normal. “Yours being the main one, like I said.”
“I’m sure you will perfectly capture the raw turmoil of turning thirty.”
He laughed again. It had been one of the most notable reviews of his first exhibition – except the exact wording had been that his work perfectly captured ‘the raw turmoil of adolescence, as an emotional and nostalgic period of change and growth’.
He’d finally caved and showed her some of his previous pieces, other than the ones she’d managed to find online, as a compromise of his refusal to show her how his painting of her was coming along.
Most of the individual pieces from his first exhibit had been sold off, but he’d kept the main one.
His main piece – Girl On Swing – got the most praise, so it had apparently been a bit of a scandal that he hadn’t sold it. He’d had offers.
It was a triptych (Julian’s word) of a girl, unsurprisingly, on a swing.
In the first of three paintings she was a child, carefree and giggling. In the second, a young teenager, her face a storm of emotion. In the final one, she was a young adult, caught mid-leap flying off the swing she’d been sitting on for seemingly eighteen years. Her arms were painted halfway to transitioning to a bird’s wings. She was no longer looking back at the viewer but forward, to all that life had to offer.
Annabelle wondered what people would say about Julian’s version of her.
People liked to fantasise about how amazing being a teenager was when they were an adult, but she hadn’t met anyone who fantasied about turning thirty. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous.
She hoped he made her glamorous.
“Of course,” he was continuing, “with the date so near, we might need a few more sessions to get finished on time.”
She looked over at him again, then, even if she wasn’t supposed to be moving.
The golden light danced across his handsome features, and caught the edges of the canvases behind him. There were twenty nine of them waiting.
“I make a pretty good lasagne,” he said, biting his lip. “If I say so myself. Compensation. If you don’t mind finishing late. There’s also a nice wine I got for Christmas that I really couldn’t drink alone.”
“I don’t mind,” she heard herself saying, before she’d even thought about it. “I don’t mind at all.”
“It’s a good venue,” he said. “A really good venue. Everyone’s going to love you.”
With him, maybe, the window wouldn’t close.
***
“I’m done, except for the varnish.”
The words sent a bolt through her, stirring away the sleepy content that came with posing for an extended period of time. She felt seen. Now, though, she wanted to see. Finally.
It was the day before her thirtieth birthday, and Camille had a massive surprise party planned, that Annabelle was both pretending that she didn’t know about, and dreading like a punch to the gut.
It was sweet that Camille was doing it. But also, maybe, if she didn’t celebrate the date she could still, somehow, be in her twenties for another year. That was how it worked, right?
“You are?” She leapt off the stool, and felt her joints click. “Can I see? I feel like I should have a right to see before everyone else. I won’t tell anyone.”
“It is top secret.” He pretended to consider.
She took the opportunity to relish actually looking at him for once; there was a kiss of red on the cuff of his painting shirt that hadn’t yet dried. It was the exact colour of her lipstick. She smiled.
He really had left her mouth for last.
“Fine,” he said, and gestured her over, eyes bright with amusement. “But only because I know you won’t tell.”
In the short space of walking over, Annabelle had time to feel her stomach clench. Her old fears boiled nauseously to the surface.
What if it was awful?
What if it wasn’t what she wanted, as if that had ever been the point?
What if her immortality looked like the part-time waitress she didn’t want to be?
She would have to keep a straight face, and not hurt his feelings. He’d been working on it for so long. It would ruin everything if he knew she hated it. It would no doubt be technically very skilled. She should have researched painting techniques she could comment on.
She rounded the easel, a little dizzy.
His hand fell on the small of her back, thumb tracing the curve of her hip, idly almost.
She stared.
Her painted self was lovely. So alive, as if thirty couldn’t possibly contain her.
It was not as realistic as ‘Girl On Swing’ though.
She was caught in the motion of talking, hands gesturing animatedly in the air despite her best efforts of posing, and though her face was turned towards the light of the window it was as clear as confession that her eyes were always turning towards him, trying to steal a glimpse.
She looked at him, at the viewer, like he was the best thing she had ever seen.
Camille would see the painting too.
She had already said that she had to come to the opening, especially ‘after all the time her girlfriend had spent with this Julian fellow instead of her.’
Annabelle swallowed.
The perfect bubble burst.
She released a shaky breath, abruptly more aware of his hand through the thin material of her dress.
They hadn’t done anything.
Even the night when she ended up staying over at his, after lasagne and wine, they hadn’t done anything.
The painting made it look like they had, though. She wasn’t even sure she could accuse Julian of exactly making it up, either.
He had painted the truth. Raw. Even when it would have been politer to hide it.
“Oh,” she said. “Wow. Um. Julian—”
“Happy Birthday,” he murmured. “For tomorrow.”
His hand moved up to the back of her neck and all of the colours of the painting swirled and rushed forward to meet her.
“Oh, and Annabelle?” His voice sounded very far away. “This is the bit where you stop talking.”
***
Annabelle had been thirty for nearly a month. Well, not exactly.
They all said that she looked amazing. So realistic.
She couldn’t move. She couldn’t feel her body. But, she could watch, from her frame.
She’d watched as Julian approached her with a paintbrush dipped in varnish – to seal the work – and she’d watched with her world turned sideways as they carried her canvas from the studio to the gallery.
She’d watched as they hung her up on the wall and made comments about her like she wasn’t there at all.
She’d screamed, too, or tried to. They hadn’t been able to hear her.
Julian had approached her again when they were alone, hands in his pockets, perfectly relaxed and pleased with himself.
“It’s a good trick, isn’t it? I’ve always had the knack of turning people into portraits.” He’d flashed her the same quick, reassuring smile he always did as he peered up at her. “As I said, it’s all about getting to know the person. Getting them to pour their soul out to you.”
He’d laughed, like he so often did, only this time it was at his own joke instead of hers. Or maybe she had always been the joke.
“I did worry for a moment that I wouldn’t be finished in time. But, don’t worry. We made it. You’re twenty-nine forever! Just like you wanted. Just like I promised. I’m not that cruel.”
She’d wanted to tell him that this was not what she’d wanted. She wanted to ask a million questions. She wanted to punch him.
Instead, Annabelle watched as Camille stepped into the exhibition room, on opening night.
She watched Camille scan the crowd, feverishly, expecting her to be there.
She watched as Camille’s attention snagged on the vast painting of her across the room.
God, Camille.
Her girlfriend made a beeline over. It had been an age since Annabelle had last looked at her, properly looked at her, hadn’t it?
Camille’s face crumpled a little as she studied the portrait; a myriad of regret and fear and confusion. Hurt. Her eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying. She raised one hand towards Annabelle’s life-sized face, as if to touch, but didn’t. Her fists curled at her sides instead.
Guilt twisted in Annabelle’s gut. Camille looked exactly like how one might when learning that their girlfriend had cheated on them.
She felt an absurd surge of hope, despite everything, that Camille might see her where no one other than Julian had. The portrait, for all of its intimacies, suggested a grand love affair. People didn’t vanish fairly from grand love affairs, they just didn’t! It was suspicious, right? He was the last person to see her. The proof was in the painting!
Camille stared at her for a moment longer, her jaw set with grim determination. Then she scrubbed a hand over her face. Her shoulders hunched against some unbearable, undefinable weight. Her dark hair was greasy with worry.
“I’ll find you,” Camille still whispered. “I swear, I’ll find you.”
Annabelle’s stomach sank.
“No, Camille—” Of course, the words didn't come out. Nothing did.
She’d had been such an idiot, hadn’t she?
She felt a fresh stab of longing for that surprise birthday party.
How long had they waited for her to arrive? Waited for her.
Had Camille reported her missing? There would be no body to find, no evidence. The painting, the wanting limited eyes she looked out of, felt like a mockery.
Maybe the life she had with Camille hadn’t been perfect, not by a long shot, but at least they’d been alive. At least they’d been real.
Camille began to turn away.
“Please.” Annabelle’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry. I’m here, please. Don’t leave me! Camille!”
More attendees bustled to claim prime spot in front of the painting, murmuring about how talented Julian was, speculating on if Annabelle was his lover. Camille flinched.
“It makes me feel,” one of gallery attendees said, “like I’m interrupting them in a private moment, you know? Of course, it’s so Julian that she’s not actually a nude—”
She couldn’t see Camille anymore.
She was never going to see Camille again, was she?
CAMILLE. CAMILLE. CAMILLE.
Annabelle screamed it with everything she had, every atom of her, with the absolute certainty that if her girlfriend walked out the gallery door that Annabelle would never escape the painting.
She would never get to say sorry, or kiss Camille, or tell her properly that nothing had happened or would ever have happened, despite what she may have let her foolish heart feel.
She’d just liked the way he looked at her.
She didn’t want to stop the clock.
She wanted her life back, to live.
The painting hit the floor of the exhibition with an almighty crash.
Everyone scattered back. Red wine spilled like a crime scene against the polished floor.
Camille whirled back around too, alone a few metres away, her eyes wide and startled.
Julian appeared, clutching a glass of champagne in one hand.
“Goddamn these hooks. Who set this up? It’s a hazard. Everyone alright?” He looked around at his adoring fans, and summoned up a rueful smile. “I should have just got eyes to follow you all around the room instead, huh?” He looked down at her, where she stared up, in the same narrow periphery vision he’d painted her with. “Really leaned into the photorealism.”
Past him, past his taunts, Camille looked between the two of them. Uncertain misery flashed across her features once more. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, before closing it.
Annabelle willed her painted self to move again too, to speak, to do anything. She willed Camille to question, to press, to not give up on them and on her. Not now.
“Camille!” Julian had caught sight of her too, and straightened. He gestured for one of the gallery employees to get Annabelle back into position. “I’m so glad you could make it! Is Annabelle not with you? She was so excited for the exhibition…”
“You haven’t seen her?” Camille’s voice broke. “I – I thought she’d be here, at least. With you.”
“With me?” Julian spoke mildly. Innocently. “No, no. I haven’t seen her. I thought she was with you. Is something wrong?” His tone gentled, as he walked towards Camille. “She mentioned you’d been having some problems…”
“No – it wasn’t like that – Camille—”
Crowds swarmed Annabelle’s painted self once more. She was lifted back on the wall, as if nothing had happened.
"Let me get you a drink," Julian said. "You can tell me everything."
She caught a glimpse of Julian's arm wrapped around Camille's waist. The way she leaned into him, looked up at him. His lips by her ear.
"Camille—"
By the time the room cleared, they were already gone.
#the last of these stories I swear#turning 30#short story#horror#fiction#writing#creative writing#writeblr#getting rid of the archive just in case#idk what to tell you#art#magical realism
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The Grommr Profile of Dorian Grey
Dorian finished the last chicken wing, delicately wiping his hands with a napkin, before dabbing at the sides of his mouth. “And one hundred!” He beamed at the camera, and rubbed his middle, not-so-subtly lifting his t-shirt to reveal taut, flat six-pack abs. “Guess that will sort me until dinner,” he said with a wink to his audience.
He looked at the comments on his livestream. Most were in awe, as usual, at how much he could eat while maintaining his stick-thin figure and classically handsome good looks. Others, frustratingly, accused him of being a fake - of using some contraption or camera trickery to make the food disappear, of editing in CGI food, of bullimia. He'd done live shows, week-long streams, streams in nothing but his boxers, but nothing would ever convince some of his viewers.
One in particular caught his attention: lol, why are you all commenting like he'll respond? everyone knows he films these over like a week and then edits it together after
Dorian gritted his teeth. “Actually, user WelcomeToMyFistedMind, comment at fifteen thirty-two and eighteen seconds, this is very much live. And actually, I don't think I am done quite yet.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, coming back with a box of two dozen donuts he'd bought for tomorrow's stream. He sat back down and pushed the first one into his mouth, grinning around the custard that oozed out.
Forty-five minutes and twenty-four donuts later, Dorian flashed one last smug grin at the camera and closed twitch. He leant back, lifted up his t-shirt and ran his fingers lazily up and down his treasure-trail, following the center line between his abdominals. Despite the literal pounds of food he'd eaten in the last couple of hours, his stomach was as flat as ever, his twinkish frame showing none of the effects of the food he ate day in, day out.
His channel, MukbangBangYoureDead, had exploded in viewers ever since he started it a few years ago, until he was now one of the most famous mukbangers on the internet. He could not only eat more than all of his competitors, he made it look easy, and all without gaining a pound.
Of course, he had something that they didn't - the deal. He'd been hesitant at first, didn't believe the strange visitor that had come to him one night could or would deliver on its promises. But here he was, years later, making tens of thousands of pounds a month, all without consequence.
Thinking about the deal, he opened Grommr on his phone and brought up his profile. He whistled as he saw the updated weight - 576 pounds. He'd been flirting with 570 for a while now, and was pleased to see how far he'd stepped over that threshold. Time, he thought, for an update for his loyal fans on that platform too.
He pulled his trousers off and threw them to the side, leaving his t-shirt on. He walked to the mirror and admired his toned, pencil-like legs, his lightly muscled arms, the way his t-shirt draped from broad shoulders and tight pecs over his narrow waist, and his large bulge constrained by a designer jock-strap in bright yellow. He raised his phone up and took a picture, and proceeded to take his shirt off. He raised one hand to a lightly-haired pec and gave it a squeeze as he took a second picture. Finally, he lay down on his bed, snaked some long-slender fingers into his waistband, and raised his phone to take another photo from above.
He uploaded the pictures to Grommr without even looking at them - he knew there'd be no point, that they'd look completely different in just a moment or two. They appeared one by one as they uploaded.
Each showed a behemoth of a man. In the first the man stood in a mirror, wearing a t-shirt that cut into fat hanging from his sides and strained to cover large, pendulous breasts. His gut hung out and down, covering his genitals - a small pop of yellow beneath his love handles was the only hint that he was wearing any underwear. The man's face was huge and round, his features almost amorphous. Small, piggy eyes sat above bulbous cheeks, which merged into a ring of fat around his head, his chin a mere dimple in the fat around his neck. Even in the still image, it was clear that the man's arm was straining against its own weight to hold the phone up.
The next photo was much the same. The same morbidly obese figure stood in the same mirror. This time, the pitifully small t-shirt had been discarded to reveal cascading flesh hanging to the side, lying on the mountainous belly. One hand grasped one of the tits, bloated fingers digging into the soft flesh.
In the next, the figure was laid prone. Gravity had pulled down on the soft flesh and caused it to drop down and pool around the figure. The moobs lifted up towards the man's non-existant neck and chin, his gut spread out, his face expanded in all directions. New rolls and folds had formed - where arm met shoulder, where joints bent, or where his gut bunched up against itself. In the brighter lighting, painfully red stretch marks bloomed across the man's skin, circling his thighs, his love handles like loaves, across his dropping breasts. The man's left hand struggled to reach around his gut to grasp at the waistband of a straining jock strap, within which a small bump suggested some long-forgotten nub of a cock, sunk deep within the fat that spilled out around the underwear’s pouch. The man’s face was red, and seemed to strain as he struggled to maneuver his own flesh.
Dorian watched on in boredom as the first few comments rolled in. The usual adoring fans, begging to know the secrets to his titanic weight, proclaiming they’d soon look the same, asking to meet up. He would wait until a few of his regulars sent their customary tips, then go on with the rest of his day. In the meantime, a couple of the comments caused a smile to spread across his angular face.
MayContainDonuts: MealWithTheDevil looking great as ever! I don't know what it is, but he always looks so much like that one mukbang guy? Obviously fatter, but just the eyes and nose and stuff? I wonder if they're related?
BloatGoat: Do you mean MukbangBangYoureDead? If you can find some of his old photos the resemblance is uncanny. People used to think they were the same person but obviously not. Definitely could be related!
Dorian smirked and went to close the app, stopping only to check a small notification that popped up at the top of his screen. There would be routine server maintenance the next day, and the site would be down for around eight hours, starting mid-morning for the UK.
Dorian sighed. He hated server shutdowns, and this would be the longest he'd experienced yet. Still, he had a while to prepare. He'd have to cancel some lunch plans, but he could make up some lie about being ill. He got dressed, stood up and left to go buy enough food for tomorrow.
Dorian paced around his flat nervously the next morning. He checked his watch - 10:01. He quickly tried to bring up Grommr - sure enough, he was met with an error message about the server being down. It would start soon enough.
The first sign of it was his t-shirt. Previously loose, after about five minutes he found he was having to fuss with it to get it to sit right. another five minutes and it had begun riding up around puffy lovehandles and a firm paunch, while his sweatpants were starting to slip down an expanding rear. Another ten minutes and he took the t-shirt off, freeing a large beer gut that bounced when he walked. His sweatpants had grown almost skin tight around hefty thighs and would soon be too tight for comfort. He knew that this was only the start.
The hunger started then; sickly, stabbing pains in his newly expanded gut. He put two pizzas in the oven and sat with a donuts while he waited, knowing that soon his body, and his appetite along with it, would soon be able to accommodate all the food.
Just under thirty minutes in, Dorian's gut started to rest on his lap when he sat. He leant back, the swollen sack of fat at his middle dragging along his lap as he did so, and his cock began to harden. He reached a hand up to scratch the pink stretch marks beginning to form below his budding moobs.
While stuffed to the point of breathlessness just five minutes before, his stomach was still expanding, and he could feel the gnawing hunger begin to creep back in. He belched and stood, tottering slightly at the near-total shift in center of gravity since he’d sat down. He peeled off his sweatpants, struggling past his wide arse and flabby thighs, then gathered as much food as he could in his arms, using the top of his gut as a shelf and cautiously made his way back to his sofa, where he collapsed down, put on a trashy movie, and continued to eat.
Dorian continued to grow as his pile of junk food diminished. He savoured the feeling of soft, supple skin sliding past skin as he swelled - his growing tits pouring out onto his behemoth gut, his underbelly coursing forwards across rotund thighs dimpled with cellulite, his fat pad oozing around his perpetually hard dick. He knew to wait though; the bigger he was, the hotter his eventual orgasm would be.
Dorian looked down and surveyed himself. His body was beginning to be defined by rolls upons rolls. He estimated himself to be around the size he reached last time there was some server downtime; his profile had put on at least a hundred pounds since then. He lifted a heavy arm and used a hand to probe his plush flesh, sighing at the way his newly chubby fingers sank into the fat.
Still, the hunger increased. Dorian tried to lean forward to grab his phone, but found his own sheer bulk resisted him, pushing him back. He spread his legs and allowed his gut to fall down between them, the shift pulling his body forward in his seat and causing a dull ache in his lower back. He picked up his phone and with clumsy sausage-like fingers brought up a delivery app. He allowed instinct and hunger to take over - spring rolls, beef, chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken, duck pancakes, chilli chips, everything he saw he was ravenous for. He'd not been this big before and the hunger was deep. He pressed order, only briefly worrying about how he'd answer the door when he had no clothes that could hope to fit him.
Dorian’s body continued to expand. There was an alienness to his new size; his thighs had to splay around his hanging gut, his arms sat uncomfortably on top of thick pillows of fat at his sides, each joint filled with lard, and most of all was the awareness of gravity, how it pulled at his body and how his body answered in kind by dropping down and down.
Half an hour of nagging hunger later, his doorbell rang. He threw himself forward, but fell back to the sofa. Even that unsuccessful effort left him winded. He rolled to the side, fat cascading over fat as he did so, and staggered to stand sideways, his arms shaking as he heaved with all his might against the sofa. He grabbed a blanket and draped it over him; it barely covered his torso, but it was the best he could do.
How had he never realised how easy walking was before? Now, every step needed to be purposeful and required a conscious effort to propel his weight forwards. He had to wheel each thigh out and around past the other, each one a lead weight to be lifted. Dorian reached the door panting and sweaty, his hips burning with the beginnings of pain. The delivery driver looked on in shock, and then in slow horror. Dorian didn't care, he just grabbed his bags and slammed the door, before making his slow way back to his seat.
As he fell back, the sofa made a loud crunching sound and he felt himself sink deep into the cushions. He shuffled over the other side as best he could, each movement sending shockwaves across his body. He piled his bags into the crater left on the other side of the sofa and ate directly out of them, the table now wholly unreachable.
Dorian suspected he stopped growing around the time that he'd finished his food. If nothing else, the hunger had stopped. His torso had become a series of rolls, each one wrapped around his entire body and piled on top of the next. His limbs had become huge sacks of flesh, spreading out beneath him, the only evidence of his joints small, soft dimples in the thick casing of his body.
Dorian knew he'd waited long enough now. He pushed a stubby paw into the deep fold underneath his gut, reaching for the hard nub of his cock not yet swallowed by his fat pad. It was no use however, the heavy weight of his belly pressing down and closing off his own groin from himself. He leant to the side and spread his thighs, freeing up access and shifting his weight off from his lap, but still his fingers had to squirm past sweaty flesh into the small crevice left of his crotch. He grasped at the hard head of his cock, finding it in a shallow depression of flab nestled in dense pubes. With two fingers he did his best to jerk himself off, but to no avail - there was simply not enough cock left and not enough space to handle it in. Desperate for release he began to thrust, rocking his pelvis back and forth, so that the thick shaft of his penis slid within his own blubber, fucking his own body. He closed his eyes and ignored the tortured groans of the sofa below him as his pleasure grew. It only took a few minutes for him to cum, semen coating his fat pad and thighs as he yelled out.
Dorian slumped back, gasping for air, and exhausted, drifted off into a sleep.
When he woke up, it was dark. He could still feel the weight of his body pulling down. This wasn't right. As slow as it took for the weight to pile on, usually it melted away in seconds once the servers were back online, which should have happened hours ago. He checked the time - 23:24. Had something gone wrong?
He checked Grommr - the site was back up. He tried to log in - nothing. App - no. Browser - no. He tried to type his password in again, fat fingers mashing against the keyboard so that he had to try again slowly, deliberately. Nothing worked. He felt his heart pounding somewhere beneath his bosom.
Finally, he noticed an email in his inbox.
Grommr admin team - lost profile
During our recent scheduled server update, a small number of user profiles were unfortunately lost. We are sorry to tell you that your profile was one of those that we have not been able to recover. We are doing everything we can to recover lost profiles, but we are sadly not…
Dorian stopped reading. He looked down at the acres of flesh that were now his body. He lifted an arm up and let it fall, watching it shake and wobble in the dim light. What would he tell his family? His friends? His fans? This couldn't be happening.
Through his panicked breathing and heavy heartbeat, another feeling began to grow - Dorian Grey was beginning to feel hungry.
#weight gain#gainer story#gainer fiction#male weight gain#gaining fiction#weight gain fiction#weight gain story#wg story#im very proud of the grommr usernames#the grommr profile of dorian grey#the title came to me out of no where and i knew i needed to write it#no offence intended to any grommr admins#im sure you dont regularly need to shut down the servers for 8 hours at a time or randomly lose profiles
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