#how to spot a fake crystal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roosterbruiser · 7 months

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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘-𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟗.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅-𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

The first time Jake Seresin sees you, it’s across a small and crowded room. Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers is thumping over the bulky speakers that are haphazardly strung all around the room with extension cords and duct tape. He hates this song. He doesn’t know it yet, but so do you.

You’d caught his eye because he spotted a familiar brick-colored button up. And, yes, as he’s looking at you now, he realizes he’s right. The breezy cargo shorts, the brown belt, the faded blue tank top--you’re dressed up as Dr. Ellie Sattler. He happens to be dressed up as Dr. Alan Grant, which means that the two of you--complete and utter strangers--are two halves of one whole costume.

But suddenly, as Jake looks at you, he doesn’t hear Anthony Keidis or hollow balls bouncing off plastic tables or booming laughter or sloshing liquid. He doesn’t hear anything. His ears are just ringing empty silence.

Bizarre, he thinks. His brain is never this quiet. He’s always thinking about drills or Intro to Anthropology or girls or Robert Zemeckis or home or dinner or something. Right now, it’s just you he’s thinking about.

You’re standing by yourself at one of the few punch bowls stationed around the house, each one a different highly unnatural color with seemingly random items skimming the surface. You’re pretty sure you saw flowers floating around one of them. Curiously, you’re looking down at this particular crystal bowl and the sad orange slices floating aimlessly in the peculiarly crimson punch. Half of the stuff is gone--Jake doesn’t know how anyone is stomaching it--and you are silently and unknowingly echoing his sentiment.

Bradley, who dragged Jake to this party in the first place--not that anyone ever has to drag Jake to a party--is standing beside him and is waiting his turn to play Beer Pong with an unruly group of men wearing togas.

“--The trick is to just, like, fake it ‘til you make it,” Bradley’s saying, casually leaning up against the dingy clapboard walls and sipping something vaguely Everclear-ish from his solo cup. “And what I mean by that is talk as much shit as you can. Nothing is off limits. Mothers, sisters, fathers--shit, especially fathers. People are so touchy these days. Like, I once told this guy that I got his sister preg--well, anyway. That’s besides the point. Just go into the game like you’re gonna win and you’re gonna win. You know? It’s simple science, really. I was thinking of writing my thesis on it.”

Jake, who is only half-listening as the silence fades out, hums. He doesn’t tear his eyes from your form. You’re cautiously ladling some of the punch into a chipped glass for your friend, who appeared suddenly beside you in an ill-fitting Red Riding Hood costume with glassy eyes and a broad grin, rubbing up against you like a hungry stray.

“Right,” Jake says absently. He can hardly hear anything over the music, especially Bradley’s incessant Beer Pong codes of conduct. He’s not gonna strain himself to hear what he’s already heard at a thousand frat parties before--and he’s certainly not going to turn his face away from you. “True.”

Bradley swallows all the sugary saliva coating his tongue and squints at the stained folding table holding the tense game beside them, wondering if the legs are gonna give. The center is already bowing. Whatever. Not his house--not his issue. He turns to Jake, who’s not looking at him or listening to him. Bradley’s known him long enough to know that by now. Jake not listening to Bradley rarely ever stops him from continuing a conversation, though.

“And what’s really interesting about all of this is that I can say whatever I want to you right now because you’re staring at…” Bradley makes a show of following Jake’s gaze across the crowded house, eyes flitting across a few forms before he finds yours. And, yes, he knows you’re definitely the one Jake is looking at. Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Oh. Looky there. It’s your better half. Your favorite part of your favorite movie! Isn’t that cute?”

“It’s not my favorite movie,” Jake snorts indignantly--like that means anything.

He’s still watching you--your friend teetered off and you’re against the wall again, alone and looking down at your hiking boots. They look used--there’s dirt on the heels and scuffs on the toes.

He wonders if you’re judging the cobwebs in the corners of the low ceilings and the bowing door frames like he is. You look like you are--your brows pinched, your nose slightly scrunched, your eyes shadowed by the soft curl of your lashes. You look like you don’t come to many parties like this. Parties with too many people, parties with no snacks, parties with boys from the baseball team, parties with kegs, parties with sticky floors. Neither does he.

“You dragged me to that movie, like, twenty times whenever it came out,” Bradley says, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean it isn’t your favorite movie?”

“What I mean is that Jurassic Park is a great movie, but it isn’t my favorite,” Jake says, mildly exasperated. He absently takes a sip of his drink and immediately wishes he hadn’t, face screwing up in disgust as the bright yellow punch oozes down his throat. He coughs softly and Bradley grins. “My favorite movie is Blue Velvet. Duh.”

Now Bradley is screwing his face up in disgust, pretending to gag.

“You’re so pretentious. It’s like you can’t even help it. I feel bad for you, man. Oh, look at me! I’m a film major and I just love movies that make no sense! I wanna make sweet love to Kyle MacLachlan! Notice me, David Lynch!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jake says, smiling softly. “I’m not pretentious!”

“My favorite movie is Basic Instinct,” Bradley says proudly. And just as Jake is groaning, finally giving Bradley his full attention so Bradley can feel every ounce of Jake’s judgment, Bradley holds his hands up in defense. “Hey! Not for that scene--well, yeah for that scene--but mainly because of the gore. It’s gnarly. Plus it’s, like, very easy to understand. Digestible.”

“You’re a simpleton,” Jake says. “Is pussy all you think about?”

“Through and through, brother!” Bradley confirms with a grin.

Bradley throws an arm around Jake’s shoulders, the cheap polyester of his striped Beetlejuice costume stretched to its absolute limit by his shapely biceps, and sighs happily. He looks out across the crowded room and finds your form--Jake follows his gaze.

For a moment, the both of them just look at you. You’re bored--that much they can tell. Eyes downcast, hangnail under the wrath of your picking fingertips, mouth a flat plane. You’re way too pretty to be this bored at a party.

“What do you think her favorite movie is, Oh-Wise-One?” Bradley asks. Jake elbows him hard and some of his drink sloshes onto the floor and his Nike’s. “Hey! Not the Carnivores, man! These are brand new!”

“I’m doing you a favor,” Jake snorts.

Bradley whines, rubbing his shoes with a frown.

Jake is still looking at you. You’re alone. You’ve been alone since he noticed you a few songs ago, not exactly giving off an anti-social vibe but certainly not going out of your way to make conversation with all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Hulk Hogan’s around you. He wonders if you’re like him--if you came to this party because your friends dragged you here, if you would rather be in the comfort of your dorm watching slasher B-Movies.

“I haven’t seen her around campus,” Jake muses softly to Bradley, brows coming together. “Maybe she’s from out of town.”

The thought makes his gut twist in a half-knot. He really, really hopes you’re not from out of town.

Bradley shakes his head. The only time they get many out-of-towners is when there’s a football game and there isn’t another game until next weekend.

“Maybe she’s a freshman. Or a transfer,” Bradley continues. “Who knows! Not me. Certainly not you.”

“She’s really…” Jake says softly, brows pinching. He wants to kick himself for not being able to find the right word for what you are--but he doesn’t want to get it wrong. And his vocabulary dims in comparison to the way you make him feel by doing nothing but blink at the floor and wring your hands together. “Something.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Bradley coos, pinching Jake’s cheek.

“She’s, like--obviously she’s pretty,” Jake says. And he knows he’s being conservative with pretty. “But something else, too.”

“She looks…disinterested,” Bradley comments. “Like she doesn’t wanna be here.”

“I can change that,” Jake says with a deep breath. “You know. Show her a good time and all of that.”

“And you said all I think about is pussy? Man, you’re twisted!”

As if he’s offended, Jake faces Bradley. The tips of his ears are hot.

“Why did you assume I was going to show her a good time with my penis? I literally never even implied that. I never even hinted at applying to that.”

“What does and all of that mean to you then?” Bradley inquires, brows furrowed.

“You know,” Jake says, shrugging. He swallows and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll dance with her or something. Girls like that. I’ll ask for her hand. Like a gentleman.”

“You’re so from Texas,” Bradley laughs. “Thinking you can square dance your way into everything. Can’t really do-si-do to the Chili Peppers.”

Jake frowns at Bradley.

“You’re a freak,” Jake says slowly. “Really. I mean it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a cornball,” Bradley complains. “C’mon, stop staring at her! Let’s just get ready for our turn!”

Jake’s already decided that he’s not going to be playing Beer Pong with Bradley.

“How do I walk up to her without creeping her out?”

Bradley blinks at Jake, who is chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s really trying to figure it out. Like it’s rocket science.

“What are you talking about? You’re wearing an Alan Grant costume. I don’t think you’re gonna creep her out. Genius.”

Jake shoots a look at Bradley--one that he’s seen just before a knuckle to the gut or a tap to the balls. Instinctively, Bradley takes a half-step away from Jake and bumps into one of the Toga Bros.

“I mean, like--how do I go up to her and not creep her out? What am I supposed to start with? Hey, I saw you were all alone so I decided to capitalize on that. Or should it be more along the lines of you’re dressed as my love interest and we should see if that transfers into real life? Smart-ass.”

Bradley laughs, shaking his head.

Jake gets into his head like this a lot. Like a lot more than anyone else realizes. Before games, before dates, before office hours, before parties. Jake is Bradley’s best friend--and has been since they were assigned roommates last year--and Bradley knows that Jake always comes out the other side unscathed no matter what his previous worries were. He’s never missed a field goal, he always gets the girl, all his professors grant extra credit, he’s always invited back to whatever frat they hit. This special weariness of Jake’s is reserved especially for Bradley--that is to say, no one else gets to see this side of him.

“Here,” Bradley says. He grins. “I’ve got an idea!”

And before Jake can inquire, Bradley’s slamming his fist into Jake’s cup. The neon liquid spews out and splatters all over the walls and floor--a few drops land on Jake’s shirt. He’s too shocked to speak for a second, staring at the puddle on the ground and the few people who turned to see the commotion.

Bradley’s beaming when Jake turns to him, leaning back against the clapboards coolly, looking like a fucking idiot with his half-assed Beetlejuice makeup on and frayed green wig he bought in the kid’s section at Family Dollar.

“You’re an idiot,” Jake says. He says this about fifteen times a day, give or take.

Bradley holds a hand over his heart and sighs warmly.

“You need a refill,” Bradley says, nodding towards you and the punch bowl. “Thank me later. Preferably with Gushers!”

Jake is just about to say something else when he realizes that Bradley’s right. He does need a refill. And you are standing by the closest of the nuclear punch bowls.

This is his in.

“I hate that I actually do wanna thank you right now,” Jake sighs. He mulls over his decision, straightening his hat and making sure his cup is all the way empty. He turns to Bradley, who’s smiling smugly already. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re about to dig up some dino bones,” Bradley says, giving Jake a thumbs up and a shit-eating grin.

Jake blinks at him.

“Fossils. You mean fossils,” Jake corrects. “Not just dino bones.”

Bradley shrugs and takes another drink somehow.

“You say caramel I say carmel, but we all bleed the same, don’t we?”

Jake doesn’t even respond. He just starts in your direction, his breath caught between his molars. He hopes that you don’t move before he can cross the tiny house, the sea of sweaty polyester clad bodies and latex-covered faces.

Across the little room, right where he wants you to be, you’re chewing the inside of your cheek pensively.

He really isn’t here, you think. He really didn’t come. You press the scuffed toe of your scuffed hiking boot against the sticky floorboards and pull back softly to feel the resistance. Gross.

You’re not sure what the worst part of all of this is. Maybe it’s the fact that your boyfriend, the one who actually likes gross little parties like this and the other half of your couple’s costume, hasn’t bothered to show his face tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that they won’t stop playing Red Hot Chili Peppers and Anthony Keidis is literally bursting your eardrums right now. Maybe it’s the fact that nothing here is drinkable.

This night would be a lot easier if you were loaded right now.

“Do you happen to know what flavor this is?” A man asks, Southern inflection licking the inside of your ears. “Trying to decide if I’m gonna partake in drinking the Koolaid.”

Without looking up, you shrug your shoulders. Probably just another wayward drunk who thinks you’re the host. It’s an insult to you that someone would think you would live in squalor like this--you would never let fist-sized holes litter your walls and you would certainly never let your floors get this sticky.

Jake clears his throat, so close to you now that he can smell the amber on your pulse points. He’s searching your face, wondering if you didn’t hear him, readjusting his hat while the party rages on all around the two of you.

He’s standing between you and the punch bowl now, empty cup pressed into his palm, facing you rather than the drink. You don’t look up at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“I bet it’s watermelon,” Jake says a bit louder. “It’s always watermelon.”

He sees the recognition flood your features--the recognition that someone is talking to you--as you finally raise your head.

Up close, even in this shitty light, Jake sees that you’re something beyond pretty, something beyond beautiful. You’re something else that he’s never seen before--better than all the rest. His ears begin to hum.

It’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him--except that it isn’t. You take him in: his crinkled green eyes, his abrasively handsome smile, the little dimples on his cheeks, the scruffy edge of his jaw. No, you’ve seen him before. Scalding bleachers and roaring crowds and his face on the jumbotron after kicking a three-pointer.

This football player is talking to you.

Smiling in a polite and slightly stunned manner, you roll your shoulders back and wipe away all the crumbs of mopiness from your lap.

“Watermelon’s too high brow for this dump,” you say after a moment, swallowing softly. “I think I smelled cherry earlier.”

Your voice--he can only just make it out as the music plays, as the humming increases. But he can hear that it is sweet, that it is a vibration that makes his throat ache.

“You smelled it?” Jake asks, brow perched. “All the way from there?” He points to where you’re standing against the wall.

You’re only a foot or two away from the stained wooden table that’s holding the bowl. Nodding with your brow slightly furrowed, you push yourself off the wall.

“Cherry’s an assault to the senses. Couldn’t help but smell it,” you answer. Then you glance over your shoulder at the rest of the party, looking for your friends. “And my friends are too wasted to ladle their own drinks.”

“I hope they’re tipping you,” Jake says. “Well--unless you’re working on commission.”

A smile tugs on your lips.

“Doctors usually don’t work on commission,” you say softly. You look up at his hat and then down at his pants, placing his costume with a soft sort of smile. “Do they, Dr. Grant?”

He beams at you. Something in your chest grows tight--tight like you need to let all the air out of your lungs and into the space around you. You’re pretty sure that if you did that, the temperature here would rise a few degrees.

“It’s pretty accurate, isn’t it?” Jake asks, crossing his arms and jutting his hip out. “Don’t even ask me how long it took to find the hat.”

It took Jake two weeks to find the right hat. Two grueling weeks of dragging Bradley to strip malls and kiosks and thrift stores.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m a lady,” you answer with a small smile. “I think yours is blowing mine out of the water, though. I just picked mine from what I had in the closet and then borrowed the rest.”

He shakes his head at once, brows furrowed.

“You kidding me? I recognized you from across the room!”

Oh, you think. He saw you from across the room already. And now he’s standing here, right in front of you with an empty cup and a desire for conversation.

Glancing around you quickly, you find that your friends are all still loitering around drunkenly and your other half is still not here.

“I don’t know--is it really that impressive?” You ask Jake, meeting his eyes again. “This place is the size of a pin-hole.”

Jake glances over at Bradley, who’s successfully started a game of Beer Pong. Already Jake can see the guys on the other side of the table burning from Bradley’s constant trash talking. Jake’s sure that idiot’s bright green wig is doing very little to dull the words falling on their ears.

“I don’t know, I was standing all the way over there by my roommate--Bargain Bin Beetlejuice,” Jake explains to you, jamming a thumb over his shoulder. You follow the direction of his finger, smiling. That isn’t that close to where you are now, but it certainly isn’t far. But you know how to take a compliment. “It’s not a skip, hop, and a jump, but it’s…”

“It’s a skip and half a hop?” You ask, brows raised.

Jake nods.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he answers.

“Don’t freak out when I say this,” you say. “But you can’t be here when my boyfriend shows up. Your costume is gonna put my boyfriend’s to shame. We would seriously never be able to show our faces around here again.”

Jake’s chest is tight.

Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend.

He glances around the room, searching for someone dressed like the Great Value version of himself. But it’s just an endless sea of Wayne and Garth’s and Urkel’s and Wednesday’s. No other Dr. Alan Grant in sight.

“He isn’t here now, is he?” Jake asks. He has the sudden urge to puff his chest out, to size him up.

Uncomfortably, you shift your weight and look at your shoes again. You hate it when Jeff bails on you like this. And you know that he couldn’t have forgotten--you reminded him this morning. You knew he was only half-listening. You always know.

“No,” you answer. He can hear the soreness in your tone as you glance around, too. “But he’s supposed to be.”

Fucking asshole, Jake thinks.

“He bailed on you?” He asks, lips pursed. “Wait a minute--you’re doing a couple’s costume with him and he hasn’t even bothered to show his face?”

“Yup,” you answer with a tight smile.

“No offense, but what an asshole,” Jake says. He crosses his arms. “Who does that to their girlfriend on Halloween?”

“Jeff Sabler, I guess,” you answer.

“Oh, you’re with Jeff Sabler? From the debate team?” He asks.

He’s stifling laughter, trying to bite a grin. You see right through him, though. Your face is warm with embarrassment as you bite a smile, too, and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, Johnny Football, I’m dating Jeff Sabler from the debate team,” you say. “Problem with that?”

“Me? Have a problem with Spit Sabler? Never,” Jake says with a grin.

You can’t help but laugh quietly at his nickname, even if it kind of makes you want to curl into a ball and wither away. Spit Sabler. It’s what people started calling him after his very first debate last year, when he got so worked up during policy discussion that spit literally flew from his mouth and onto the judge’s desk. He didn’t even say excuse me aftward.

“You know, he doesn’t even care that people call him that,” you say with a slight eye roll. You’re beginning to notice that Jeff doesn’t care about a lot of things--punctuality, nicknames, his grade in biochemistry, commitment to Halloween costumes. “Isn’t that silly? I’d just die if people around campus had a nickname for me.”

“Maybe they do and you just don’t know it,” Jake teases.

“Are you holding out on me?” You ask. You pause, swallowing and holding your hands on your hips. “Do you even know me?”

“Sure,” Jake says with an easy grin. He gestures to your costume. “You’re my best girl!”

“Ha-ha,” you say despite the way you suddenly want to rub your thighs together. His best girl. “I bet you haven’t given me a second look until you noticed that I was your missing piece.”

“I haven’t seen you around,” Jake admits. “You not into football?”

“I like to sit at the very top,” you tell him. “You know. Eagle-eye view. I like to see everything all at once. Especially now that we’re finally good.”

“You mean you actually go to watch the game? Not just to get beer spilled on you by Pi Kappa guys?” He asks, feigning surprise. Your smile is widening, eating your face. His belly turns itself inside out. “I’m shocked, really.”

“Not to blow you smoke or anything, but you’re a pretty good kicker,” you compliment. You hope that he can’t feel how warm your face is right now, but you’re sure he can--he’s so close to you that you can smell the shampoo in the blonde locks sticking out from beneath his hat. “You’ve never missed a three-pointer.”

He’s taken back right now. He knows that football is deeply ingrained in the culture here--he sometimes can’t help but feel like a big man on campus when his calc professor congratulates him on a good game or when upperclassmen clap his back in the student center--but it’s rare that he meets someone who pays very much attention at all. Now that he’s been established as good, people just assume he is. They don’t really watch.

“I’m impressed that you pay attention,” he says.

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?” You ask, arms crossed.

You’re smiling still.

“Not ‘cause you’re a girl,” he answers. “‘Cause everyone goes to the football games to drink.”

“Well, I’m no Pi Kappa,” you say. “I’m a whole other thing.”

“I bet you are,” Jake says. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie,” you quip.

He grins at you.

Shit. You’re too easy to like. Way, way too easy.

Spit Sabler. What a load of shit.

“I’m Jake,” he says after a minute.

This whole year you’ve been calling him Seresin in your head--it’s what’s printed on the back of his jersey, what you see on the jumbotron when he kicks your team’s winning goal.

But Jake. Yes, that fits him. Aren’t all sandy-blonde, green-eyed boys named Jake, anyway? It’s so coastal, evokes images of tan skin and a freckled nose and bright smile.

“Well, it’s to know your actual name,” you say. “I’ve just been calling you Seresin.”

“I’m flattered you noticed me,” Jake says, beaming.

“Everyone does,” you say, shaking your head gently.

“No way,” he disagrees. “Not everyone.”

“Please,” you sass, brows furrowed. “Modesty didn’t get you to where you are now, did it?”

“Across the room?” Jake asks, brows raised. Your smile fades to one of flattery, your lashes batting against your cheeks like you’re trying to blink yourself back into reality. “No. I’d say what got me across the room was curiosity.”

“I thought it was thirst,” you say softly, nodding to the punch bowl.

Jake looks back at the bowl, arms crossed over his chest. Right. Nuclear waste.

“That was all a ruse,” he says. “You can’t believe a word I say.”

“I’m learning so much about you,” you say with a fond smile. “Your name, your tendency to lie, how easily impressed you are.”

Jake almost guffaws trying to keep up with you.

“That’s pretty much all there is to me,” Jake says. “I’m surface-level.”

“Right,” you laugh. You gesture to his costume. “Jurassic Park is a pretty surface-level movie.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Jake asks, borderline stunned.

“Of course I like Jurassic Park. I’m only human,” you answer quickly. “But--you know. Everyone likes it. It’s easy to like. Easy to understand. Even the themes that they try to make harder to understand.”

“Like what?”

“The ethics of creating life inside a lab in tubes and incubators,” you answer. “Playing God.”

“I guarantee you that I could introduce you to someone who genuinely thought the entire movie was just about running from dinosaurs,” Jake tells you, a grin tugging on his lips. “Not everyone is as smart as you. Well--us.”

“Us,” you echo, a laugh bubbling up from the tips of your toes and spilling out into the air around you. It’s swallowed by the crowd before Jake can digest it. “Kind of weird that we’re wearing matching costumes, right?”

“Divine intervention,” Jake says, brow perched.

“We don’t even know each other,” you say, smiling. “That’s crazy.”

Beaming, Jake nods.

“You think people are gonna think I’m your boyfriend?” He asks slyly, leaning on the punch table carefully. “Just ‘cause I actually bothered to show up. And the whole costume thing.”

“I don’t know,” you say, shoulders falling back. Your spine prickles with excitement--the excitement of being looked at by him. “Should we ask someone?”

He’s watching you with a slight smile clinging to his pink lips. Inside his gaze, you feel like you’re alone at the party with just him. No more sticky floors and no more drunk friends and no more shitty boyfriend. Just you and him shooting the shit. You can’t do this with Jeff--everything always ends in a fight and in classic debater style, he rarely lets things go.

As if he’s trying to call your bluff, Jake looks around for someone to tap. He’s waiting for you to stop him, for you to burst out that you were just joking, to grab his arm before he can get someone’s attention.

But you don’t stop him. There is no bluff to be called.

So, he taps on the nearest Urkel’s shoulder. He turns around, glasses askew.

“What’s up, brother?” Urkel asks Jake when he recognizes him. “How you doing, Trip?”

Trip. It’s short for Triple.

“Just great,” Jake answers. He half-steps so he’s closer to you, close enough that your arms are touching. And he’s surprised when you lean into him, totally feeding into the bit. “Uh--do we look like we came together?”

“That’s not the question,” you whisper to Jake, nudging him with your elbow before you lean forward to speak to Urkel. “The question is--does he look like my boyfriend?”

Urkel turns to give the both of you his full attention as you step beside Jake again, leaning against his arm. He regards your bright eyes and Jake’s solid grin, the way your arms are pressed together, the matching costumes.

“Is this your way of introducing me to your lady or something?” Urkel asks Jake.

“So, we do look like boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jake clarifies.

Urkel’s brows come together.

“Aren’t you?”

“Total strangers, actually,” you sigh, shrugging. Jake smiles at you, watching as your brows pull together and your lashes flutter against your cheeks. “For all I know, this guy could be a serial killer.”

“It’s true, I could,” Jake sighs in confirmation. “And for all I know, she could be a total stalker.”

“What?” Urkel asks. “What are you--?”

You nod, sucking the back of your teeth.

“Right, right,” you answer. “You never can tell these days. People are so insane.”

“Preach,” Jake sighs.

“I’m too drunk for this, Trip,” Urkel says finally, rubbing his temples. “Hit my line when you two really are boyfriend-girlfriend, alright?”

And with that, you and Jake are in your own little bubble again. Heat has pooled in your belly and your fingertips are buzzing and your ears are hot with embarrassment and excitement.

It’s exhilarating, you realize. The way you feel right now with Jake, who you really only just met, tapping inebriated strangers on the shoulder and pretending like you weren’t bored out of your mind and stood up only a little bit ago. Indulging parts of yourself you can’t whenever you’re with Jeff.

“That settles it, then,” Jake sighs coolly, shrugging. “Spit Sabler’s in for a rude awakening.”

“Yeah, when he shows up,” you say, scoffing.

“If he shows up,” Jake corrects, wrinkling his nose.

“I can’t believe I got stood up,” you say to him. Except it isn’t bitterness in your tone that he hears--it’s a strange, disconnected relief. Like you were waiting for Spit to do something to warrant this fracture. “Me. Stood up. By my boyfriend.”

“He must not be from the south,” Jake sighs with a shrug. “Boys from the south would never stand their lady up.”

“Oh, really?” You ask. Your stomach is tied in excited, tight knots. “And you’re speaking from experience, right?”

“Totally,” Jake confirms. “Texas. Born and bred.”

“You southern gentlemen sure do like telling people you’re southern gentlemen,” you tease. “Gotta work it into every conversation, huh?”

“You sound like my roommate,” Jake grins, shaking his head.

Looking over at Bargain Bin Beetlejuice again, you find him holding his hands up in defense with a grin eating his face. A man in a toga is being held back by a few other men from wiping said-grin off his face.

“I was gonna say that your roommate sounds like a smart guy, but looks like he’s over there picking fights with Sigma Alpha Toga,” you say, tutting. “Not the best move.”

Jake groans when he sees Bradley throw his head back in laughter, when he sees how red in the face his toga opponent is. He’s always pushing people to their absolute limit. It’s what makes him such a good lineman--and a regular target.

“And on Halloween of all holy nights,” Jake says, sighing.

“Some people are just so classless,” you agree.

“Like guys who ditch their girlfriends on Halloween,” Jake agrees.

“How many times you gonna bring that up?” You ask, biting your lip.

“I’m going for the record,” Jake teases.

“The least you could do is soften the blow,” you tell him.

“How can I do that?” Jake asks. He’s grinning.

“You could…” You pretend to think, tapping your chin and chewing the inside of your cheek. “Well, you could least keep up appearances.”

“What, like, be a good fake boyfriend?” He asks, brow perched.

You nod. He’s elated right now, trying to bide his excitement so he doesn’t freak you out totally and completely.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Well, I can’t just be good,” Jake tells you smugly. “I’ve gotta be the best fake boyfriend.”

“You’ve really talked yourself up,” you tell him, sucking the back of your teeth. The soles of your feet are warm, the palms of your hand sweatied. “Blow me away.”

Jake opens his mouth to say something dumb and flirtatious, something that will surely make you push his shoulder, but he’s interrupted when the music suddenly changes. Dreams by The Cranberries is playing suddenly, a smidgen louder than the music before was.

“Now that they’re finally playing good music,” Jake calls over the music, pointing in the general direction of one of the speakers. “Will you dance with me?”

No one has ever asked you to dance before this precise moment. Never at any shitty homecomings or slapstick proms. Before, at every other frat and house party Jeff dragged you to, no one danced like you thought they might. Parties aren’t for dancing anymore--they’re for drinking. The romantic in you dies a little bit each time you remember that.

But here is this guy standing right in front of you, the big man on campus who’s dressed up in a weirdly accurate Alan Grant costume, holding his hand out to you and asking you to dance to The Cranberries. The Cranberries.

“There’s nowhere to dance,” you say before you can help it, glancing around the room. It’s packed wall-to-wall. No one is dancing and everybody is drunk.

“Would you go outside with me if I asked?” Jake asks.

His heart is pounding in his throat.

“I don’t know,” you say. But you do know. “Ask.”

“Will you go outside with me?” Jake asks.

“Yes,” you say. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

Yeah. I’ll go. Jake is going to think about the way you looked when you said these words to him for the rest of his life. You, the girl who was standing here looking bored and waiting on Spit motherfucking Sabler, are looking up at him with glassy eyes and a broad grin and saying yeah. I’ll go.

Jake doesn’t waste a moment, nodding towards the backdoor.

“C’mon,” he says with a grin. “I don’t wanna miss this song.”

Outside, it’s much cooler than inside the stuffy house. The air is crisp and fresh and fragrant with the lonely apple tree that sits just beside the house. No more overpowering stenches like sweat or cheap fabric or overfilled trash.

And now that you’re outside in the mostly-dark, only the naked porch bulb lighting the little patch of overgrown concrete you’re standing on, you feel like you can take a deep breath and let your shoulders fall.

“It’s nice out here,” you admit.

“And you can still hear the music,” Jake points out. “Speaking of…”

You turn around, glance at him over your shoulder. And there’s Jake beaming at you, hand outstretched towards you in an open invitation.

“You were serious?” You ask, nose wrinkled. “I thought boys just said that to impress girls.”

“Not Texas boys,” he answers. “C’mon. Dance with me.”

And who would you be if you said no to this almost perfect stranger?

Swallowing thickly, you smile at him. It’s an unsure smile, one that is usually accompanied by a warm face and downcast eyes. But you’re not looking away from him and Jake definitely isn’t looking away from you.

His hand is warm, bigger than yours. The skin is rough, probably from tossing the pigskin, and his grip is secure. He holds your hand the way he holds other important things--delicate glasses, his favorite pen, a photograph of him and his mama.

You stand there, his hand holding yours, for a moment. Not sure what to do next, unclear where you’re supposed to step or if you’re supposed to come closer.

“C’mere now,” Jake says softly. It’s less of a command and more of a guidance as he gently pulls you closer to him. “There you go.”

Shakily, a breath falls from your mouth. A cloud of tongue-scented vapor settles on Jake’s chest. He’s looking down at you, his face all shadows and shine, as he begins to bring his other hand up to hold your waist.

“Can I hold your waist?” He asks. He almost makes a joke--almost adds something to make his questions sound less serious. Strictly for appearances. But then he just looks down at you looking up at him, reads the slope of your brows and the part of your lips, and leaves it at that.

“Is that what comes next?” You ask, really meaning it.

He pulls his brows together, confused.

“What--no one’s ever asked you to dance before?”

“No,” you answer seriously. “I mean--well, yeah. No.”

He just softly shakes his head. How in the world has no one ever asked you to dance before? He wanted to dance with you before he even knew you and he wants to dance with you now that he barely knows you.

“What?” You ask, brows knit. Your throat is caked in nerves. “You think something’s wrong with me now?”

“I’m thinking I oughta skin Spit Sabler and hang his bones to dry,” Jake admits. “And I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.”

You step closer to him, the pavement cracked beneath the soles of your boots, and your chest is close enough to his to feel the softness of his shirt when you inhale. He smells like sandalwood and Everclear and you’re just now noticing that his hands are a little sticky from his drink.

“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask, looking up at him. “You didn’t bring a date to the party.”

“Who do you think Beetlejuice is?”

The laughter flows easily.

“Excuse me for supposing.” You smile.

“Excused,” Jake breathes.

Jake is holding your waist now--he can feel the soft curve there, the way the fabric melts into his hand like it’s been waiting for his heat. And whenever you take a deep breath, your chest touches his.

Besides the music, there are crickets chirping in the button bushes and frogs distantly singing in a too-big puddle just down the road. It is a perfect night--the stars stretch across the sky, brighter than they are in the middle of town, and the moon is white as silk.

You’re spinning in a semi-slow circle, your smile still coy and your palms still clammy. But you’re happy--you think that you’re happy. A stone of excitement just sits heavy in your gut, warm and unmoving. This is the feeling you have whenever you meet someone that you know is going to be important in some way someday.

Inside the house, Bradley’s noticed that Jake is gone--and so is the pretty girl he was talking to. He glances around, biting his lip, the taste of cheap lipstick bitter on his tongue. And then he spots movement outside the west-facing windows.

“No way,” he whispers, shoving his way across the room and closer to the windows. He squints, cups his eyes, and immediately recognizes that damn hat. “He did it. Crazy son of a bitch did it.”

“Who?” Someone near Bradley asks. They’re bleary-eyed as they look at Bradley, leaning closer to him. “Who did what?”

“Me,” Bradley answers with a grin. “I did your mother.”

“I like The Cranberries,” you say quietly. “I listen to this CD all the time.”

“Not a Red Hot Chili Peppers girl?” He asks.

Laughing, you shake your head.

“Do I look like one?” You ask.

“Do I look like I think you’re one?” He retorts.

Another grin--Jake’s throat is so tight that he can hardly swallow.

“Too many degrees of separation,” you whisper to him. “You’re giving me a complex.”

He takes a deep breath--of you, of the crisp autumn air, of the dew on the grass, of the sugary juice staining his hands.

“Why you with a guy who stands you up?” He asks. You’re slowly spinning in a circle still and the world blurs behind your pretty head. “I barely know you, but I know I’d never bail on you.”

“Well, not everyone’s from Texas,” you answer. The heartbeat in your chest is stuttering as Jake looks at you--your eyes, your nose, your lips. “We’re not…serious or anything.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to tell Jake this--and why it doesn’t make you feel guilty when you realize that you’re telling him so he knows that your options are open.

“Not serious?” He asks. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

A few months.

“Since August.” It sounds like more time than it really is.

“Not long at all,” he says. “How’d he hook you? Did he debate you into a date?”

The grin tugging on your lips is so insistent.

“You’re kind of an ass,” you say affectionately.

“But I’m a good dancer,” he says--beaming. “Don’t you think I’m a good dancer?”

“Fishing for compliments,” you tut. “Flattery must be your love language.”

“What’s your love language?”

Cheeks hot, you just shake your head.

Christ, he’s good. Too good. Way too good.

“You ask so many questions,” you tell him, breathing out hard. You’re beaming at him still. “Too curious for your own good.”

“And I’m not even a journalism major,” he tells you.

“You’re missing your calling then,” you say softly. “What is your major?”

“Film,” he says.

That strikes you as funny for some reason--a football player film major with an affinity for dream pop and Jurassic Park.

“Aren’t you a mystery,” you ponder aloud. “Johnny Football Hitchcock.”

“And what’s your major? Looking bored at parties?”

You mock offense, holding a hand over your heart. When you’re this close to him and he beams, you can see every single one of his pearlescent white teeth, each one more perfect than the last.

“I didn’t look bored,” you defend half-heartedly.

“You looked so bored,” Jake says, laughing. “I thought you were gonna pass out before I even made it over to you.”

The back door opens--a few drunk people stumble out, saying nothing but laughing all the same.

Instinctively, you begin to pull away from Jake. But he tightens his grip on your waist, on your hand, and keeps you close to him. He keeps spinning the both of you in slow circles as the song floats on.

“It’s okay,” Jake says softly to you--like he knows that your face is warm with almost-embarrassment, like he knows that you’re nervous to be this close to him in front of anyone else. “They’re not gonna remember shit tomorrow.”

“Are you?” You ask, teasing.

It’s vulnerable to ask--ther’es a sweetness in your quiet tone. You’re asking him if he’s drunk, if he’ll remember crossing the party to talk to you, if he’ll remember asking you to dance with you.

“I’m stone-cold sober,” Jake says. “Fortunately.”

It’s strange whenever someone doesn’t let you down. You’re almosot used to putting up defenses at this point, almost always ready to roll your eyes and say God, never mind. You’re a smart girl. You know that this isn’t the way you should feel about the boy you’re seeing. And you are smart enough to see a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you, holding knot your waist and dancing with you.

“Oh, shit--!”

You turn towards the sounds of shoes scuffing on pavements, the sudden outburst. Jake does, too, brows furrowed. He sees it before you do--is getting ready to lift you up and push you further into the yard.

But he’s too late.

Alpha Beta Toga is bent at the hips and spewing neon-green puke all down your legs and into the pockets of your cargo shorts and all over your hiking boots.

Still, Jake tugs you away, plants himself between you and Toga. It’s too late, though--he’s being tugged away by his friends, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hiccupping. And you’re standing beside him, stunned, staring down at your slimy legs.

“Hey!” Jake bellows, brows furrowed. The frat boys pause, eyes bleary as they stare back at him. “Apologize.”

“Sorry,” one of them says to Jake, belching.

They start to move inside the house again, a blur of white sheet and skin.

“No, no, no,” Jake insists. “To her.”

You blink in surprise, swallowing the lump growing in your throat, not knowing what to do except stand there and freeze with putrid vomit running down your legs.

“I didn’t puke on her!” One of them defends.

“I didn’t ask, dipshit,” Jake says. “Someone’s gonna say sorry before you go back inside.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper, unbuttoning your shirt and slipping out of it to wipe down your legs. “It’s really fine. He’s drunk, it was an accident--!”

“I’m sorry,” one of the boys interrupts you, glancing over at you nervously. “We should’ve pulled ‘im back.”

“You should’ve,” Jake confirms.

And then his attention is back on you. He’s kneeling before you, grabbing the shirt from your hands and mopping up as much vomit as he can on your legs. Still shocked and now prickled with cold as you bend at the hips and look down at him, you frown.

“Is it--oh my God. Is it chunky?” You whisper, feeling sick.

Jake dutifully holds onto your thigh as he continues to mop it up. God, it smells bad--he dipped into more than one of the punches.

“Don’t look,” Jake commands, brows pulled together. “Just look up at the stars and it’ll be over soon.”

“It’s fucking chunky,” you say to yourself, looking up at the night sky anyway. Cold air nips your bare shoulders, tucks itself between the skin of your belly and your tank top. “Did he eat the shit that was floating in the bowls? I don’t think it was edible.”

In the dim light, Jake examines one of the chunks. It’s a clump of green-tinted yellow, half-digested and crumbling in the grip of the shirt. His stomach turns, but he swallows hard, comes a little closer.

Oh. He snorts softly and you groan above him.

“What is it?” You ask. “Oh, God--is it, like, pineapple chunks?”

“It’s a flower,” Jake says.

“What?” You demand, looking down at him. “A flower?”

He finishes up mopping your legs as you look anywhere but your legs, your jaw beginning to tremble from the cold.

“Was this all some elaborate way to get me flowers?”

His laugh echoes into the night.

“Would you be impressed?” He asks.

“Kinda,” you answer honestly.

“Then yes,” he grins. “I think I got most of it, by the way. Do you wanna see the flower?”

Looking down, frowning, he holds his open palm up to you. And yes, there it is--a marigold submerged in stomach acid.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you breathe out. “How’d you know marigolds are my favorite?”

“I’m just good like that,” he says. “Marigolds, huh? Are they even edible?”

“Anything’s edible if you put it in your mouth.”

He’s grinning up at you, pulse still thumping in his wrists from the past ten minutes. And that’s when he notices that you’re just standing there in a tank top, skin goosed from the cold.

“Here,” he says, standing up.

He unbuttons his shirt quickly and drapes it over your shoulders before you can tell him not to. He grabs the corner of your soiled shirt and nods for you to start for the house.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you whisper.

“I can,” he says. “I’ve been to, like, two parties where no one’s projectiled on someone else.”

Cringing, you shake your head. His shirt is warm--it smells like sandalwood. The denim is thick and soft, like it’s been worn before tonight.

“Thanks for mopping me up,” you tell him as you open the back door for him. The sound is immediate--the thumping speakers, the drunk hollers. “How can I repay you?”

“Dump Spit Sabler,” Jake says. You turn, mouth ajar, looking prettier than you should in his shirt. His chest is tight. “It’s for your own good.”

“My good?” You whisper. “Or…yours?”

He swallows hard. You two just watch each other, the scent of puke thick in the air and the party too loud and the outside too cold. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Can I drive you home?” His voice is flat and serene.

Calm like he already knows your answer because he does.

“Yes,” you whisper because you want to stay here, in his gaze, for as long as he’ll let you. “Can we go now?”

He pulls the keys from his pocket and smiles at you.

Bradley isn’t buckled so he can lean forward in the middle seat and prop his elbows up on the center consol, looking at you and Jake as the world slips past you in a blur of over-exposed white and green.

“Spit Sabler?” Bradley says again, still shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re laughing, shaking your head, too. Jake groans.

“Man, can you shut up already?”

“No,” Bradley says. He looks at you and you look at him--his makeup is melting off his face and his green wig is askew. But even now, you can see that there is a handsome man with a broad smile somewhere beneath it all. “You--you--are with Spit? Spit Sabler?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I was.”

Jake doesn’t miss it--was. But he doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes on the old country road you’re all driving down.

“Why?” Bradley asks. “Like, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“Can you leave her alone?” Jake moans. He fiddles with the radio until a Cocteau Twins song comes on, shaking his head. “She already got puked on and now you won’t get off her head.”

“I just have to know!” Bradley insists. “Like, was it…okay, I’m gonna ask. I have to ask.”

Jake looks at Bradley in the rear-view mirror hard, knowing already what he’s going to ask. He points at Bradley’s reflection and Bradley grins back, still a little drunk and quiite stupid.

“What?” You ask, genuinely confused. “What were you gonna ask?”

“Don’t do it,” Jake warns. “Man, you don’t even know her! You’re making me look like I have perv friends!”

“I have to!” Bradley argues. “I have to!”

“Oh,” you say, realizing suddenly. You lean back in your seat and look back at Bradley. “You’re gonna ask me if he has a big dick.”

“Exactly!” Bradley moans. He grabs your shoulders excitedly and squeezes you good-naturedly. “She’s on our level, Jakey!”

“I’m sorry about him,” Jake says, shaking his head. “He was dropped as a baby. Frequently.”

“Twice,” Bradley corrects. He nudges you and you grin at him. “Was it big?” He whispers.

Shaking your head, face warm, you frown.

“Not big enough,” you whisper.

Bradley explodes in the backseat, in stitches as he holds your shoulders tight. And Jake can’t help but crack a smile at the sound--Bradley’s laugh is infectious. And you’re laughing, too.

“Oh, that’s too good!” Bradley’s cheering. “Oh, my God! You just made my night!”

“You’re welcome,” you say, grinning.

“Did he just, like, talk at you until you were confused enough to be in a relationship with him?” Bradley asks.

“She’s not an idiot,” Jake defends, smacking blindly in Bradley’s direction.

Bradley bats his hands away.

“We all have our moments!” Bradley argues. “I didn’t say she’s an idiot.”

“He’s the idiot,” Jake says.

“Yeah,” Bradley agrees. “No arguing there.”

“For the record,” you say to them. “He did kind of talk me into it. One minute we’re in class, the next we’re at coffee and he’s burning his tongue on an Americano. Then his puka shells were on my nightstand. It’s all a blur.”

The car ride continues like this--you grow warm between the heater and Bradley’s laughter and Jake’s fond embarrassment. You learn that Bradley is a business major and that he and Jake are roommate’s and best friends. They learn that you actually really do love marigolds and that you’ve been thinking about ending things with Jeff for a few weeks now--ever since he argued with you about the right way to cut bagels for over an hour.

And by the time they pull up in front of your dorm, they realize that their dorm is just a skip and half a hop away.

“We can come visit you anytime,” Bradley says with a grin. “We’re neighbors!”

“Looks like it,” you say.

Jake is watching you, wishing Bradley would leave. You reach for the handle and his palms grow damp with sweat. It’s quiet in the car.

“I can take a hint,” Bradley whispers. “Use protection!”

He kisses Jake’s head and squeezes your shoulder and then he’s gone.

Then it’s just you and Jake again. Jake is still grumbling about Bradley, wiping the spit and paint off his head. And you’re just smiling at Jake, totally at peace to just sit in the passenger seat of his old truck and let Halloween drift away.

“Thanks for everything,” you say. You swallow hard when his eyes meet yours, when his brows come together. “For, like, saving me from total social humiliation. And for cleaning puke off my legs. And--this.” You pinch the denim shirt in your fingers. “You’re very sweet.”

“It ain’t much, but it’s honest work,” Jake sighs. And really, he wants to tell you that it was his pleasure because it was. He wants to tell you that somehow this has been the best Halloween of his life. “You’ve got yourself a nickname now.”

“What is it?” You whisper.

“Goldie,” he grins.

Ah. Marigold.

“Deceivingly sweet,” you say fondly. Your chin wobbles. “You playing next week, Trip?” You whisper.

You’re itching for a shower--you know you need to get out of his car. You know that this night needs to end. But you can’t help yourself from lingering.

“Starting,” he says. “Not to brag.”

“And yet you manage to,” you tease. “Look for me at the top, okay?”

Eagle-eye.

“And if I said I could get you tickets closer to the field, what would you say?” He ponders. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Well, I’d say that’s very sweet and that you don’t have to do that,” you tell him.

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip. He imagines you there, holding onto the railing, skin goosed as you watch him do what he does best. His chest is wound tight with joy, excitement.

“And then I’d probably say that I know I don’t have to,” he continues. “I want to.”

Nodding, biting a grin, you hum.

“Well,” you whisper. “Maybe we can talk more about it when I drop your shirt off tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We can talk more about it. Maybe over, like, coffee.”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Coffee would be good. No Americano’s, though.”

Another beat. It’s quiet except for the humming radio, the wind whispering outside the windows, the heat blowing on your legs.

“Goodnight, Goldie,” Jake whispers.

Throat tight, you nod. Another grin.

“Goodnight, Trip,” you say.

And as you get out of the car and start for the dorm building, Jake sits and watches you walk all the way to the door. You turn, hand on the heavy handle, and smile when you see him. He waves, his hair soft and his eyes unmoving from your form. Spit never waits for you. In the light of the streetlamp, of the pocket lights of the building, you look like a dream. Like you’re surrounded by a yellow haze.

You wave--so does he.

And then you walk into the building with your heart in your throat, with the soles of your feet on fire. You don’t even care that there’s puke on your legs, that you have an uncomfortable phone call to make, that you have to walk all the way up to the third floor.

You’re floating, really. Floating through pink clouds perfumed with sandalwood, tinged with warmth.

And when Jake gets back into his room, Bradley is waiting for him. He’s on his twin bed, still in his costume and wig and makeup, a management textbook cracked open on his lap as he munches on some crackers and reads in the lamplight.

“I like her,” Bradley says as soon as Jake closes the door. “I really, really like her man.”

“Me too,” Jake admits softly as he toes his boots off. “She’s sweet.”

“She’s funny,” Bradley adds. “She had me in stitches in the car!”

“If I’d have been puked on, it would’ve ruined my week. Shit, it would’ve ruined my year,” Jake muses. He pulls his bandana off and throws it in his closet without looking. “She’s a good sport.”

“You better lock that down,” Bradley says, shaking his head. He scratches his chin and bits of white paint flake off.

“Someone else already has,” Jake says, brows furrowed.

He sits on his own bed and looks at Bradley, who’s yawning and rubbing his eyes. Smearing his makeup.

“Spit doesn’t stand a chance,” Bradley says. “I’ll bet she’s dumping his sorry ass right now.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SLAYYYYYY I LOVE BRADLEY IN THIS UNIVERSE HE IS SOOOOO STUPID

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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probablynotasquid · 2 years

Note

Imagine an SAGAU imposter AU with gold blooded creator!reader but with a twist. The characters know the creator has golden tears of pain and gold blood but what they don’t know is the gold isn’t visible until it complete dries in open air. Poor reader is chased though the plains of each land and shunned by all except the very young, very elderly and typically hostile creatures that live across Teyvat. While on the run in Inazuma they are caught by the Tenryou Commission and tortured (like the fake vision smith but worse) for days. Various government members from each nation join in the punishment. The red blood and crystal teardrop splatters are constantly being layered and added to so they can never fully dry. Itto and his gang hear about a tortured prisoner and go to bust them out after another session when they know they’ll be alone for a while - not recognising them as the ‘imposter’ until much later on.

The Tenryou torturers + Sara arrive for another session only to find the room empty and immediately sound the alarm about their escape. They’re so focused on finding the escaped reader that they never clean the room they used for several days on end and by the time they return it’s all dried. Reader is found running from the Arataki gang in fear they’ll be turned in and end up getting caught anyway. They’re dragged back to the room through the centre of Inazuma City but when they arrive there they see the floor and walls splattered and layered with thin swirling layers of solid gold. By this point the reader has given up fighting and slumps over in their captors’ grip, oblivious to the horror dawning on everyone’s faces as they realise what they’ve done, the crimes they’ve committed and how badly they f**ked up >>>>:)

AAAAAAA YES OMG

i absolutely love this idea aaaaaa

running through the nations, leaving splattering trails of gold far behind in your wake. occasionally spotted by a local child, recalled to parents and waved off as a wild imagination.

it was all a big misunderstanding. if they had only waited just a little longer, they would have seen it sooner. but they didn't. and now you're standing defeated before them, in front of the very cell you had previously escaped. the one you endured horrible and utterly unthinkable torture for hours, days, weeks on end. your body still ached with the echoes of the endless pain. your blood stained and seeped into the stone dungeon, now a shimmering spectacle of a room. a masterpiece with you front and center as the guards shakily loosen their grip, stepping back in horror.

they finally see, with grief unmatched, their creator. head turned back, confused and lifeless, and the painted wall behind them their golden wings.

i have a very vivid image of that scene in my head and i cannot descibe it well but holy woww yes your mind is brilliant thank you for sharing this with me

#sagau #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #sagau imposter au #imposter au

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whalyrae · 1 year

Text

THE OLD GUARD CHAPTER 1

"We don’t get a say on how it ends, we never have. But we can control how we live."

Summary : You are a powerful witch, cursed and hurt through ages. Owner of your esoteric shop, you were resigned to live this lonely life when the powerful magic of soulmates and fate came to you.

Pairing : poly BTS x reader (she/her)

Genre : soulmate au, demons bts au, witch y/n au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, polyamory relationships

Status : In process

Word Count : 2.8k

Warnings : eventual smut, angst, mention of depression, death, suicide, past trauma, violence, blood, past (sexual) abuse, past torture, PTSD, scars, self harm

A/N : finally the courage to post this ! Hope y'all will enjoy it 🥺 ps : sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language ! 💜

Masterlist | ao3 | wattpad

Chapter 2

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

People say that soulmates are the ones who make life come to life. They are muses. Soulmates will naturally make you feel seen, heard, understood, valued, supported & loved. Soulmates will bring out your inner child, be open with you & give you best friend vibes. They'll heal, grow & evolve with you–not only in this lifetime but in every dimension.

At first, when she met him, she agreed with all of these. But in the end… These numerous lives she lived through decades and centuries taught her that love was never enough.

She was… well, kinda immortal. Of course, immortality doesn’t exist. Every life ends one day. Even vampires are not immortal.

But her? She couldn’t die. She was killed more than once, she even tried to end her own life. Too many times. And she failed. All attempts were unsuccessful. She was cursed. A damn curse who keeps her from dying. She never knew why it happened or how it happened.

She stopped aging around 25. Several centuries later, here she is. It’s been ten years since her arrival in South Korea. First in Busan, she moved to Daegu, Gimpo, and finally Seoul, where she lives now.

She was finally able to open this esoteric shop she had been dreaming of for a few decades already. She found the perfect spot, in a small alley, near a cute coffee shop. Called "The Dreamcatcher " it was run by other witches, like her. Gahyeon, one of the owners, became a close friend.

Quickly, she befriended Gahyeon's mates and co-owner, Minji and Siyeon, both witches too. The four others, Bora, Yoohyeon, Handong, and Yubin worked there too as bartenders and pastry chefs. But unlike Gahyeon and the first three women, they were demons.

It wasn’t uncommon for witches, demons, and other creatures to be soulmates or partners. It was also common to see four, five, or even eight soulmates together. Polyamory was almost ordinary for non-humans.

These seven girls became her closest friends. They even helped her sometimes, with new books' arrival, or when she needed help rearranging some herbs and crystals. Gahyeon and Handong were the ones who visited her the most, always bringing her a strawberry cake, her favorite pastry, or a coffee in the morning. They often hang out together, mostly in her house which was just upstairs from her shop.

Her esoteric shop, called "The Magic Shop ", quickly became popular among creatures and some humans. Her hours of service were different from usual shops. She was closing later in the evening in summer, and early in the morning in winter, to allow vampires who feared the sunlight to come.

Also, people liked her. She was always kind and generous. An adorable little ray of sunshine, even though she was one of the most ancient witches still alive. Her knowledge of the magical world, history, art, literature, and magic was immense due to her age. She always gave perfect advice, always guided her clients in the right way and she always took good care of them.

Yeah… she was not alone anymore, right?

It was a lie. She was wearing a mask every day. Of course, her kindness wasn’t faked. She genuinely loved helping people. But despite this, even with all those warm smiles she gave to her clients and friends, she was deeply blessed and hurt by her past, Lonely, suffering from many wounds and scars that weren’t healed, and will probably never be.

Too many times, the girls tried and still try to convince her to meet people who they think could be her potential soulmate. But she always refused. Love and soul mates have almost always been a taboo subject for her. She never wanted to be with anyone. And none of her friends knew that she had already found her soulmate. She even knew she had seven. She never told them about that. She never talked about him. The first of the seven soulmates she had that she met, centuries ago. The only one by the way. This person she lost because she was too weak, too stupid, and too young. And she never saw him again. She was sure she would never see him again.

Or at least, that’s what she thought. No matter what, soulmates always end up together.

That day began like others. Gahyeon came to see her in the morning, with a caramel macchiato and a croissant.

“Unnie! Don’t forget to eat! If you need help, you know where we are !”

She thanked her friend with a nod and a smile, already immersed in her new book. She just finished a herbology book last night, and now wanted to change and read a novel. It was a romance. She didn’t even remember she had Lisa Kleypas's books but well, It Happened in Autumn was on her personal bookshelf.

She took a sip of the coffee, almost burning her tongue at the warmness of the liquid, making her wince a little. She then took a bite of the croissant, chewing slowly while rereading the same passage for the third time.

She knew why these words were touching her so much

It may be time to take a break.

“Is the book so bad to make you sigh like that ?”

That sudden voice startled her. First, because she has yet to hear the new customer enter her store. Second, because his voice was… deep, soft, comforting, making her body shiver. She looked up at him, and time seemed to stand still for a few seconds.

Her eyes widened. Her breath stopped when she saw his face, felt his presence, and saw his gaze filled with an emotion that she only figured out much later. Because unlike her, when his eyes landed on her, he immediately understood. He knew who she was, and who she would be for him. And he never regretted it.

Her body, her mind, everything reacted viscerally at his presence. Even he seemed surprised, but he was the first one to come to his senses.

He gave her a smile, a smile so sweet, so tender, that her heart swelled with a warmth she hadn’t felt since… something like an eternity.

“Yeah… I mean, no !” she tried to act as normal as possible, smiling shyly “It’s just… a passage, nothing special !”

“What is it? It Would be awful to make you frown like that !” he asks gently, his grin showing small dimples she wanted to kiss suddenly.

“It’s… it’s not important! You’re the customer, after all, I’m sorry! What can I do for you, Sir ?”

This name on her lips, with this voice. Damn it. Namjoon could become addicted to it so soon… And they only just met each other. Did she feel the same things as him?

When he first came here, it was just curiosity. One of his friends recommended this new place, which opened a few months ago. According to this person, it was held by a powerful witch, as kind and sweet as beautiful. That's not what caught his attention at first. It was mainly because there were no specialized esoteric shops for demons like him and his partners.

But as soon as he set foot in the store, everything changed. A sweet smell came to tickle his nose. Her smell. A scent of vanilla. He recognized it immediately. This scent he had been waiting for since he was born. The scent of this special person he and his sixth other mates had been waiting for so long. This person they need in their life to be fully completed.

He looked up, searching for her, and there she was. In front of him, only a few feet away.

She was the most beautiful person he ever met. And he was an old demon. He met plenty of humans, witches, and other creatures in his long life.

Perched on her chair, her nose in her book that seemed to both disturb and hurt her for some reason he didn’t know and didn’t like at all. She wasn't supposed to have that pain on her pretty face. She was supposed to be happy. That’s all she deserved and he was willing to move and destroy mountains to make that happen.

He almost let out a grunt when he saw her burn her tongue with her coffee. So beautiful and so clumsy. He already knew Jin and Yoongi would be possessive and protective over her.

“I have time,” he replied, his smile didn’t want to disappear, “I’m not a big fan of Kleypas, but I read a few of her books.”

“Me neither to be honest” she answered with a nervous laugh “but I found it in my bookshelf and… I was curious, there, this part.”

She was about to give him the book, but she saw him rubbing the back of his head.

“I have a terrible sight and forgot to take my glasses, can you read it to me ?”

Actually… he had them. He never left without them. But he wanted to hear her voice just a little bit more.

She looked at him a little surprised, but let out a small laugh.

Oh.

Oh, that laugh. Namjoon’s heart almost dropped.

That simple noise sounded like a sweet song in his ears and made his heart almost skip a beat. That was the cutest sound he ever heard. Even Jungkook’s moans couldn’t compete with that. Namjoon was sure that the maknae would not be mad at this but would agree with him.

She took a glance at him. Why should he be so… so attractive? Why did she have that feeling of comfort and trust? She didn’t even know his name.

Oh, you already know why, sweet girl, he’s one of them, her inner voice whispered to her, but she quickly pushed it away.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be that. She didn’t even want to think about this word.

She inhaled deeply. With the book in her hands, she finally started to read the small lines, ignoring the aching in her heart :

“There is nothing on earth more beautiful to me than your smile...no sound sweeter than your laughter...no pleasure greater than holding you in my arms. I realized today that I could never live without you, stubborn little hellion that you are. In this life and the next, you’re my only hope of happiness. Tell me, Lillian, dearest love...how can you have reached so far inside my heart ?”

She had to pinch her lips together to hold back her tears. These words, these phrases. They brought back memories, happy memories that time made painful. Namjoon saw her reaction and had to restrain himself from hugging her, wrapping her in his arms to protect her. What happened to her for being hurt by such beautiful words? Maybe she fell in love with a person who made her suffer. He was ready to cross the world and the underworld to find them and make them suffer.

“I… I’m just not a fan of romance, too lovey-dovey for me, you know ?” she told him after a few seconds with a small laugh and shook her head, closing the book. “Ah, forget that, may I help you? Were you searching for something in particular ?”

She tried her best to mask all her negative feelings and the huge attraction she felt for him. He was her client, she had to stay professional. Namjoon understood it. He wasn’t worried. Now that he knew who she was and where she worked, he had plenty of time to get to know her, to tell others who she was, to tell them about her.

How he couldn’t wait for them all to be together! He would have loved to take her with him today, to have her meet her other mates, but he felt that something was making her reluctant and distant about soulmates' bond and everything related to it. A deep and still painful wound. He needed to be patient and make sure they all would be.

He already knew that Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung would be the hardest ones to contain. They were only young demons… only a few decades old. Still babies, always in the need to be stuck together or to one of the elders.

“Is everything okay, sir ?” She asked after a few seconds without any response from the man, worried.

“Yes… I mean, ahem. Yeah! Sure, I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“I came here out of curiosity, and heard about your place from a friend, Bangchan.”

“Oh, Chris! Sure I know him! His boyfriend Félix comes here pretty often, he’s a good friend !” She agreed with a smile. “So I assume you’re not a human too, maybe a vampire, like him ?”

“I’m a demon.” He answered with a smirk.

He had to be a demon. His (her) mates should be demons, too. Maybe he was with them? Maybe Namjoon has found all of his (their) other mates?

“Oh, I’m Kim Namjoon by the way, nice to meet you.” He told her. His smile didn’t want to disappear.

“Y/n, nice to meet you too, Namjoon.”

She hesitated when he offered her his hand, but took it. The small electric shocks she felt when their skins brushed together made her stop breathing again for a few seconds. She felt something inexplicable, specific to this particular bond, that she hadn’t felt since… for an eternity. She needed more, she wanted to feel more. She wanted him. She needed him.

Fuck, his hand was so big compared to hers. Long and pretty fingers fitting with hers perfectly…

This wasn’t good at all.

“Ah, this static electricity,” she muttered, laughing nervously, trying to refrain from these feelings inside her. “Hum… if you have any questions about magic, herbs, books, you know where I am…!”

“Yeah… yeah I know where you are… I wouldn't hesitate, thank you, y/n.”

Namjoon definitely knew that something was wrong. Something that made her suffer deeply and that blocked her from wanting and accepting the bond between her, him, and their six other soulmates. And he would do anything to find it out, to help her and finally get them all together.

°°°

Later that day, after the closure of her shop, once she's finally at home, showered and wearing her plaid, she sends a text to Gahyeon.

“Sorry to disturb you now Hyeonie but… can you come, please ?”

She didn’t need to wait for an answer. She wasn't the type of person to send the first message, even more to ask for help.

🦊: Unnie?

🦊: Is everything okay?

🦊: Did something happen?

🦊: Wait! No need to answer, I’m coming with food!

🦊: Handong is coming too!

Seeing her friend so concerned warmed her heart. Gahyeon was a blessing, like all the girls. She didn’t want to bother them, but she didn’t know what to do anymore, and loneliness was the last thing she could bear tonight,

It didn't take very long for her two friends to arrive at her house. Gahyeon immediately came to sit next to her on the sofa, Handong was behind her, a bag with food in her hands. She offered her a sweet smile, although she was also worried, as was Gahyeon who took her hands in hers.

“Tell us now! Have you met a rude customer? A weirdo tried to do something to you ?”

“No, not at all, Nothing bad happened, it's just… I met someone and…”

She made a pause and took a deep breath. Gahyeon and Handong looked at each other, suddenly concerned. She never called them for something like that. It was the first time she called them at almost midnight.

So it was quickly that they connected the dots.

“Wait, you mean you met one of your…”

“Don’t…” she began, her voice shaking, “Handong please, not this word…”

She squeezed Gahyeon's hand, holding back her tears as she remembered the events earlier this morning.

"He…” she began, hesitating, “he already met them, all of them, I felt it. I’m the last one and… it means,” she took a deep breath, but tears rolled down her cheeks without her controlling it, “it means that he’s with them…”

Gahyeon took her in her arms when she burst into tears. She couldn't hold back her emotions. She cried. She couldn’t stop even if she tried. Her heart hurt so much. All these years, these centuries of loneliness and suffering...

That guy she met today, Namjoon. He was one of her soulmates. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t deny it. He felt it too, she was sure about that. But no… she couldn’t… she didn’t want to live that again. And that’s why she broke down in Gahyeon’s arms. Because even if she met her soulmates, and could be with all of them, she would not and could not risk going through that again.

Not after what happened centuries ago, when she met her first soulmate, how she messed up, and how she lost him at a point where he forgot about who she was.

“Jinnie…” she whispered between two painful sobs, “Jin is with them…”

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hiddencitydweller · 9 months

Text

Kingdom Dance

Pairing: Donnie x GN!Reader

(Reader is wearing a skirt, so take that as you will)

Absolute fluff!

Summary: You somehow managed to convince your tech-loving boyfriend to attend a ren faire with you, where you find yourselves caught up in a dance.

(Basically Tangled meets Turtles)

Warnings: Does poor writing count? With the structure of this fic, I wanted it to be a little more from Donnie's perspective rather than the reader, which was considerably harder than I thought it would be rip.

Word Count: 3k

Song Referenced: Dulámán

A/N: You know in Tangled, that scene where Rapunzel and Flynn are in the town square and he is just watching her dance with this besotted look on his face? And then he joins in and it's the most electric and romantic thing in cinematic history? Well, this is that but with some minor tweaks.

For all the people who long for someone to look at them like Flynn looks at Rapunzel, this one's for you.

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

Let's make one thing clear—Donnie did not want to be here.

At least, that's what he kept saying.

Wooden shops lined the dirt road you traversed, uniquely dressed owners promoting their equally unique wares in their doorways. In some of the many open air booths, you could see countless novelties one would sooner find in Witch Town than your beloved New York City. Crystals, wands, leather armor, chainmail, and countless other fantasy-related items could be seen anywhere you looked—and not just in the shops.

Everyone around you was intricately dressed in some fantasy or medieval fashion. No two people looked alike. You were surrounded by elves, royalty, warriors, and even the occasional time-traveler or two. Even with Donnie's experience in the Hidden City and his grumbling at being here, he had to admit it all came together to create one fantastical sight.

When you had suggested the gang go to the local Renaissance Faire, Donnie had been more than skeptical. Of course Leo and Mikey were immediately in, going as far as planning their outfits and characters right on the spot. Raph took a little more convincing, but once you assured him how safe it really was (and that they could keep their weapons on hand without looking out of place) he caved into the younger brothers' excitement.

Your tech-loving boyfriend, however, took some more convincing.

To put it plainly, ren faires just weren't his scene. For starters, technology was bluntly discouraged, to which Donnie took personal offense. Then there was the fantasy element, which simply made no sense to him. His history with magic wielders had left nothing but a bad taste in his mouth, and he couldn't imagine why anyone would actively want to seek out that sort of experience, fake or otherwise. Not to mention the clear and unparalleled superiority of science to the nonsensical magic.

However, as you repeatedly brought up in your own arguments, you had gone to countless Comic-Cons, Galaxy-Cons and whatever other Sci-Fi conventions he and his brothers were able to drag you to over the years. It was only fair for them to return the favor.

"Besides, you may find you enjoy having a little more non-mystic fantasy in your life," you had said with a sly grin and wink.

And that's how he had landed here, clutching a wooden bo-staff as he trailed behind your near-bouncing form.

He had to admit, he was enjoying himself far more than he would ever openly say. While, true to form, there was very little tech to be found, there were plenty of other little intricacies that called his attention. From other faire-goers' costumes to the effects at the shows, there was plenty for his mind to dissect and look at. And there was you of course. He couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he watched you flit from stall to stall, gawking at the unique wares and happily chatting with other guests. You were as excited as he was whenever he finished a new project, and seeing you brimming with joy was just as intoxicating.

"Come on Dee! If we don't hurry, we'll miss the performance!" you whined as you continued to nearly drag him through the crowd towards a stout building that looked to be an open air pub. The two of you had just split from the rest of the group, choosing to visit some more shops and see some musical performances while the others went to watch the sword fights and jousting tournament (which Leo was determined to sneak his way into, much to Raph's dismay).

"There's only so fast I can go in this getup!" he shot back, but he still made an effort to pick up the pace. His usual gear had been replaced with a plain white linen shirt, brown pants, and an alchemist's apron with bottles of "chemical compounds" and "ingredients" strapped on. Heavy brown gloves, boots, and his signature goggles finished out the look.

"Are you kidding me?" you had said this morning when he came out of his lab, decked out in his alchemist gear.

"What? Alchemy is commonly used in fantasy and historical fiction, plus it's science! It's a win-win!"

Really you shouldn't have been surprised by his choice of costume, this was Donnie after all. He may have agreed to go along with this idea, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to bring science into it anyway he could.

Speaking of science...

"Based on the open structure of the building, the number of people, and the location of the stage, this table should have the optimal acoustics and volume for listening to the performance," Donnie rattled on, leading you to said table as he frantically typed calculations on his tech gauntlet which he had cleverly hidden underneath his glove.

"Really Donnie? Couldn't go one day without it?" you respond in mock exasperation. Honestly you were surprised that was the only piece of tech he had managed to smuggle in.

"Hey, it helped didn't it? Couldn't have found the best seats in the house without a little bit of, say it with me now, science!" he sang out, striking a pose and pulling some jazz hands. It had the desired effect as you laughed at his antics before softly pushing him down on the bench at the, apparently, best table in the house.

"Okay, okay, you got me there wise guy." You joined him on the bench but couldn't seem to stop moving with excitement. Donnie smiled as he felt your bouncing legs jostle him slightly, your eyes already trained on the stage where the musicians were setting up.

"So what exactly are we about to listen to? I'm assuming I shouldn't get my hopes too high for my usual?" Donnie had heard you talking about the group when you were discussing plans with everyone else, but he never picked up on what kind of music they actually played. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure techno and EDM were out of the question.

"Hardy har har, nice try. I think you'd be pretty hard-pressed to find anything off of your playlists here. This group does a mix of fantasy-based and traditional folk music. Every show they do is completely different, so you never really know what you're going to get. It'll probably be some more mainstream fantasy soundtracks and some of the folksy stuff. Ooo we may even get some sea shanties!" you practically squealed, your legs speeding up in their bouncing as you considered the possibilities. You couldn't help it. Even though your life was quite literally a living, breathing sci-fi movie, fantasy was your thing! You never felt more powerful than when you had a sword or bow in your hand or a corset wrapped around your waist.

Donnie let out chuckle at your antics, knowing full well how much all of this meant to you. While he couldn't exactly understand it, he found that he didn't really need to. Anything that made you this giddy was clearly something to be acknowledged, regardless of how confusing it appeared to him sometimes.

He turned his gaze from you and considered the stage, trying to see if he could analyze the instruments and predict any of the songs that might soon fill the space. Sure, it may not be exactly his taste, but he wasn't exactly unknowledgeable of this type of music. After all, you had shown him plenty of your own playlists. Maybe he should have spent more time listening to them and learning the music for this event. That was something he'd have to rectify for the future. Perhaps he could have S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. compile most of the songs so that he could...

"Hey Dee?"

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice you had stopped your excited leg bouncing and were now looking at him with a slightly abashed expression. He hummed in response, mind still whirring through instrument combinations and crossing off songs in a mental list.

"Thank you for doing this," you said in a small earnest voice. That had him finally turning his full attention back to you, a slight furrow between his brows. "Dressing up, leaving most of your tech behind, humoring me and my weird fascination with all this," you gestured at the faire around you, "I'm just... really happy to share it with you and am grateful you've let me. And I know it's not your cup of tea, and we can definitely go check out the weapons displays and everything or whatever else you may—" your ramblings were cut off by a soft kiss on your cheek.

You stared at him, eye wide and mouth in a small O. Donnie was never one for PDA, but you were finding there were occasionally some exceptions to the rule.

"I'm grateful that you want to share this part of you with me. I want to know every part of you, even if it's not technically my thing. Goodness knows you've dealt with enough techno-talk to last a life time," he said softly, smile still playing across his lips. Seeing you so concerned about including him in this precious part of your world had his chest filling with warmth he wasn't quite sure what to do with.

That seemed to be your specialty, completely rocking his known universe with a single line and a smile.

You huffed a laugh and leaned forward the extra few inches to rest your forehead against his, your own smile broadening. "I happen to like your techno-talks thank you very much."

"How could you not? They are chock full of brilliance!" he smirked as you laughed, leaning back far enough to playfully shove at his arm.

It's then that you both heard the first few notes float from the stage as the music group made their entrance and introductions. You quickly swiveled yourself away from Donnie and towards the stage. Donnie chuckled at your immediate response, watching your face light up before he turns as well.

True to what you said, the group did perform a variety of music, none of which matched up with the list Donnie had conjured in his head earlier, much to his chagrin. (He would definitely need to connect with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. about it when he got home.)

The flitting notes and boisterous chords were quite a contrast to his usual tastes, but he still found himself nodding and stomping along to the thick beats and steady rhythm. He could feel the sound reverberate around him, creating an almost electric energy throughout the space that left him in excited awe. At one point, the group played a popular sea shanty that even he knew. The two of you sang and stomped along to the song, bumping each and smiling the whole way through.

After what felt like only minutes but was really closer to an hour, the group announced it was time for their final song. You sighed and leaned into Donnie's arm, content written across your features. He smiled softly down at you, perfectly content himself at your expression. The close proximity allowed him to feel more than hear your slight gasp as the final song started. His smile turned quizzical at your reaction, but your slowly widening eyes remained trained on the stage, leaving his question unanswered.

A repetitive, steady drumbeat rang out and was soon joined by low voices singing in a layered harmony intertwining with the solid beat. Donnie furrowed his brow as he listened. He couldn't quite pick up what they were singing, but he was sure it wasn't English. His hypothesis was confirmed when the lead singer, an ethereal looking woman with bright red hair, stepped to the mic and began to sing an upbeat and lilting melody. Her voice seemed to skip across the base created by the drums and other voices like a stone on a pond, creating an intricate blend of sound and lyrics that Donnie just couldn't understand.

Not one to leave the unknown alone, he shifted his arm and pulled up his tech gauntlet once again. He quickly used the audio feature to search up the song and analyze its mysterious language. Victorious in his endeavor, he turned back towards you to once again prove science's superiority, but he froze when his gaze fell on you.

In his quest to understand the song, he hadn't noticed your clear recognition of it. Or that you had started singing along.

"Bróga breaca dubha are an dúlamán gaelach..."

Your voice was soft, filling only the air around the two of you. Much like the lead singer, the notes flitted around the space, seeming content to fly through the air and never land. The Gaelic, as his tech claimed the language to be, rolled off your tongue as if it was made specifically for you.

"Tá bearéad agus triús are an dúlamán maorach..."

His gaze seemed locked on you, entranced by the sight. With an absent flick of his wrist, the now forgotten screen turned off, taking with it the typed out lyrics and their translation. Donnie suddenly no longer had the urge to dissect the song and its meaning. He was perfectly content to interpret it through your eyes and voice alone.

Completely unaware of your captive audience, you continued to sing. You felt the words take form on your lips as they had dozens of times before. Your eyes shone bright and your smile took on a dreamy nature. You couldn't help but move with the song, shifting your head along with the melody and even going so far as to bring your hands up to your chest on particularly powerful lines. You were completely lost in the melody and the story it held.

And Donnie was lost in you.

Donnie prided himself on his mental clarity, his ability to analyze and think through any and everything he came across. But in that moment, his brain came to a complete stop. The single-minded focus that had time and time again helped him create so many incredible and life-saving inventions was now solely on you and the wonderous scene you had unwittingly created.

And if that wasn't enough to make him fall in love with you all over again, you then began to dance.

The song hit a mild break, with the drums and backup vocals taking over for the lead singer. The base of the song still rumbling on, she stood at the mic and encouraged anyone who wanted to to come to the open space in the middle of the pub and dance.

Seemingly without a second thought, you shot up and joined the few other people who had taken the singer up on the offer. Donnie jolted backwards at your quick movements, so lost in your song he hadn't even noticed what the lead singer had said. Still, his eyes tracked you as you hastily made your way to the center of the pub.

With the thumping rhythm of the drums as your background, you danced like nothing in the world could stop you. Shoes long ago abandoned, your bare feet slid and stomped on the floor. You spun, causing your layered skirts to flare out in a moment of untouched beauty and passion. A laugh sprung from your lips as you continued to twist around and fling your shirts haphazardly. Nothing had ever felt so freeing, so magical.

If Donnie had thought he was mesmerized before, he couldn't begin to comprehend what he was now. There was absolutely nothing that could take his eyes off of your constantly moving and shifting form. Your face was lit up in such pure and unadulterated joy as you continued to spin and twist and stomp along to the music. It was as if you were a fire finally set free, and Donnie would gladly burn to see but an ounce of your passion.

The lead singer joined back into the song, bringing it to its full intricate beauty once again. At the shift, you turned, eyes locking on Donnie's. Somehow, your smile widened as you nearly floated back to his side, hands outstretched in invitation.

"Come on, they don't call you Booty Shaker for nothing, do they?" you asked cheekily. Chest heaving and face already pink from exhilaration, you looked radiant in your bliss.

Donnie couldn't contain his laugh as he accepted your hands. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Hand in hand, you led him back to the where you had been dancing. He instantly took the lead, pushing you away from him and then back in with a flourishing spin. The two of you swept across the floor, stepping towards and away from each other as you dodged other couples and guests. Donnie felt light as air. Nothing had ever felt so natural as twisting and turning you around the space. He caught sight of your smile once more, a beaming look created by and for him and him alone, and his heart completely melted. There was nothing more freeing, more right than this.

The song built to its crescendo, and so did your movements. You both continued to blaze a path as you dipped and twirled your way to the center of the floor. Just as the song flourished to its conclusion, you ended up tucked into each others' arms, trying to catch your breaths as you came face to face with the other's matching grin. Around you, the gathered crowd cheered. Even the music group applauded your efforts. But it all might as well have been background noise. Donnie heard and saw nothing but you, breath heaving and laughter on your lips. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Shifting his hands from their hold on your frame, he reached up and cupped your cheeks, gently pulling you into a passionate kiss. You melted into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. When you finally pulled away, you didn't go far. Resting your foreheads together, you looked into each others' eyes and couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

Maybe he could get into this ren faire thing after all.

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wangxianficfinder · 8 months

Text

Fic Finder

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1. Hello...how are you. I'm looking for two fix

a) I don't know if it will make sense. I think it was a time travel fanfiction and wei ying was doing a mock night hunt with the juniors and every time jiang cheng and wei ying met will chose a group for themselves and do this mock night hunting.

b) Lan Zhan was hit with an isolation curse. He first lost his hearing then sight and eventually feelings but wei ying still found a way to commicate with him @hewhomustnotbenamed24

1A)

FOUND? And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

1B)

FOUND? shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi ( E, 24k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Night hunts, Curses, Intimacy, Light Angst with a Happy Ending)

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2. hi wonderful people! i've never done this before so hopefully i'm doing it right. i am very desperate to find this fic because it's haunting my brain!! i remember wei ying gets encased in some sort of crystal in jinlintai during jin ling's one month celebration or near that time and is kept hidden there. there was this one part where someone tried to break it and they were attacked by resentful energy? i'm pretty sure it was an everybody lives fic and it was quite long, if that helps! thanks! <;3 @circussocks

FOUND! laughing shadow by ich_bin_ein_stern (M, 32k, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Blood Magic, Misunderstandings, Found Family, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon Divergence)

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3. Hello

There is this fic i read some time ago

Wwx took the curse off a ghost. the curse said you won't be able to see the ppl who have very strong feelings about you

Wwx thinks it's hate and is very heartbroken when he can't see anyone, and starts spiraling and explaining to himself why ppl hate him

FOUND? See Me, Feel Me (Listening to You) by Ghost_Honey (T, 29k, WangXian, POV WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX’s Abyssmal Self-Esteem, Emotional Healing, Angst, The Juniors love their Senior Wei, Curses, WWX is an Unreliable Narrator, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling)

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4. I'm looking for a modern AU meet-cute where single dad WWX goes to a party at JYL + JXY's place (I think he gives JYL an ink painting for her birthday). Wen Chao hits on him and WWX needs an escape. He sees LWJ looking at a painting and pretends they're married, and LWJ immediately rolls with it to play the protective husband. They're smitten and leave together. LWJ makes pancakes the next morning and wins over A-Yuan. The fic is under 10k, I think, and probably E-rated for smut. Thanks so much!

FOUND! feel it so strong (we don’t even have to say goodbye) by curiositea (E, 6k, wangxian, Modern Setting, Strangers to Lovers, Love at First Sight, Single Parent WWX, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Underprep, LWJ's Canonically Huge Cock, WC Being an Asshole, Fake/Pretend Relationship) except the Ink Painting for Yanli's birthday is from a different fic, the best of you by Sysrae

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5. hi! I'm finding this fic on ao3 where Wei Wuxian is from a minor sect. I think he was from Tianshan He (the clan that JGY and XY murdered in Villaneous Friends but I'm not very sure. The plot was starting from the Wen Discussion Conference I think ? Everyone is surprised to see a minor clan get the top spots because of Wei Wuxian, and take keen interest in him @wutheringskies

FOUND! every world, every universe by glitteringmoonlight (T, 5k, wangxian, HS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWX is in Tingshan He, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Fix-It of Sorts, Genius WWX, WIP) WWX is the Tingshen He head disciple who surprised everyone by winning the Wen archery tournament

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6. im looking for a fic but all i can remember is that after lan xichen caused wwx's death (killed him? kept lwj frok saving him? led a siege) lan wangji challenged him to a fight. for years after lxc refused to talk about his brother at conferences and i think? lwj left the cultivation world behind or went into hiding with ayuan? any help appreciated 🙏🏾 @onlyegret

Not FOUND! 💖 demons run when a good man goes to war by Miranda_Aurelia (T, 20k, wangxian, LWJ & NHS, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, angst w happy ending, NHS & LWJ friendship, not JGY friendly, dark LWJ, revenge, (presumed) major character death, not LXC friendly) might be demons run when a good man goes to war. if not, you may enjoy it anyway.

FOUND! Skin Tight by liverbiver9 (M, 28k, WangXian, Trans Female WWX, Gender Changes, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Transphobia, implied/mentioned but not super explicit, mentioned hate crimes, Sentient Burial Mounds, Chronic Pain, Major Character Injury, Permanent Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Found Family, but they're ghosts!, Queer Themes, Queer Families, Sunshot Campaign, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Pining, Self-Worth Issues, YLLZ WWX, Hurt WWX, Genius WWX, Misunderstandings, Bittersweet Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending, kind of a happy ending?, JC Fucks Up, Misgendering, deadnaming, Implied Transphobia, depends on how you look at it tbh, Canon Temporary Character Death, Self-Sacrifice, Epistolary, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, but posthumously, rating for body horror and mature themes, not sexually explicit) this one has a scene like that near the end!

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7. hi! i'd love help finding a fairly popular (?) time travel fic that's escaping my searching ability somehow... it's a lil short, from at least a year ago. post-siege lwj is sent back to sunshot, and wants to do better by wwx, but wwx is already friendlier to him, and takes him flying to where he's hidden the wens. they play music to a-yuan, and then! (spoiler haha) it turns out to be post-canon wwx <3 idk why i can't find it, so thank you!

FOUND! More than a Dream of You by VoidRune (T, 8k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ centric, Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Talks of Demonic Cultivation)

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8. Hi, you seem like you know things and I have exhausted myself trying to find this fic.

It’s about Wei Ying, his siblings and the Wen siblings living in a house together, modern era, while he renovates it little by little. He is actually a tattoo artist but isn’t working atm. Then Lan Zhan moves in and stays in Yanli’s room with her so he assumes that he is Yanli’s bf but never opens his mouth to ask. Lan Zhan and Yanli are actually best friends and while Wei Ying and Lan Zhan instantly click he tries to push Lan Zhan away because he thinks he is dating his sister. I vividly remember this fic but no matter what tag combos I try, I can’t find it. If you can find it you’d be my heroes :) Lan Zhan also wears skirts here which is always a bonus.

FOUND? could be Once Upon a Place by zeldasayre (E, 80k, WangXian, House restoration, Falling In Love, Misunderstandings, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Bisexual WWX, Trans Male WWX, Gay LWJ, JYL & LWJ Friendship, Modern AU, Set somewhere in America, Tattoo Artist WWX, Librarian LWJ, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Domestic) I looked it up by the tattoo artist Wei ying tag, I haven't read it tho

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9. It's a modern-day college AU - Wei Wuxian has a roommate who is very confused why he keeps rhapsodizing about someone named Long John (as the roommate hears it)

FOUND? Long John by hasu (G, 3k, wangxian, modern, Crack Fluff, POV Outsider, College/University au)

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10. hi I'm looking for a modern au where lwj is kidnapped by the wen and wwx is being forced to work for them but they realize they're soulmates(?) and i think they might have memories of their past lives. wwx has to help the wen cuz jyl and jc are being held hostage. please and thanks 🙏🏾 @onlyegret

FOUND! in another life by dogear (M, 33k, WIP, WangXian, Past Lives, Enemies to Lovers, WWX POV)

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11. I can’t find this fic and it’s driving me crazy! It was a modern college au, and lwj brought wwx back to his family ranch for break. The premise was that wwx stole lwjs hat to wear, and everyone was giving them looks because there’s a saying like ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy.’ There’s a scene where lwj literally grabs a bull by the horns and wrestles it to protect wwx. In the end lwj tells wwx about the saying and they fuck. I think this fic might be hidden/deleted but I can’t be sure? Even a link for the way back machine would be amazing. Thank you!! (I know exactly which fic this is but I cannot find it either :( I hope it wasn't deleted - Mod C) @adeametea

FOUND? 11 on recent FicFinder might be Local Cowboy Goes To Town (On A Poor Defenseless Twink) by Pancho. Unfortunately, Pancho's works are currently hidden due to AI scrapping

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12. Hello! I’m looking for a fic I read a while back where Wei Wuxian was resurrected by Qin Su, finds out that he is pregnant by Jim Guangyao, and tricks Lan Xichen into thinking that the child is his. I’ve been searching everywhere for this fic but I can’t seem to find it!

FOUND? So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 41k, WIP, MY/QS, MY/WWX, WangXian, Reincarnation, Half-Sibling Incest Mention!, QS does the ritual instead of MXY, WWX as a woman, MY Is His Own Warning, Canon Divergence, Impersonation, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Please check the notes before reading a chapter, Timeline What Timeline, WWX Has PTSD)

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13. Hello I’m trying to find a fic i read a few years ago it was modern day and lan zhan kidnapped Wei wuxian who works at a coffee shop to be his husband and he keeps he locked up in a penthouse and he wasn’t allowed to look out the windows and one chapter he had a fever and stepped on broken glass. @stitch97

FOUND? Courtship Rite by FunkyShoes (M, 26k, WangXian, XiYao, Dark LWJ, Dark LXC, Morally Gray JGY, Malicious NHS, but that's not the focus of the story, banality of evil, Kidnapping, Courtship Gone Wrong, Manipulation, Mind Manipulation, Off Screen Violence, Supportive Sibling LXC, Modern AU, Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, I've been told I should tag for passive victim wwx) I think. It's JGY POV

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14. I'm looking for a fic, but the main problem is I'm not sure if it was on AO3, Tumblr or Twitter (and if it was Twitter, I think I read it as an unrolled thread). LWJ visits WWX in Lotus Pier and at one point gets accidentally whipped by YZY when she was aiming for WWX. He demands WWX's hand in marriage as reparation and I think LXC was a little exasperated but didn't contest it.

Thank you in advance, and no worries if you can't find it! (I feel like I read something like this recently but which of them was it is the problem TvT ~Mod L)

FOUND! Tumblr post by ronniexian I’m fairly certain it’s this

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15. I’m looking for a Cloud Recesses fic where Wei Wuxian wants to signal that he and Lan Wangji are courting so he grinds ink for him before class.

FOUND! 💖 Magical Marriage Ribbons Series by starandrea (Varies, 1m, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Accidental Marriage, Fluff, Happy Ending, Telepathic bond, Kink Negotiation, Family Drama, Magical Pregnancy, Dual Cultivation, Shapeshifters, Modern with Magic, Immortality, Yilling Wei Sect, podfic) I think #15 is one of the early worlds in the magical marriage ribbons series by starandrea. I'm not sure which, but I think there's a 30(?) Days of secret courting in cloud recess in it

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16. hi! for the fic finder: i remember only one scene from a fic where at a cultivation conference both lan xichen and nie mingjue kiss jiang yanli on the cheek. i think it was either to make jin zixuan aware of jyl or otherwise a result of someone's political scheming? i dont remember whose idea it was but it wasn't lxc or nmj's. im positive this fic is in my bookmarks somewhere but i dont remember enough to find it lmao

FOUND? Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo) nhs convinces nmh and lwj to kiss jyl on the cheek at the phoenix mountain hunt to make jzx jealous

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17. This is a hyper specific ask because the only things I remember about this fic is wangxian are in university and wwx is an art major or in some art class where he shares this big space with a bunch of classmates that's divided up with tape. At some point he gets into a fight with another classmate cause he stuff spills over and lwj helps him. I think it might have been lwj's pov?

FOUND! could it be "show me a quiver, give me tonight" or its part 2 "crossed the world with these empty hands" by spookykingdomstarlight

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18. I’m looking for a fic where Lan Wangji first meets Wei Wuxian as his doctor, with Jiang Cheng storming out of his room shouting that Lan Wangji should just kill him because obviously WWX didn’t value his own life. (WWX had pushed JC out of the way of a car.) LW is darkly amused by it. He’s mildly obsessed with the pearl drop WWX wears? Runs into him in the meat department later, & eventually moves WWX in. Loves having him in their apartment, providing for him. Possibly too much @any-mouse

FOUND! singularity by azuresummer (E, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Serial Killers, Dark LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Serial Killer LWJ, Doctor LWJ, Stalking, Manipulation, Obsession, Mentions of Murder) I think 18 is singularity! Where lwj is a doctor/serial killer that stalks wwx at forst to kill him but falls in love wih him instead

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19. hi. i'm searching for a fic, i don't remember much except the wei family is actually a merchant family and wei changze is their 3rd or 2nd young master. wy inherited all his father wealth and let the butler to continue doing it for him? then the wei family send dowry to cloud recesses, lotus pier n qinghe? withdrawn their business from lanling jin? anyone know where i can find it? thank you. :) @aishiteru-amie

FOUND! Keep Holding On by abCEE (M, 316k, JC & WWX & JYL, wangxian, canon divergence, role reversal, YLLZ JYL, yunmeng sibling dynamics, good uncle LQR, sunshot campaign, PTSD, established relationship, angst w/ happy ending) I think its around chapter 36-37?

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20. Hi !! I've been looking everywhere for a fic (or maybe two ?) that takes place in the north (or south?) pole. I remember that they get trapped in there, and something is very wrong. I THINK that there was something about resentement-virus or something ? It was quite a while ago... I'm in the mood for Wangxian in the Arctic and i can't find it !!! xD If you managed to find it (or any like it...) Thank you so much by advance !! @czeriah

FOUND? and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fantasy, Reality TV, Arctic Survival, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Getting Together, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Bloodletting, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Animal Death, Hunting, Mild Sexual Content)

FOUND? Found in the Sharpness of Contrasts by nickel710 (T, 35k, wangxian, modern cultivation, Antarctic Expedition, Magic and Science, Fear, Survival Horror, Body Horror but pretty minimal, chapter notes will explain if you need more info, idiots to lovers, Mystery, Falling In Love, Case Fic, Worldbuilding, Featuring a Generator Named Bertha, Panic/Acute Anxiety) a modern with cultivation fic set on an Antarctic research base

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#wangxianficfinder #wangxian fic search #wangxian fic finder #long post #wangxian #mdzs #the untamed

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

When The Sun Goes Down

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: cue Diet Mountain Dew by Lana Del Rey

Summary: Your first date with Joel doesn’t go exactly as planned [2.6k]

Warnings: Joel being an asshole, reader being (rightfully) mean to Joel, fake dating, a little (a lot) smoochy smooch

There's a knock on your door at 7:15. You think about giving him shit about being fifteen minutes late, but when you open the door, he has a bouquet of red roses in his hand. You take a deep breath as you glance between him and the flowers. He cleans up nicely. He's wearing a sleek white shirt tucked into a pair of slacks and a gold chain peeking from his collar. "You look nice," he compliments with a smile. You glance around and spot a black van down the block with the unmistakable round lens of a camera up to the window. "Ready to go?" He asks, pulling your attention back to him. You smile and nod.

"Let me put these in water first, and then we can go," you say, turning on your heels to walk back into the kitchen. You hear him grumble and you roll your eyes the second you hear the door close behind him. "Did you buy these of your own volition, or was it contractually obligated?"

"It was my manager's idea." He says, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he watches you move around the kitchen. You pull a vase down from the top shelf of your cabinet, your black dress riding up just a little bit. You turn to the sink and catch his eyes on your legs.

"Well, tell Pauly I said thank you." You say, ignoring the unexpected attention.

"Don't call him Pauly."

"Why not? He's the only one who showed me an ounce of kindness yesterday."

"We really don't have to do this. Especially if you're gonna act like this."

"If you don't like the way I act, I'm sure we can find someone else who would happily take your place," you say, repeating his words from the day before. His jaw works as he grinds his teeth together, but he stays silent. You cut the stems on the roses and place them in the crystal vase before resting your elbows on the counter. "We need to set some ground rules before we actually start this."

"Ground rules?" He asks

"I don't care if you kiss me, hold my hand, or whatever PDA our team wants. I'm trusting you with that much," you say. You expect him to say something snarky, but he doesn't. He fiddles with his keys in his pocket and nods. "And I don't want you to touch me anywhere inappropriate. In public and in private."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good." You grab your purse off the counter and walk to the front door without anything further. He follows behind you and opens the door before you can even touch the handle and plaster on a sticky sweet smile for the cameras. He walks you to his expensive-looking car and opens the passenger side door for you. You smile and squeeze his bicep.

The car ride is silent except for the low hum of his radio. It's set on a classic rock station, and he taps along to the drum line on his steering wheel. You watch the movement with curious eyes, and he catches you staring. He doesn't seem annoyed, but he doesn't smile at you, either. He just stares at you with his deep brown eyes like he's trying to figure you out. You look away first and mess with the chain of your necklace.

"How long have you been playing music?" You ask.

"We don't have to keep pretending when there are no cameras." He says, his tone suddenly harsh, and you roll your eyes.

"Jesus Christ, all I did was ask you a fucking question."

"My whole life. I've been playin' music my whole life," he finally relents. It's just enough information to satisfy you and just vague enough for him to be comfortable. You're surprised he even answered you. "How long have you been acting?"

"I've been in the industry for about four years now, but I was acting way before that." You say, and he hums. He doesn't follow up with a question, and you decide to quit while you're ahead. When you get to the restaurant, he makes a show of dutifully escorting you inside and giving his keys to the valet. The hostess gives you a hidden table in the back. It's out of earshot of anyone else, and there are lit candles in the middle. It's all very romantic, and you gush about it in front of the host so she has something to report back to news outlets when they find out about this. Joel thanks the host and pulls your chair out for you before he can cross the table. If this was an actual date, he would win major points for having such good manners.

You order a cocktail, and he orders some kind of whiskey before you guys scan the menu in silence. You're debating whether to get the Rissoto or the margarita pizza when Joel's foot bumps yours under the table. You look up and see him glancing at something behind you. You don't have to turn around to know that you two have an audience. You smile and reach for his hand across the table, his calloused palms sliding against yours. He doesn't hesitate to squeeze your hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your skin. "That tickles!" You giggle in a high pitch. He laughs, too, and rests your hands back on the table as the waitress comes over with your drinks. She takes your orders before disappearing to the back again, leaving you and Joel alone.

You two move closer and closer together until you're sitting on the same side of the table, your head in your hand as you gaze at him. You have to admit, he's very handsome up close. His salt-and-pepper beard is full except for a few patchy parts that you could find endearing. His nose is prominent and bumpy, and his lips are curled in a crooked smirk. Not to mention the fluffy curls that fall over his forehead just so. You understand why people throw themselves at him. He smiles and puts a hand on your knee as he nurses his drink.

"You're staring," he mumbles, and you scoff.

"I'm supposed to be madly in love with you. I think it's okay," you say so only he can hear, and he shrugs. You slip his drink out of his hand and take a sip, the dark brown liquor burning the whole way down. "What would you rather me do?"

"Where are you from?"

"Twenty questions? That's what you do on a first date?" You ask, and he laughs. For a second, you think it sounds real.

"Humor me, would ya?" His face is relaxed, and his hand is warm on your knee, and it might be the alcohol, but you decide to oblige. You tell him about your hometown, and he actually listens before telling you he's from Texas. You go back and forth even after the food comes out, asking about first loves, college, and even your worst talk show experiences.

"No, I don't believe you for a second!" You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You don't have to believe me 'cause it still happened."

"You were hungover when you did that summer concert for the Today Show?"

"Deathly. Even had to get an IV when we got off stage," he says, and you can't help but laugh at the image of him getting hooked up to a saline solution because of how sick he was. "What? What's so funny about that?"

"Everything! Don't you know the cardinal sin of morning talk shows is showing up hungover?"

"I know people who've shown up still drunk."

"Really?" You ask, and he hums. You glance around the restaurant and realize it's mostly empty, and the only people left are you and Joel. You uncross your arms and rest one on the back of his chair, turning to look at something behind you so you can whisper in his ear. "When you see the waitress coming back to the table, kiss me." He turns his head to look around before placing a hand on your jaw and turning your face toward his. His lips are on yours a second later. His mustache scratches you, and he tastes like whiskey and something dangerous. He's gentle and firm, but he doesn't push any boundaries. His hand stays on your face, his fingers grazing the skin of your neck, making your breath hitch. You faintly hear footsteps approach, and Joel turns away from you to look at the bright red waitress. You pretend to be embarrassed about getting caught and hide your face in Joel's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to drop off your bill and let you know that we will be closing soon." She apologizes, but Joel shakes his head and tells her not to worry. He hands her his black debit card without even looking at the bill, and she's off. You smile as you pick your head up and look at him.

"Alright, I have another question for you," you say. He raises his eyebrows like he's telling you to go on, and you glance over your shoulder to make sure nobody's lurking. "Why'd you punch that guy?"

"What guy?"

"The guy that's the whole reason I'm here." You say quietly. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he thinks, but he schools his expression when the waitress returns with his card. He's silent as he signs the bill, leaving a 25% tip, and you bump him under the table to get his attention.

"I'm done playing this game." He snaps, his attitude completely changing. You're taken aback by his response and even more confused when he stands and pulls your chair out for you once more. You stand, and he shrugs out of his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders before escorting you to the front of the restaurant, both of you wishing the staff a good night. Cameras flash, and people yell questions at you the second you two step onto the sidewalk, and you grip Joel's arm as he steers you to the car. You can practically hear E! News gushing about how cute you look together when in reality your picture-perfect date just got ruined.

The entire drive back to your house, he doesn't say anything. You try to say something about how good that went, and you're sure the waitress will have a story to sell to whatever news outlet wants it. He doesn't even acknowledge you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, you're more than annoyed with how childish he's being over a perfectly fair question. It's not like you asked for his Social Security number. You asked a legitimate question about something that happened not even thirty-six hours ago. Hell, his knuckles are still swollen from the force of the punch. The second the car rolls to a stop, you unlock the door and get out.

"Have a good night, Joel." You say, ready to slam the door in his face, but he's already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Will you, at least, let me walk you to the door?"

"I thought you said we didn't have to keep pretending when there aren't any cameras," you say. You're being a little dramatic, and you'll be the first to admit it, but after the way he acted yesterday, you think you're allowed to. You fish your keys from your purse and walk to your front door. Joel calls your name and you roll your eyes. "Is there a reason you don't like me, or are you just an asshole to everyone?" You ask as you turn to look at him, the arms of his jacket swinging around you.

"Is this because I didn't answer your stupid question?"

"Or because of pretty much everything that led to tonight. The way you talked to me in the office, not answering my question, ignoring me the whole way home when I thought we had a pretty decent night. Do you even realize how fucking frustrating you are?"

"Right back atcha, sweetheart," he says, and you huff as you grip your keys. "Look, I don't wanna do this anymore than you do. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can go back to my life, and you can go back to whatever big wig you had to sleep with to get here." You take two big steps to get in his face, your chests touching as rage rolls through you.

"Let's get one thing fucking clear: I've never slept with anyone to get anywhere. I studied, and I worked shitty jobs, and I went to every audition, and I lost years of my fucking life to be where I am now. I don't care if you think I'm some bitch who puts on dresses and plays pretend for a living, but you will not accuse me of fucking my way to the top. Do you understand me?" Your words are precise and cutthroat and hit right where you want them to as you stare at him. You worked your ass off to get here. You deserve to be here, and you will not let a man like Joel Miller tell you otherwise. Something flickers behind his eyes, and he swallows.

"Yes."

"Good, because if you ever say anything like that to me again, I will ruin your fucking life and have fun doing it," you say. Before you can get one last word in, you catch a pair of tires squealing down your block, and something deep in your chest tells you it's photographers trying to catch a goodnight kiss. Joel seems to have the same thought because he quickly crowds you against your front door, and you let him, despite the burning anger in your chest. You bite the inside of your cheek until you can taste blood. "You better make this worth it, Miller."

His last name gets cut off as he kisses you. This kiss is starkly different from the one at the restaurant. This one is bruising and clashing teeth as his hands splay across your ribs. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of your dress. You pull him closer when you hear breaks squeak to a stop and know that the paparazzi are right behind you. His hand slides down your side, past your hip, and encourages your leg up to his hip. He bites at your lip a little too harshly, and you pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, a deep groan rumbling in his chest at the feeling. He dips his head to mouth at your jaw, low enough to look like he's kissing your neck from far away but high enough for you to allow it. His teeth scrape at your pulse, and your body involuntarily arches into him. You think you hear him chuckle as the photographer's car speeds away.

You can imagine how the photos will be captioned in the morning, how they'll all praise what a good couple you already are, and some will even make jokes about how they wish they could be either of us. But this doesn't feel romantic or dreamy like they imagine it does. This feels like war.

#rockstar!joel miller #one for the money two for the show #joel miller drabble #joel miller series #joel miller au #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #the last of us au #tlou au

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witchescollection · 4 months

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so you think shiny rocks are cool, huh? (masterlist)

if u are like me and secretly a magpie, here's some links to embrace ur understanding of them shinies! <3

buying crystals and spotting fakes

a guide for buying crystals

consumer witches and fake crystals

but sage... what if i have fake crystals?

consumerism and capitalism within witchcraft

(these are more overall to witchcraft, but something I think especially applies to crystals as they echo a lot of consumerist culture and are also what people tend to get into first!)

the marketing potential of witchcraft

witchcraft and materialism

how to actually use crystals

how to use crystals

crystal correspondences

another crystal correspondence

cleansing and charging with crystals (specifically selenite)

crystal care

crystal care for your specific crystals (and their scientific information!)

the issues with crystals

should you stop buying crystals

the actual scientific benefit of crystals - there is not a quick fix for chronic illness or mental health issues, and crystals have not been proven to have any benefits.

i hope this helps!

#witchblr #wicca #pagan #hearth witch #folk witch #witchcraft #divination #tarot #astrology #paganism #crystal #crystals #crystal witch

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peachdues · 8 months

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Small Phanta update

I managed to write ~2200 words today, some of which included the most emotional scenes out of Part III, so I'm calling it a day. It's still nowhere near done lmao, I'm sorry y'all.

I did, however, finish one scene, and it's not really that big of a spoiler, so I figured I would share it. It's finally some fluff/a soft moment between Y/N and Sanemi, but it takes place before they make up and make out.

Hope you guys enjoy!

CW: body insecurity/ scar insecurity and reassurance. light angst at the end.

Y/N watched her friends sprint into the shallow of the turquoise lake with a small bit of envy. She wanted, so very badly, to join them, but she’d miscalculated the coverage that her swimsuit afforded her, and to her horror, she’d realized that the mark Douma’d left on her would be on full display the moment she removed the oversized button-down she’d used as a cover-up.

“Y/N! C’mon!” Mitsuri entreated her as her head popped back up from under the surface of the water, her hair tinged a dark pink from the water.

Absentmindedly, her hand raised to the spot where Douma had soiled her and rubbed, the slight pain from her stimulation of the still-healing wound forcing her to remain in the present instead of back in that blasted, dark bedroom.

“I think I’ll work on my tan for now!” Y/N called back, plastering a wide, fake smile on her face to assuage any worry. Not that she needed to, because before Mitsuri could question her further, Obanai snuck up from beneath her and raised her out of the water on his shoulders, the pinkette laugh-screaming as she flailed about to keep herself upright.

A crunch of gravel next to her caused her to tense, because she knew that all of her other friends were accounted for, splashing about in the serene crystal of the lake.

All of them, except for him.

Sanemi said nothing to her as he drew up next to her, though he maintained a respectful distance. He too, watched their friends laugh and play in the water for a moment, his hands shoved in the pockets of his red swim trunks.

Y/N tried to be sneaky as she allowed her eyes to roam the sculpted plains of his exposed torso, marveling at the muscle that seemed to be carved from stone. Since the summer, he’d gained a bit of a tan, his skin now a lustrous nutty gold, that, against the white blonde of his hair, created an attractive contrast that made her mouth water.

God, he was beautiful; it pissed her off.

The tension between them was electric, as neither wanted to be the first to break the silence growing ever louder between them.

“No one will stare, y’know,” Sanemi caved first, though he did not tear his eyes away from where they were fixed resolutely on the horizon beyond the lake. “They all want you to feel comfortable, so they won’t look.”

Y/N was about to snippily ask him why he was butting in on her business, even though her irritation was because he’d read her mood so easily – too damn easily, for that matter. She tilted her head up, readying her venom, but before she could bite, the words died on her tongue.

Sanemi’s tan hadn’t been able to obscure the scars of varying lengths and thickness which crossed his chest, forearms, and half of his face; if anything, his sun-kissed skin only made the silvery, jagged slashes stand out.

As she’d looked up at her former friend, she was reminded that he knew exactly how she felt at that moment – had felt that insecurity, every day, since they were eleven and a drunk driver had slammed into his parent’s station wagon, killing everyone but him and Genya.

I don't care if you have scars! She'd told him, once. I've always thought you were...were...pretty!

She winced at the memory, but painful and intrusive as it was, she still couldn’t find it within her to throw his attempt at reassurance back in his face. Y/N’s heart might have been a lowly, misshapen, shriveled lump, but she still had one.

And besides, she wouldn’t lie to herself; his words had soothed some of her anxieties, damn him.

“Thanks,” she said softly, and she gave him a small, tentative half-smile. She hated the look of hope that flickered to life in his eyes at the sight.

She hated the guilt that sunk into her gut even more.

#demon slayer #sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny sanemi #kny fanfic #kny x reader #sanemi x reader #kny fic #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer smut #shinazugawa sanemi

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hotchs-bitch · 1 year

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Fluffy Feb Day 11- Formal Event

Warnings: established relationship, none

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 502

“I just don’t see why you want to go,” Aaron confesses from the driver's seat, his hand sitting on your headrest as he reverses the car. “It’s just some stuffy banquet. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

Your jaw drops in fake indignation, sparking amusement in his eyes. “How could you even say that? It’s a stuffy banquet where my husband is being honoured for his services in the FBI!”

“That, too,” he mumbles. “Just let me know when you want to leave and we’ll get going, okay? The award shouldn’t take long; I don’t even need to be there to accept it, really.”

“If you don’t think I’m going to take a thousand pictures of you giving a speech and holding an award, I don’t even know why I married you.” He soothes the fire in your words by taking your hand in his own and pressing a kiss to it. “I’m just excited for you, you know?”

“I know you are, but this really isn’t a big deal,” Aaron promises. “You’ll see when we get there.”

He is such a liar.

The banquet hall is beautiful, decorated with FBI colours and the insignia on white-marble walls and columns. The massive space is illuminated by several chandeliers, and there’s a large stage with a podium on one side of the room near tables that are decorated with white tablecloths, vast floral arrangements, and namecards. The other side of the room- the much larger side- seems to be a dancefloor where everyone is mingling now, holding crystal glasses containing wine and whiskey that are being passed around by servers.

Aaron leads you in with an arm around your waist, steering you to one of the tables closest to the stage as you gape. “This is us,” he murmurs, gesturing to your names at two of the place settings. “I’m going to go say hi to a few of the higher-ups. Do you want to come with me?”

You spot a couple of his coworkers at a nearby table- Emily and Penelope, not quite friends of yours yet but certainly close enough to be comfortable with in this vast space- and shake your head. “I’m alright. Go polish elbows, or whatever you do.”

The chuckle that leaves Aaron’s lips is music to your ears, and he brushes a kiss to the back of your hand. “Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. And remember, as soon as you want to leave…”

The FBI would probably frown against you smacking your husband’s shoulder, but your hand twitches with the urge. “You wish. We aren’t leaving until you dance with me.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Hotchner.” He smiles at you, the smile you know he rarely wears at the same time as one of his suits, and drops your hand before retreating into the crowd.

Meanwhile, you make your way toward Emily and Penelope, grabbing a glass of wine from a server’s tray as he passes. You aren’t leaving this building until Aaron has to drag you out.

Fluffy Feb masterlist | < Prev Day | Next Day >

Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

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armpirate · 4 months

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Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 1

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit.

Next >>

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 12 minutes

Chapter warnings: Audio porn, camboy, female masturbation, explicit talk

He looked at her with a weird smirk, that far from being cute and attractive made him look like an even bigger asshole. It wasn't like she was too into him when they started texting, but at least she wasn't disgusted by him like she was then.

She didn't care about picking him up at the station, when it was late at night, mainly because he had previously told her he was new in the city and he still didn't know how to move well around. And she also was able to laugh it off when he whistled at her from afar when she walked past him, instead of just calling out her name. Y/n could shrug it off, and blame it on him being new on dating apps and just meeting new people in general.

But there was something off around his vibes.

And she should've run when he started mentioning how desperate people in those dating apps were, and how lonely they should feel in their lives to recur to meeting strangers and trusting them. He had a point there. She shouldn't have trusted his nice talk at all, because that way she wouldn't have been in the uncomfortable moment she was in.

They both were walking next to each other, while Y/n grasped the fabric inside the pockets of her jacket while trying to hold herself back from giving a bad look or a bad response. Maybe he was just nervous, and he was just trying to break the ice between them.

—Shall we get in somewhere? —he suggested, walking past the line of several restaurants.

—I'm not really hungry —she shook her head, dropping a small nervous smile.

—Me neither —Jordan scoffed—. Let's just get something to drink somewhere. It's too cold to be walking around.

When his lips curved, and she was able to see his crooked teeth with a gentle smile, she chose to give it another chance. He was cute looking, with his tanned skin and his gleaming green eyes. She was being too harsh on him after just fifteen minutes.

Y/n insisted on going somewhere else when he stopped in front of an establishment with wide crystal walls that allowed to see the decoration inside. Although it seemed like a pub at first glance, she spotted some people sitting on the tables having pizzas and pasta. And even the empty tables had the cutlery placed in front of each chair, for the moment someone would take those seats. Despite her mentioning it probably wasn't the type of place they were looking for, Jordan carried on, convincing her that they'd be allowed to only have a drink.

Five minutes later after sitting and being handed the menu, she moved her eyes up at him.

—Let's get something to eat. We can share a pizza if you like —he closed his menu, pointing at hers with his chin—. Pick whatever you like.

—Are you sure? —she asked, eyeing the different types of pizzas they were offering— Is there something you don't like?

Her question was genuine. Because even though Jordan already said it was her choice, she wanted to pick something he'd be fine with eating.

He shook his head, and assured her he ate anything that was served in front of him. Still, she went for something safe and asked for a Pepperoni pizza when the waiter stopped by their table to take their order. Although Y/n would've hoped he had stayed for a bit longer when silence knocked at their table.

The darkness outside didn't allow her to see further than her own reflection on the window, but it was better than looking at Jordan's uncomfortable face as he found nothing to talk about. And it'd have been like that on the way to the bay if she hadn't brought up random topics, like asking for how long he had been in Boston and what was the reason that took him there. She wasn't the outgoing type, but she still found the way to build a conversation to fill the silence. She was showing some type of interest.

She couldn't say the same about him, when she found the lighting of his phone illuminating his face, after she turned to him.

She still gave it a pass. There was no point in discarding someone only because he was shy.

Jordan was also weird. After saying he didn't have a problem with any type of food, she found him taking the slices of pepperoni from his half of the pizza, and even poked into the cheese with his fork to take the remaining. And seeing him struggling with his food made her feel bad, because maybe she should've opted for a more basic option so his dinner wouldn't be ruined.

She regretted those thoughts three seconds later.

—I thought you said you weren't hungry —he commented, after she was done with her half.

Biting her tongue, she held back any type of rude response. Her eyebrows frowned slightly though, confused by the comment, and unable to know what she should answer to that.

They'd pay for that food anyway, was she expected to take a slice and then leave the rest of her half there?

She just giggled the comment away, moving her eyes over the restaurant and stopping at the TV placed at the corner where the counter ended. She had never been interested in football, but that day it seemed like the best entertainment for the night. Only moving her eyes back to her table when Jordan called her attention, after hearing two of the waiters speaking in Italian.

—You said you spoke Italian, right? —he hurriedly asked.

During one of their late night conversations, she did mention she spoke Italian. Not a big amount though. Just enough to keep a simple conversation, after being able to learn some words and understand the way their grammar worked after her ex-boyfriend explained it to her. Not like it was useful though, because when they went to Milan to meet his grandparents she barely used the language. Mattia adopted the role of the translator without giving her a chance to speak once.

—Well, I said I knew some words —she nervously smiled—. That's quite different.

—Why don't you ask for the bill in Italian? I bet they'll think it's pretty cool.

Or they'll think she's a dumbass mocking them.

She had nothing to lose though. She could give it a try, and not step inside that restaurant a single time again in her life.

Her pronunciation was poor, and she struggled with the words when the pressure of having all those eyes on her finally kicked her. And, while the waiter smiled gently and nodded after she was done, she heard a chuckle on her right that activated the last nerve.

—You tried, at least —he kept scoffing, shaking his head and drinking.

Her lips were pressed tight against each other, dying to set free all the mischievous words going through her head, but avoiding to make a scene.

She didn't fight to split the bill, she didn't comment on anything, Y/n just wanted to get back home, delete the dating app and forget that date ever happened.

—I'm not the type to fight. I really don't like violence. But if you're being an asshole, I have to bring you back to reality, you know?

Wow.

What was she even supposed to answer?

Y/n just nodded, seeing the light when she was able to spot her building from afar. But peace wasn't reaching her that easily yet.

She was ready to say goodbye, open the door and never see him again, but he sat at the small stairs that led to her door, lighting a cigarette and keeping the monologue while looking into the distance.

Maybe her skin was way too thin, but she couldn't find the way to feel interested about anything that was coming out of his mouth after what happened in the restaurant. Maybe she had been so hopeless about love after so many failing dates, that she found herself bothered at the slightest thing.

—I guess we'll meet again —he threw the cigarette to the road in between the two vehicles parked in front—. Next time you're the one paying —he reminded her.

—Sure, sure.

Before Jordan was able to hook her in a hug, she walked up the steps, looking for her keys in her bag and opening the door before she finally said goodbye to him.

—Get home safely.

If he expected to get in her bed that night, he'd have a shocking reality check.

A loud sigh and the keys tingling when she dropped them over the green sideboard at the entrance informed of her way back home, having Julius -a black cat with a bit of overweight-, peeking his head over the corner to confirm it was its owner uninterestedly.

After closing the door, she saw the golden hooks she bothered herself to hang so she wouldn't be leaving her keys anywhere. It was cute, and it went perfectly well with the style of the house, but she was so upset over the evening she had, that she couldn't find herself picking up the keys and hanging them there.

She could only pray Julius wouldn't jump over the sideboard and drag her keys to the floor, so he could play until he pushed them under the couch like the last time.

On her way to her room, where she was looking forward to hiding once she reached her bed, she felt her phone buzzing in her hand. Her head fell back with an exasperation moan when she saw the dickpic blasting on her screen.

What was even the reason for that bullshit?

Loverboy6577 shot higher than what he could reach. Well, at least he was straightforward and he wasn't wasting her time.

She snuggled inside her bed, finally taking the decision of deleting her profile and letting go of any possible hook up, or relationship, that could come with it. She wasn't going to be delusional anymore.

Boys just weren't worthy of her time.

At least not any that were at her reach, or realistic to her. That was what she convinced herself of when she found herself smiling excitedly when a notification popped up at the top of her screen over her social media.

*Soundleasure has just posted a video*

Reaching for her earpods inside the drawer of her nightstand, she lied on her back, clicking on the notification to be redirected to his page.

If someone in her circle knew she was wasting money on content like that, she'd probably be judged and dragged to shreds. Fuck, she was the type to laugh at people paying to consume that type of content before she found him through a random video in a porn site -after another failed date, unsurprisingly.

Dating was difficult, love was non-existent for the possible partners she had met. What was the point of wasting money and time going out with them, in exchange of some lame sex, when she could enjoy herself with a sexy voice and her own imagination?

When she first met him, it was cheaper. And it wasn't like he had many subscribers either. But his exposure increased with the passing of time, having her little secret increasing the pricing in subscriptions.

When she played the video, she was met with a completely dark screen -something usual from him. It was one of the things that attracted her the most, not being distracted by some random nudes or sex scenes, and being allowed to let the arousal properly build up.

—Was it a hard day today? —he asked.

Y/n's head instantly nodded to his question, feeling like he posted that video purposely for her and her mood, trying to make up for what the rest of the irky males around her made her go through. Although she probably would've been okay with his rough side as well, like some other times. She would've been happy with whatever was the mood of his audio.

—Hmm, does my baby want me to make her feel better? —he rustled softly, caressing her ears so gently that she moved her head to the side, as if he was actually next to her.

His breathing was light, before the sound of his pecks came. At some point she swore she could even feel his lips against her skin, washing the tension away with every kiss.

—I'll make it better, babe —he assured through the mic—. Let me kiss you.

She loved his content, but that part always took her out, turning her into a giggling ball while cringing over the sound of his lips trying to mimic the sound of a wet kiss, gasping for air with every move. It helped her to get an idea of what his lips looked like though. They probably were a pale pink, adopting a darker tone after a make out session that could suck their souls.

He proceeded to describe how he moved down her neck, worshiping every centimeter of exposed skin in her body until he reached the elastic of her panties. She could perfectly picture a pair of fierce eyes looking over her mount, before he asked:

—Can I take it off?

Along with his audio, her pants and panties were long gone under the sheets, going in sync with his voice.

—Look at you, so wet already —he groaned.

The mix of his heavy breathing, mixed to the wet sounds coming from her core when she slipped her fingers through her slit, almost made her back arch.

All her hairs raised when she heard his breathing cutting off before he sucked on something, skillfully moving his tongue and sucking his lips onto her hard button -that was trapped in the slow circles two of her fingers kept tracing.

—You taste so good —his words were followed by another open-mouthed kiss—. I'll make you feel alright. I gotcha, babe.

He spitted, making her tiptoes curl when she imagined his spit rolling down her folds before he sank his face into her core again. Her fingers kept moving over her clit, mimicking the twirls of his tongue, wishing for the millionth time that it wasn't only an audio, but a reality.

—Cum on my tongue. I'll make you cum on my cock after.

Along with his voice and his sounds, her back arched and her pussy clenched around nothing as she allowed the pleasure to invade her after he motioned her to cum.

She still went on with the audio, touching herself to mimic the situation he was settling for her, trying to make it as real and vivid as possible while she heard his groans and moans when he slipped his cock in her. It was insane for her how he was able to have her moaning, pressing her thighs together when she finger fucked herself while listening to his whimperings and praises.

There was only one problem there, and it was that she bet her moans would sound perfectly mixed with his in that audio, while they did in real life what he was promising in the video.

Maybe it was her low self-esteem for the night acting up, or maybe her brain was still fried by the two orgasms he helped her having, but she only felt encouraged to enter his profile while she was still recovering, unstable breathing while she tried to type a message for him.

Usually, he just seemed so out of reach. Soundleasure was a thing, she forgot he was even a person after cumming. He was just content that she consumed, because she felt lonely and needy, and no real man would make her reach her high the way he did with his voice only. But it didn't seem like she thought like that that night.

"Good video... But maybe next time you could have my moans in it" she wrote in his private message.

Y/n didn't want to think about it too deeply after sending it. If he answered, good. If he didn't, then he'd keep being that content she consumed randomly at night when loneliness knocked at her door.

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