In dark days, it’s important to remember that heroes — modern iconoclasts who speak out for dignity, who break glass ceilings with fists raised and who meet criticism with action and authority, wit and humor — still walk amongst us. If you’re in London this month, you can walk amongst them, too.
Lauren Tamaki illustrated a series of Modern Icons for Riposte Magazine’s #7 issue, on display at Ace Hotel London’s window box gallery until February 13. Bjork, the Broad City girls, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Joan Didion, Laverne Cox, Malala, Michelle Obama, Rei Kawakubo, Serena Williams, Shami Chakrabarti, Tilda Swinton and Yayoi Kusama are all represented. Bow down.
Shaz is the designer and the creative director for the seventh issue of Riposte. Riposte profiles bold and fascinating women, covering a broad range of issues including: art, design, music, business, innovation, politics, food and travel.
You kicked the duvet off yourself and pushed your hair away from your forehead, catching the mirror of the moon on the line of your wrist. It began with a little thought at 11PM – just a salacious bedtime story for you to fall asleep. You expected it to remain as such, until the thought swelled into something a lot more, swelled directly into the pit of your stomach, and between your thighs. It would’ve been an easy job done, any other day. It would’ve only taken you to shuffle off your pyjama bottoms and spread yourself across the mattress, but there was a problem. There was Michael.
Michael slept in the room beside you, probably fast asleep as the night shied into 3AM. You were caught up watching a film, and before you knew, it was too late for him to head home. The walls were paper thin, which meant he would probably hear every sound you make if you were to try and relieve yourself. Your stomach tightened its knot once you let the whisper of his image into your mind. He would be shirtless, as he slept – entwined in your bed sheets, bed sheets that you have slept in before. You hoped he knew – you hoped your scent was still on the pillow, and touched his naked chest and kissed his sleeping face. You knew yourself he wouldn’t think so profoundly about every little thing about you as you did him. He was the goddamn reason you couldn’t sleep – the secret you kept to yourself as you dreamed of him pressing his lips down in places he’d never seen of yours.
Staring up at the ceiling, you bite your lip, playing with the waistband of your pyjamas and snapping it against your hipbone. It was one swift movement, when you pulled them off your ankles and opened your legs up, leaving your cheeks flushed, your thighs smeared with your own wetness, and the air from the window cracked ajar erupting hairs across your lower half. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You knew you shouldn’t – it was too risky, having him less than five large strides away from your room. It was funny how you persisted to tell yourself not to, while your fingers teased down past your navel and between your thighs.
When your middle finger met your clit, your teeth met your bottom lip. It was already wet, from dragging up from your slit, and you sighed, reaching your arm beneath your pillow as you stretched into your own touch. Michael swept into your mind behind your closed eyes, how the softness of his voice could be lulling you into a state of daze. You released the tension you held over your clit and flicked the pad of your finger over the small bud, your riposte a buck of the hips and a strung out whine. Pushing your face into the pillow, you slid your finger across your slit, biting your lip and shutting your eyes as you curled a digit into yourself. Holding your breath, you thrust your finger in and out slowly, then picked up pace once you were wet enough to let you put another in if you wanted. A deep pump choked a thick moan out of you, and having moved your head from the pillow, it fell into you room – open, lewd, and shameless.
You didn’t bother to hide yourself, and the dream of Michael consumed you hard enough for you to nearly pull the sheets off your bed in your delight. Moving your finger out from inside you, a dull sense of pleasure blossomed into your stomach, and your eyes half-lidded opened to meet your bedroom door – now swung open completely in contrast to the small crack you left before – with Michael, standing with a thumb hanging out of the pocket in his sweatpants and an expression you couldn’t quite read in the darkness. Your cheeks felt hot, and you froze, brain not working quick enough to pull the duvet over your naked legs.
“Michael, what the fuck?” you finally said after a while, and he shook his head, reaching over and turning on the light. It sent your eyes out of focus, but you ripped the duvet of yourself and held it there. An eyebrow raised, an amused grin spread his lips. You couldn’t look him in the eye. That couldn’t have just happened. Oh, my God. “Don’t you knock? The door was closed!”
“I heard you saying my name.” He offered a one armed shrug, leaning against your doorway and gracing his gaze on you, unmoving. You kept your head turned, mostly so he couldn’t see the sweat shining over your warm face. He stepped into your room, and closed the door. “Now, you’ve woken me up.”
You closed your eyes, inhaled, and placed your hand on the crown of your forehead, trying to calm your breathing as much as you could. His voice was so soft. It was sleepy and gentle, words slurring over each other and clashing, although his gaze was wide and awake. He ambled over, and sat on the bed, right beside your legs, which were luckily hidden beneath the quilt. You tried making yourself feel better of the situation at hand. Everyone masturbates. It’s normal. Michael probably got walked in on by someone, too. Just, unfortunately, not you.
“Go to bed, Michael.” You leaned over to pick up your pyjama bottoms from the side of the bed, right beside where the bed dipped in favour of Michael. He touched your waist, and you were close enough to him to hear him release a deep breath once his fingers met your spine. Your hand trembled when it fell on top of your missing clothes, and you turned your face; his breath met your cheek. “Michael…”
“Y/N.” He moved closer, managing to wrap his arm around you, now. His nose bumped your cheek, and you closed your eyes, smelling the sleep and shower gel clinging to his skin. Your hand faltered by your pyjama bottoms, and you rested it somewhere nearby – which happened to be Michael’s thigh. You nearly moved it away, but he kept it there with his own hand. “Come on. I heard you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You had your finger all pressed up in your–”
“Michael,” you stopped him, but didn’t shift from his grip. “You can’t – don’t tease me like this.”
An airy laugh left his mouth. “You’re getting wet again, aren’t you?” The hand he had atop yours released, and he found your bare leg beneath the covers. It travelled to spread your knees, and you shivered under his cold hands. “I want to touch you, Y/N. I wanna make you feel better than you thought I could.”
You pursed your lips as his hand slid up your calf and touched the soft skin on your thigh. “Please. If you aren’t going to finish me off, don’t make me want you to.”
He laughed gently, the sound rumbling from his throat into a quiet breath. “Who said I wasn’t going to?”
When you turned your head, you kissed. It was impulsive. It was hot. Your hand moved up his neck and into his hair, like you knew your way around him perfectly without a second thought. His thumbs pushed your face up so he wouldn’t spend a single second not kissing you, and your mind was consumed with him. You remembered earlier in the evening, when it begun to rain, and the windows were covered in teary drops, how you sat so close to him, with your fingers barely touching, and neither of you daring to look away from the screen and at each other. It was an immature game you played, where you couldn’t admit to something as simple as a little crush, and now you were in your bed, spread across the mattress with the same boy holding you. Pushing the duvet away from the two of you, he shifted between your legs, parting from your mouth to peer down at your bare hips on his clothed.
“Jesus,” he whispered, and lifted up the hem of your shirt so he could run his fingers over the soft flesh of your stomach. Shivering, you inhaled, the scent of yourselves mixed together flooding you. His fingers, as usual, were cold, and pressed carefully and unfamiliarly across your body. His eyes flicked up to meet yours – green and dancing, rejoicing at the sight of you. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to be this close to you? Hmm?”
He slid both hands to the back of your thighs, and gripped you close to him, his mouth finding the column of your throat and embellishing it with wet kisses that made your head twirl. You sighed, whether out of delight or pure relief of having Michael here, you weren’t sure, and said, “too long.”
His lips met the flesh between your jaw and your throat, and you took in a sharp breath, your hand travelling up the muscles across his back and playing with the shirt covering them. Cupping your hips, you felt him smile against your skin, and you couldn’t help yourself from smiling, too. This is Michael, you reminded yourself, stretching your arms out across the mattress and closing your eyes, feeling him move away from your neck before capturing your mouth for a kiss once again. This is all you’ve wanted, and more. You didn’t need to tell yourself – you knew. He knew. It wasn’t much of a secret to either of you.
Carefully, he sat up, and you followed suit, your legs split between his hips. You both went to reach for the hem of his shirt at the same time, and when your gazes met, you let out a soft laugh, kneeling to tug it off his head. The backs of your fingers swept against his chest, and he bit his lip, pulling you in enough for your hands to grip his shoulders to keep balance. You watched each other, and everything was registering in your brain slowly, savouring every glance, every moment, every brush of skin between you. Your palms moved over his milky white chest, and you leaned back a little, enough to see the shy blush rising in his cheeks.
“Your hands feel nice,” he said gently, setting his own over yours. You stopped, but he pushed them down, letting you familiarise yourself with him, letting you map over the cities in his skin, the countries on his collarbones, and the stars in his eyes. You could hear the wind spreading the curtains apart, and your reached around his waist, nearing yourself to him. His fingers found your hair. “You’re so pretty, you know? The prettiest. You’re the prettiest.”
Smiling, you pulled back, tracing your finger along the waistband of his sweatpants. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Only for you.”
Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t hide the heat spreading beneath your face. Lifting your shirt up, you threw it off the side of the bed, where it met Michael’s. Your breasts were bare, and met the cool air in your room between your chest and his. He kissed you one more time, laying you down with his fingers resting at the bottom of your back. Your legs wrapped around him, and he pecked across your collarbones, his lips hovering over your breast. His breath hardened your nipples, and you pushed his dark hair away from his forehead, regarding his eyes as you nodded at him, and he kissed over your chest gently. He made sure to be tentative, gouging your reaction with every move so he knew you were enjoying it. His lips were petal soft, and covered your nipples perfectly, slowly running down your stomach and onto your thighs. You pressed them together, not to block him, but to ease the tension between them. His palm slid beneath your hips, the other parting your legs between him. It was then you realised you were even wetter than ever.
He raised a smug eyebrow at you, and you flushed. “So wet already?” he said.
Biting your lip, you didn’t break his gaze. “I was touching myself before, remember?”
“And whom were you thinking about?”
Your eyes shifted along his face, and you smiled coyly, your fingers meeting his on your hipbone. He still had his right hand resting on your inner thigh, now lying on his stomach with his mouth achingly close to your centre. His tongue travelled along your centre, and you bit harder down on your lip, taking a fistful of the bed sheets in your hand. He took your clit in your mouth, playing with it and pulling back once again. You exhaled, tangling your hand in his hair to pull him closer to you, but he resisted, adamant at going at his own pace, to tease and fulfil every fibre in you aching for him. His tongue swirled over your sex, and you felt his spit run down between your thighs and he tasted you.
Every moment of pressure he placed on your clit, your legs tried relaxing and pressing together, but he kept them open, his thumbs drawing circles on your skin. A knot blossomed into your stomach and you moaned, gritting your teeth and lifting your hips off the bed, attempting to grind onto his mouth. It was a futile effort, and you both knew that. He had full control over you, and you absolutely loved it. Tugging back, he licked your clit gently, and when you glanced down, his eyes were locked on yours, daring you to do something. Daring you to cum before he lets you do so. You hold your breath, keeping yourself back until he tells you you’re allowed to cum. It was an unspoken rule, but his stance and approach already let you know he wanted your orgasm to belong to him.
“Fuck, oh, Michael–” You failed saying his name coherently, and your mouth stuttered. “Mikey.”
He groaned against you, and your stomach tightened, along with your grip on the duvet. “That’s it, baby. You like it when I do this, don’t you?” He leaned in again, striping a long lick before sucking hard on your clit. Your heart picked up, and you reached your arms up, pressing your palms onto your forehead. He gazed up at you, moving away from your core with a content sigh and the lick of lips. “Fucking hell, princess. You taste so good. And you’re shaking.” He cradled your thigh in one hand. “Yeah? You liked it that much?”
You nodded, lacing the sheets between your fingers. Frustration welled up between your legs at being unable to cum, but when Michael started to slip off his sweatpants, you perked up. Despite your weak legs, you sat up, draping yourself over his crotch and looking up at him. His eyes were half lidded, his cock hard against his wrist. Taking your hand, he ran it over his shaft, and his breath hitched. You shared one more adoring look before you took it on yourself, touching his member and running your finger over the tip. He was warm, and rather obviously grew harder just in your grip, as you pumped your hand up and down. His hips bucked up, and a rumble of a moan spilled out of his mouth. You smiled, leaning down and running your tongue across his member, your lips landing on the bottom of his shaft as you sucked it. He gasped, and his hand went to the back of your head.
“Y/N, oh,” he mumbled underneath his breath. “Oh, my fucking God.”
You continued what you did, then trailed your lips to his tip once again, taking him in whole until his cock hit the back of your throat. He hummed pleasantly, pushing your hair from your face so he could watch you. It was never a secret he found you beautiful, but it was also something he would never care to admit. Nothing to throw off the balance of your friendship, although it was blatant everything was fuelled by tamed lust and longing looks. You bobbed your head up and popped your lips off him, and he hissed, his nails leaving crescents in your shoulders. When he tensed up, all the way from his stomach to his cock, you pulled away, licking your lips and propping yourself up on your arms. He throbbed, red at the tip, and a vein protruding over the side.
Something passed between you, and he rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. “You want to do this?”
Your hand found his over your face, and you barely had to think twice. “Of course.”
It was a gentle exchange, and he lifted you up so you lay with your back pressed against your mattress, which was still warm from where Michael was before. Despite you being so unfamiliar with his body, and his with yours, when the space between your thighs filled up with him, it felt right. It felt like you knew what you were doing, and there was nothing new with what was happening. You both sighed once he entered you, and he kissed your neck ever so softly, adding to the swell in your heart. He began to thrust, and reached down to circle your clit with his middle finger. Back arching off the bed, you lost your hand in his hair, an overwhelming feeling of delight overtaking you.
“Mikey,” you whimpered in his ear, and he let out a long held groan, gripping your hips, and picking up his speed. A harsh burst of pleasure occurred in your lower stomach, and a sound rose out from your throat as his fingers linked with yours and pushed your hand beside your head. Your legs wrapped around his hips, willing him in deeper. “Y-you’re so thick, oh fuck.”
“Does it feel good?” he asked, not straying with his mouth too far from your skin. His kisses were light along your shoulder, then finally, on your mouth. “Because it feels so good for me.”
“Yes.” A surprising jolt shook your voice, and Michael slammed harder into you, his fingers tracing your ribcage. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He lifted your legs, grunting and pumping himself harder. You felt him hit your G-Spot and inclined off the bed, swearing until he stopped you with another thrust. You were a mess between the mattress and the duvet, half of the bed sheets drooping onto the floor beside your clothes, and nothing else flooding the room other than your shared moans. You held onto his shoulders, which flexed every time he moved deeper inside you.
“So deep,” you whispered. “I think I’m close.”
“Me too, baby.” He rubbed your clit faster. “With me, okay? Come on, sweetheart. You’ve got me so hard.”
He fucked you harder into the mattress, until a lurch of inexplicable euphoria threw you off, and you were meeting his chest with yours and whining for him to cum with you. He did, after a moment, and pulled out, lying beside you and moving his sweaty fringe from his forehead. You kept your eyes closed, unsure whether you would be able to meet his gaze without blushing. He turned around to face you, propping himself onto his elbow and coasted his lips across your cheek. He shifted so he could kiss your mouth, and without much more persuasion, you leaned in, and wrapped your arms around him.
“Stay here for the night,” you murmured.
Chuckling, he reciprocated. “I wasn’t planning on leaving, anyway.”
The effervescent thrill of command blustered out, hands raising in instinctive appeasement. Once he realized what he was doing Fright lowered his hands in ill-disguised contempt, eyes narrowed as he tasted Pariah’s paranoia. So clear and bitter now that he wasn’t young, like loyalty unearned. Like respect withheld. Like oaths broken.
Pariah didn’t register the flicker of flames as he continued blundering on about conquest, didn’t hear the grind of jagged edges in a hidden mouth. Fright bore it, just as he’d been taught, kneeling with the rest and hoarding the new growling ember deep in his core.
My blog attracts people that wish to reach out to me (feel free!) due to its content and recently a married woman reached out who happened to be local. (You know who you are…) We chatted on an off for a bit and obviously flirted. She was on here exploring fantasies that she hadn’t yet had the courage (or idea how to safely and discreetly) to fulfill. I could tell that the fact that she was local made her more apprehensive because the proximity likely made it feel more real and possible.
After a few weeks of talking and sexting, I encouraged her to meet up for lunch and eventually took me up on it. She was clearly much more shy in person, as meeting someone from the internet can be awkward, as well as someone you’ve shared intimate thoughts and pictures with. Flirting came easy and eventually she opened up, as comfort set in with familiarity and humor. She put effort into her outfit, hair, and makeup. She wore a loose-fitting, but short, dress that had me glancing at her legs.
Towards the end of the meal, conversation was great and her sense of humor came out with her witty ripostes. I invited her back to my place and she quickly agreed, following me back to my place. Once we got there, she started acting shy again and I could tell she was nervous. I kissed her and she reciprocated and started opening up. She asked me, “Is this your typical routine when you bring married women home?” I told her it was a start. She meekly asked, “Are you going to fuck me like your other sluts?”
I didn’t respond. I just started to kiss her again and she got aggressive with her hands and lips at this point. I pulled her on top of me, on the couch, and she began to grind on me. My hands roamed to the straps of her dress, pulling them down and exposing her strapless bra. I asked her if the bra matched the panties and she said they did, but asked if I preferred if women wore no panties. I prefer panties, thongs, etc. for the record! I got up and bent her over, lifting her dress to expose her ass, pressed aside her thong, and buried my tongue into her bald pussy. She moaned and shivered in response. I pulled my pants off and was at half-mast when I took her thong off and started touching the tip of my cock against her pussy lips and running my shaft along them. She started to breathe heavily.
I stopped and sat down. I pulled her down to me to take my big cock into her mouth as best she could. She told me I was significantly bigger than her husband as her wedding ring stroked up and down on my shaft. Eventually I got up, picked her up and put her on the couch, spreading her legs in front of me and kissed her. I told her I was going to fuck her and make her mine. That was going to make her a cheating wife like all of my other sluts. She whimpered and softly begged me to fuck her pussy. I roughly grabbed her hair and made her tell me that again. She finally got it right on the fourth try. I slowly put the tip of my cock in her, each thrust going deeper into her tight pussy. Her eyebrows were furrowed, eyes wide, and mouth open, breathing heavily, and grunts escaping as my cock stretched her with each stroke. Her tight pussy had a death grip on my cock, lips pulling outwards with each pull out. I completely filled her as my cock bottomed out in her and my girth stretched her. Her dress was still on.
We fucked for a while and she was submissive throughout the session, although very vocal and talking dirty. It was clear that she was lost in the moment, wanting to be my slut and whore. Despite being filled, she didn’t’ cum from penetration and I helped myself to giving her to orgasms by eating her pussy. She reciprocated and begged me to cum on her face. As I got close, I pulled out, grabbed her hair roughly and came all over her beautiful face. I kissed her deeply afterwards, sharing the taste of our collective cum.
As she came down from the moment, I could tell that she felt guilty and bad. Married women often do as they start cheating. After a while, the lust kicked in again and she admitted that she enjoyed it, was sore for a day as a reminder, and started sexting me again. We met up for another session.
"YOU know i have a boyfriend, right?” “I simply want a demographic breakdown of all the guys that hit on you.” "I’M gonna ask you to get out of my girlfriend’s bed, man.” With Jughead please!
“I’M GONNA ASKyou to get out of my girlfriend’s bed, man.” Emerald optics flicker between aquiver male and innocuous femme. Vexation exaggerates already sharp features, coaxing thick brows into a furrow, the pallid skin above to crease, and thin lips to form a narrow line underneath his cupid’s bow. All 6'1" of Jughead Jones stands erect in the threshold of Y/N Y/L/N’s bedroom. He relies on the freshman’s lack of knowledge on his reputation, pacifist (by choice, not by fear, mind you) ways especially, to incite fear in his underclassman heart. He really isn’t the physical altercation type.
The boy alleviates his weight from the queen-sized mattress, scurrying to a halt before Jughead. He pitches ghost-white palms into thick atmosphere—a symbolism for surrender. “Hey, I-I didn’t know she was dating anyone.”
Y/N scoffs then. From his periphery, he watches as she extracts neon highlighter from between rows of ivories to say, “I literally said, not even two minutes ago, ’you know I have a boyfriend, right?’ You can’t lie on me while I’m sitting right here, fully capable of defending myself, dude.”
Contrived confidence flakes. Jughead can actually pinpoint the precise moment sweat begun to bleed down his forehead. He pities the youth (not really, maybe a little), distinctly remembers similar countenance on a certain ginger friend around this time last year, the label of ninth grader delivering the final blows to an already shallow ego, and juts remarkable crowned beanie behind broad shoulder. “I’m gonna ask you to get out of her room now.”
“R-right. That’s fair.”
“More than,” Jughead hums, even steps to the left to accommodate frantic boy’s passing. Slouched posture returns once only the couple remains and lengthy legs swallow wide gaps until he’s reached his girlfriend, pushing tendrils back to pepper a lingering kiss to her hairline.
“Hey.” He throws lanky frame onto her bed in a way that deliberately jostles both Y/N and the open binders and notebooks she’s immersed herself within. A reaction never emerges. He tries again. “We can turn this shit off.” Lithe digits fold over the phone sandwiched between pencils; Y/N snatches it back.
“Summer’s Over Interlude is not shit,” she ripostes.
“How can you get any work done with this crap blasting?” Jughead plucks the device from slack grip. “Do you have any Aerosmith?”
Y/N grabs it again. “I don’t even know who that is.” Irises downcast to ratty, black converse potentially staining her floral bedding. “And get your dirty shoes off my bed, please. This isn’t IKEA.” Sophomore male obliges with wry grin.
“You’re making a lot of demands for someone who was just caught cheating,” he teases.
The girl raises a stapled packet of chemistry notes and then brings it down across his sinewy forearm. “Puh-lease!” Smack! “You know.” Smack! “I would never.” Sm—
Jughead restrains sturdy wrist, thumb tracing the outline of protruding bone, before he tugs her into him—a frenetic collision of warm bodies appropriating minimal space. “I know,” he says after she’s settled between his hips, back pressed against chest, and singular strands of hair in his mouth. “I trust you.”
“I simply want a demographic breakdown of all the guys that hit on you.”
you wearing?” Dan asked, raising his eyebrows and looking me up and down. He
sat at the kitchen table and looked up from his laptop that he did some work
for university on.
James Howell, 21, wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms, messy
brown hair that he let grow out, freakishly tall, university student and unfortunately
parents were currently on a business trip to another continent for two weeks I
was staying at Dan’s flat. I could have told them that I was old enough to look
after myself, but honestly sharing this flat with him was much better than
being on my own all the time. He was the son of my mum’s best friend so we knew
each other since we were little kids. My parents had a soft spot for him and
over the years he became one of my best friends.
confused by Dan’s question and quickly checked my outfit. It didn’t look bad,
did it? The dress I was wearing perfectly hugged all my curves. It also showed
the right amount of skin: not too much and not too little.
going to this party” I explained, putting my keys and phone into my purse.
there gonna be boys?” Dan asked, completely forgetting about the paper
that was due tomorrow.
I truthfully answered. Why would there only be girls? What was up with
do you mean ‘yes’?” Dan shut the laptop in front of him close and shot me
a strange look. Was he angry now?
are gonna be boys.” I answered, stating the obvious.
they are all just your friends?” He sceptically eyed me.
even know everyone who was going to be there. Why did it matter anyway? I
shrugged my shoulders instead of answering.
asked you a question.” Dan snapped, getting up from his chair.
all of them want to be just friends, I guess” I admitted, blushing a bit.
The dark haired boy almost shouted, looking at me the same way my mother
don’t know, there is this guy called Brandon and he’s been trying to get into
my pants for about half a year.” I told him nonchalantly.
close friends and we talked about a lot, but we never talked about my
relationship to other guys or anything like that. It felt weird and I
immediately regretted telling him that when I saw his facial expression.
your what?!?” Dan’s eyes grew wide and the vein on his neck was pulsating.
If he had taken a of sip water he would have spit it out.
It’s a saying. It means he wa-” I explained, trying to stay calm while he
was close to losing his mind.
know well enough what that means. Have you told him to back the fuck up?” Dan’s
question sounded more like a demand. I had spent enough time with him to know
that him starting to curse is definitely a sign that he is mad.
if I don’t want him to?“ I challenged him, not being entirely serious. He deserved
that for acting like a dick.
the fuck, Y/N?” Curse word again. Damn he was really mad.
can you please calm down?” I asked, tired of his stupid behaviour. I was
going to be late because of him.
down? No! Why do you want to be with that stupid prick?”
that’s none of your businesses!“ I defended myself, extremely irritated by
hell yeah it is!”
are not going to that party and you are going to tell that Brandon ass that he
can get lost.” Dan smashed against the kitchen table with his fist,
thinking that he had spoken the last word.
Why?! That’s so unfair.” I complained. He was not my father and he
couldn’t tell me shit.
get to go the a hundred parties a week and take home as many girls as you want,
but I need to stay at home and play good girl when I want to go out once in
like half a year? Double standard much?” I snapped, having seen enough girls
quietly leave this place before noon.
different.” Dan just stated and cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed that
I had to witness some of his hook ups leave.
is that different?” I wanted to know, my eyes burning into his skin.
are still in High School.” That was excuse, seriously? My hands were
trembling with anger.
eighteen, Dan! You were at my birthday party remember?!”
or not. That Brandon pervert just wants to use you to have sex because he is a
horny ass teenager.” He tried to end this conversation and have me go back
to my room.
it that way. Who does he think he is? My babysitter?
Brandon has just realised that I am a desirable young women and not some little
baby contrary to you!” I screamed at his face, fed up with having him look
down on me like he is the wise and mature guy and I’m the little baby that
wasn’t allowed to do anything.
Look at how naive you are acting right now!” My words had clearly thrown
him off track. Good.
it’s totally unbelievable that I can be desired?” I took it up a notch,
now that he got me completely furious.
not what I said!” Dan defended himself and swallowed hard.
what you are thinking. You treat me like a baby 24/7!” I shouted, feeling
relieved right after the truth had left my mouth.
that’s not true! And you can’t deny that this Brandon guy just wants to ‘get
into your pants’ because he is a horny teenager.” Dan lectured me, raising his
angrily glared up at his stupid face, too furious to even say something.
“Look, if I
were that young again I’d probably think you are hot too.” Dan bluntly
explained to me, ignoring my death glare.
you don’t think that I am hot now?” I spat, his words piercing my heart
like a sharp sword.
what?!” He definitely didn’t see that coming.
said that if you were a horny teenager again you’d think I’m hot. So you don’t
think I’m hot now.” I explained what his words sounded like to me and
couldn’t get over the fact that they had deeply hurt me.
I a - I don’t see why this is relevant right now.” Dan stuttered,
scratching the back of his neck.
not. I’m going to the party and you can’t stop me.” I snapped, absolutely
done with him.
I knew he
didn’t like me back, but I could still hope, right? Well, not after what he had
are going to the party and what? Fuck this Brandon guy in the bathroom?” He
asked, laughing scornfully.
I put on a
coat over my dress and slipped into my heels before I turned to face Dan again.
not? Why would you care?” I riposted, wiping that snarky grin off his
not?? You seriously want to lose your virginity like that?” Dan snorted
angrily taking a few steps towards me as I opened the door to leave.
you are now just presuming I am a virgin?” I raised my eyebrows at him and
watched his face fall.
woah woah. Stop right there. Explain that!” He put his arm out in front of
my chest, stopping me from leaving his flat.
none of your business if I am virgin or not. I am not hot enough to have sex in
your eyes anyways.” I said, trying to sound calm although I was still
offended by what he had said earlier.
is it so important to you if I think you are hot?” Dan bellowed, not
taking away his stretched out arm that stopped me from leaving.
do you care so much about me and that Brandon guy?” I countered loudly.
eyes evilly glared at me and I wasn’t afraid to stare back. Both of our
eyebrows were furrowed together. Me and Dan normally didn’t fight, but damn I hated
him right now.
hear Dan angrily breath through his nose, not breaking eye contact.
care. If you want to fuck around, suit yourself.” He said through gritted
obviously challenging me and I was not going to lose.
I’ll go and find Brandon.” I stated, waiting for him to show any reaction.
“I said, I
don’t care.” Dan snarled, his eyes were dark with anger.
can give me a few tips on how to quietly leave after a one night stand. You
seem to be an expert.” I chirped, pushing his buttons on purpose.
like he was going to explode.
fucking take this too far, Y/N. You are acting like a child.” Dan growled, his
deep voice sending shivers down my spine.
that he told me that he doesn’t care still upset me. I wanted him to care, but
not because he thought I was a baby.
I wanted to
set him off like ticking bomb.
give me one of your condoms? I don’t know if Br-“
it. The final straw.
The look he
was giving me made my inside tingle and I had to take a few steps back because
the heat that was radiating from his body was suffocating me. My back hit the
cold white wall behind me, making me jump. I swallowed hard, watching Dan step
closer to me. His hands smashed down on the wall on each side of my hot face.
fanned my neck, causing me to nearly lose my senses.
Brandon asshole ever touches you then I’m going to gladly break his fucking
neck. Do you understand that?”
I looked to
my left to avoid eye contact.
“Why do you
get so angry at Brandon? Why do you even care?” I challenged him having risen
my voice once again. I was not giving up that easily. He was acting tough but I
wasn’t intimidated by his behaviour.
change out of that stupid dress. I can almost see your boobs.” Dan told me,
taking a step back and avoiding my question.
“Oh and you
don’t want to see them?”
boobs not good enough for him now? Prick.
please. We are not talking about that now.” Dan sternly shut me down, noticeably
annoyed by me.
“Why not? I’m
tired of you treating me like an ugly little child.” I told him, standing up straight
to shown him my determination.
can we-“ Dan tried to calm me down, gently touching my shoulder.
“No, we can’t!
Why am I not good enough for you!” I shouted hurt.
don’t know why you have that idea-“
make sure to let me know that I’m totally unattractive. And that makes me feel
like shit!”I admitted loudly, completely lashing out on him.
“It was not
my intention to make you feel like shit.” Dan defended himself, throwing his
“Then what was your fucking intention?!” I
snapped, losing my patience.
have to stop myself, okay?!” Dan shouted.
“Stop myself from fucking pushing you against
the next wall and kissing the living shit out of you!”
The marriage was a quiet one, but the news was still greeted with astonishment on Earth. Sarek took it calmly. One particularly annoying newspaper, which published a slight alteration on Amanda’s headline—”I Married A Little Green Man!”—received an interesting riposte from Amanda, when she was interviewed on one of the broadcast news services shortly thereafter: “There is nothing little,” she said with great dignity, “about my husband.”