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The Social Network: the kink meme!

It's Complicated: But sexy!

zuckonitkinkeme zuckonitkinkeme wrote in tsn_kinkmeme
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sorry about the delay in getting this up! please put all new prompts here.




IMPORTANT: please DO NOT post prompts about any non-public people as part of a prompt. for example: randi zuckerberg is fine as she is a public figure both on the internet and on facebook itself. priscilla chan is NOT as she is not a public figure.

if you're in doubt, please message the mod or leave a comment in the discussion post.

♥ post requests and responses in the comments to this post.
♥ be respectful.
♥ both a pairing/character AND a prompt/kink must be posted.
♥ one pairing/prompt per comment please.
♥ you are encouraged to try and write a prompt for every request you make.
♥ we are slash, femslash, het, three-and-moresomes etc. friendly. (we are even incest friendly what with some of our characters being twins and all...)
♥ no pairing bashing, OK? no need to wank over ships.
♥ long and short fics welcome. multiple responses encouraged!
♥ please try to refrain from saying 'seconded!' as much as possible.
♥ on RPF: Please disclaim that it is RPF, a work of fiction and in no way related to the actual actors/persons/etc. (i wouldn't even try and discourage RPF from this meme ;))


♥ alphabetize pairings/threesomes/moresomes. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark/Sean etc.)
♥ put [RPF] before RPF prompts. (e.g. [RPF] Andrew/Jesse)
♥ for crossover prompts: "[Crossover], The Social Network Character(s)/Other Character(s), [Fandom]" (e.g. [Crossover], Eduardo/Columbus, [Zombieland])
♥ no "!" in pairings, only in descriptions. (e.g. Eduardo/Mark, FacebookCreator!Eduardo, CFO!Mark)
♥ anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Sean/Other)
♥ put [GEN] before GEN prompts.


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♥ fills can be posted anonymously or not.
♥ fills can be anything: fic, art, vid, fanmix, podfic, etc.
♥ all prompts are open to fills at all times, even if they have been filled in the past or are being currently filled by someone else. multiple fills are positively encouraged; if something appeals to you then do not be put off creating a new fill by the existence of a prior one.
NEW: ♥ PLEASE comment with the first of your fill to the PROMPT and then all future updates as a comment to the FIRST PART of the fill. this makes it easier for both the WIP spreadhseet and for archiving stuff on delicious. it also helps people who are trying to catch up on updates and don't have to look through every fill on the prompt (should it have more than one). thank you.






have fun!

THERE WILL BE UNMARKED SPOILERS. enter at your own risk! :D


i know you guys are enjoying this meme and i appreciate that but please can you put the SUBJECT HEADER on your prompt. you would REALLY be helping me out if you could do that. it just saves time for me when i'm trying to tag everything in delicious.

AND PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT repost prompts from parts three, four, five or six over here again. the delicious is around for people to find prompts they may not have already seen. (prompts for parts one and two are now up for reposting.)



Eduardo/Mark, All American Girl AU

Mark thought his life got complicated enough when the President's son turned out to be in one of his additional classes. And then he sort of accidentally stopped an assasination attempt on Eduardo's dad, turning his life completely upside down. Or, an All American Girl AU.

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1a/?

I though I wasn't going to write this, but then I got his by sudden inspiration and, yeah. So I'll just go ahead and fill my own prompt.

The title is from a song by Westlife, but the lyrics really have nothing to do with the fic.


8:13: parents are making me sign up for an art class. Apparently I need an outlet for my creative energy or whatever. It’s all because of those sketches, but they were just for fun. So maybe drawing people as farm animals was a bit too much, but doesn’t anybody have a sense of humor?

Mark is absolutely sure that from now on his life is going to absolutely suck. Because, seriously, art lessons. Who goes to things like that voluntarily? And he certainly has better things to do than reproducing a bunch of grapes and a dead fish on a piece of paper, or whatever it is that people usually do during a drawing class.

So, yeah, he’s not in the best mood when his mom forces him inside her car on a Saturday morning and drops him off in front of the Marion Gibbs Art Studio.

“Don’t even think about bolting the minute I drive away, Mark,” she warns him and Mark shrugs innocently, like he wasn’t planning on doing exactly that. “And give me your backpack,” she says.

“What?” he exclaims, scandalized. “No, why?”

“Like I don’t know you packed your laptop there. You’re not getting out of this and I mean it. Now leave it in the car.”

“But I—”

“No ‘but I’. You can take the backpack, but the laptop stays here.” Mark’s mom can be really scary when she uses that tone of voice, so Mark reluctantly obeys.

There’s a tech store near the corner and Mark is plotting ways of sneaking out and going there instead of the stupid art studio when his mom says, “I’ll be here at one and I don’t want to be in your skin if I find out you’ve gone to that computer store.” Sometimes Mark wonders if she’s actually telepathic.

He gets out of the car and goes up the creaking, narrow staircase. Inside the studio it’s warm and quiet, with bright light coming through the high windows. It smells of oil paint and turpentine.

There are a few people seated already on the chairs in front of the wooden easels. Only two seats are free and one of them is between an older lady, who looks kind of like Mark’s aunt Mabel, the one who likes to pinch his cheeks and tell him how much he’s grown over the summer, and a guy with a hearing aid muttering something to himself. Yeah, maybe not there.

The other seat is at the end of the half-circle, next to a dark haired guy. He looks like he’s around Mark’s age, maybe a bit older. Mark thinks that he looks a bit familiar, so they probably go to school together, so there is high probability that the guy hates him, because for some reason Mark is not exactly what one would call popular. Whatever. He drops his backpack to the floor (it’s disappointingly light without his laptop inside) and sits down.

“Hello,” the guy next to him says and smiles at Mark.

“Yeah,” Mark answers and bends down to dig in his backpack. He’s not here to make small talk and he’s under no obligation to be nice to people.

“I’m Eduardo,” they guy says. Geez, he’s stubborn. “And you are?” he asks when it becomes clear from Mark’s prolonged silence he isn’t planning on responding.

“Mark,” says Mark. “I’m busy now. Can I ignore you some other time?” he asks. Oops, that was probably a bit rude. But the guy just laughs instead of punching Mark in the face and leans back in his chair.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. His hair is funny, kind of, like, fluffy. “Sometimes I talk too much. And you mind.”

“I don’t mind you talking as long as you don’t mind me not listening.” Mark shrugs his arms. The guy just laughs again, like Mark said something really funny.

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/?

Thankfully they are interrupted by the studio’s owner coming inside. She claps her hands, calling for attention.

“All right, everyone, let’s get to work. I see we have a new student today. Mark, right? I’m Marion.”

Mark sinks lower in his chair. She continues, unfazed. “Our topic today is still life.” She gestures to a table in the middle of the room. On it there are two porcelain plates, a pitcher and, oh yes, a bunch of grapes. Fantastic. At least there’s no dead fish in sight. “Let’s get started.”

Mark stares at the empty piece of drawing paper in front of him. He doesn’t make any move to start drawing and he can feel the guy next to him – Eduardo – watching him curiously. Mark isn’t going to pretend that this is anything other than a class he was forced to attend against his will and if it means wasting his time for the next three hours, then so be it.

Eduardo nudges him with his foot, interrupting Mark’s current occupation that is doing nothing. He extends a pencil towards him without a word.

“You know, I think the purpose of drawing is actually making some lines on the paper,” he whispers when Mark doesn’t move to take it. “And unless you’re psychic or something, of course, and can make them appear just with the force of your mind, I think you need a pencil for it.”

Mark takes the pencil, because it seems easier than arguing with Eduardo.

It’s really not that Mark doesn’t enjoy drawing – he does, obviously, he even isn’t half bad at it, but there’s a difference between drawing just for fun and being forced to attend a class with a bunch of freaks and old ladies. And guys like Eduardo, apparently, who definitely isn’t an old lady and doesn’t appear to be a freak (unless you count his disputable taste in people he tries to befriend). But Mark is already holding a pencil and there’s an empty sheet in front of him, and empty sheets are tempting. They need to be filled with something.

So Mark draws the plates and the pitcher and even gets started on the grapes. Marion Gibbs is checking up on everybody’s progress from time to time. She stops near Eduardo and praises his work, telling him to work a little more on the shadowing.

“See the way the light falls on that pitcher, Eduardo? Look at the reflections on it. Think you can show that in your drawing?” Eduardo nods and goes back to work, looking intently at the composition on the table.

“Hm,” Marion says when she looks at Mark’s work. It looks good, Mark knows this. He still doesn’t want to be here, but he wouldn’t make a bad drawing on purpose, so he’s trying. “Hm,” she says again, and what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?

She walks off without another word and Mark frowns angrily.

“All right, that’s the end for today. Let’s look at what you have.”

Everyone gets up to turn their easels around and Mark grudgingly follows suit. The other drawings are pretty bad – okay, no, they’re downright terrible. Except for Eduardo’s, because Eduardo’s drawing is good. Really good. Almost as good as Mark’s.

Marion says a few words about every work. Mark has to admit that she’s being pretty diplomatic about it, because she finds something good in every drawing, even the hearing aid guy’s, which doesn’t even resemble the things that are on the table. It looks like, Mark doesn’t even know what. UFO, maybe.

She tells Eduardo that he did a good job with the shadowing and then it’s Mark’s turn.

“It’s correct,” she says.

“What, and that’s it?” Mark asks. “You know it’s the best thing in this room. You know it. And all you have to say is that it’s correct? What kind of a teacher do you think you are, do you even know what you’re talking about? You wouldn’t know real art if it jumped up and bit you in the ass.”

People around him are staring at him in silence. His aunt Mabel’s lookalike sits down and presses a hand to her mouth. Eduardo actually looks torn between being horrified and amused.

“And what is real art, Mark?” Marion Gibbs asks him.

“Something I don’t need to learn about from you,” Mark snaps and goes to gather his things. When he’s at the door she calls after him, unfazed, “I’ll see you next week, Mark.”

Yeah. Like hell he’s going back there next week. Band of amateurs.

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/?

Heeee :D Can't really tell you enough how happy I am that you're writing this (I won't bother pretending I don't know who you are, ok?). It's perfect! Poor Mark, so underappreciated... well, he's about to get all the world's attention he needs and then some ;) Please write more soon? *bambieyes*

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-09-03 06:56 am (UTC)(Expand)

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/?

you're making me want to reread the book :')

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-09-03 04:57 am (UTC)(Expand)

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/?


Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 1b/?

Oh, lovely start! I'm curious about the rest!

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 2a/?

Mark’s mom can’t drive him to the art studio the following Saturday – she’s got some kind of a work emergency, a patient that absolutely can’t wait for a visit – so his dad takes him. As opposed to Mark’s mom he’s not psychic, so Mark manages to smuggle his laptop out of the house without a problem. Now he only needs to figure out a way to avoid going up the stairs and into the classroom, but the opportunity provides itself when they get stuck in a traffic jam and his dad just drops him off at the corner, saying that it will be quicker if Mark goes there by foot. So Mark gets out of the car and ducks into the tech store the moment he’s sure his dad can’t see him.

It’s not a big store and there’s nothing particularly interesting on the display. He spends a few minutes looking at the newest Mac and eventually decides that he doesn’t know what all the fuss is about.

He’s got three hours to spare and the best thing would be to find someplace quiet, preferably with a table and power sockets to plug his laptop in. He doesn’t think the guys working at a tech store would appreciate him staying here with his own computer and abusing their electricity, but he saw a Starbucks a couple doors down and that seems like a good solution.

It’s relatively empty when he comes in and he finds a place to sit without a problem. He even orders coffee, because that’s what you’re supposed to do before claiming a table for yourself and Mark is perfectly capable of acting like a civilized person when he puts his mind to it.

There’s an idea that’s been on his mind for some time now, for an application that can recognize the user’s taste in music. He’s been working on it in his spare time and now he wants to lose himself in the code, but of course he needs to mind the clock – it wouldn’t do for his dad to catch him here instead of the art studio. He can work for a couple of hours though, so he quickly boots his laptop up and sets to work.

He finishes just as it’s nearing one o’clock and decides to wait for his dad at the curb. He gets rid of the incriminating evidence in the form of a Starbucks cup and goes outside. Some guy almost tramples him at the door, he’s in such a rush, and Mark is not, like, a delicate flower or anything, but he’s got his laptop with him and people should watch where they’re going. He takes off his backpack, just to make sure that nothing is broken, because that would be a really shitty thing to happen. He’s rummaging inside when there’s a small commotion near him and cars start honking, but it’s just the President’s motorcade – not an usual sight when you live in Washington.

Only that they don’t just pass by. The first car in the motorcade pulls up right in front of Mark and just stops there, the rest of the cars following suit. And then a bunch of Secret Service guys climb out and one of them opens the door of the President’s limo. And then the President gets out and walks into Starbucks.

So the President of the United States likes Starbucks coffee. No big deal. Mark would think that he didn’t need to buy it himself, but maybe it’s all a part of some plan to be closer to ordinary citizens who need to stand in queues every day to get a cup of warm beverage.

The whole thing doesn’t take longer than a minute (the queues probably don’t last long in the face of four armed guys in Armani suits) and by that time Mark notices that the guy who bumped into him before came back again, or maybe he was just standing here all the time. He has a trench coat wrapped around himself, which is pretty crazy, because it’s the middle of July and Mark is sweating in his grey hoodie and shorts.

Maybe the guy’s a flasher. Which, just, eww.

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 2b/?

Then a few things happen all at once: the President comes out of Starbucks, the flasher guy opens his coat and Mark doesn’t have time to be disgusted, because the next moment the guy is holding something black and shiny in his hand and that something very much resembles a gun.

The thing is, Mark is not a hero. He doesn’t help old ladies across the street, he doesn’t save little kittens from drowning and he’s definitely not the guy who would throw himself in the bullet’s path, but in that moment all he can think is that there’s some crazy man standing right next to him, who’s going to shoot the President, and that would be bad, obviously, so Mark just grabs the first heavy thing – which happens to be his backpack – and swings it at the guy’s back.

As far as improvised on the spot diversions go, it’s pretty successful – the bullet goes up in the air, missing its target completely. What happens next is a bit less fortunate, because the would-be assassin topples over, crashing into Mark and pinning him down to the ground. There’s an unpleasant crunching sound and Mark feels a sudden surge of pain in his left arm.

People are shouting incomprehensible things all the time and Mark is still laying on the sidewalk under the shooter. From the corner of his eye he can see that his backpack has opened and his laptop has fallen out. Shit.

Then somebody drags the guy off him and Mark wants to get up and check on his computer, but he finds himself with a gun pointed at his head.

“Freeze!” shouts the agent.

Mark freezes.

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 2b/?

Dude!! Please don't leave it there. Dying over here. Lol.

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 2b/?


You have spot-on characterizations -- especially Mark -- and I find myself laughing and cringing at Mark, which is generally how I react to him in canon, so. :D

I love the thing about his mom being telepathic, and Eduardo's insistence on giving him a pencil and the "correct" assessment of his art. And I love him buying coffee because he should, and just hitting the crazy assassin 'cause "that would be bad, obviously". I love love love that he's lying underneath the guy who just tried to kill the leader of the Free World, and all he can think is "shit, my laptop might be broken".


Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 2b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-09-08 11:54 am (UTC)(Expand)

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 3a/?

De-anoning, because keeping it anon is too complicated. Hi, guys.


Mark’s a pretty talkative guy (an understatement if there ever was one) and there really aren’t many things that can make him speechless.

Having a gun pointed in his face turns out to be pretty high on that list.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” the agent barks and Mark tries to quickly raise them over his head, given that the other option probably involves bullets and Mark would like to avoid that. However, his left arm hurts terribly when he moves it and he cradles it close to his chest with a soft gasp. Another guy comes over and pats him down without preamble, which, really, have they never heard about personal space?

“He’s unarmed,” the guy says, hauling Mark to his feet and grabbing his wrists. It hurts and Mark shouts, trying to pull away. “You’re coming with us, we’re gonna have a talk about your friend here,” the agent tells him, and there must be some mistake, because last time he checked, Mark didn’t have a habit of befriending potential assassins of the leader of the Free World.

“He’s not my friend!” Mark protests and the agent snorts, shaking his head. “He’s not!” Mark repeats. “Did you somehow miss the part where I threw my backpack at him, because he had a gun?” They approach a black SUV surrounded by more agents talking in short commands and doing whatever it is they do when somebody just attempted to shot the president. Mark wonders if they do it often. Probably not, it doesn’t look like they’ve had a lot practice before.

One of the agents overhears them and comes closer, giving Mark an appraising look. He seems to be in his forties, but his dark hair has streaks of grey at his temples.

“It’s all right, Anthony, leave him with me,” he tells the other agent and then turns to Mark. “Did you hurt your arm?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mark winces. Not-Anthony touches his back gently and leads him to an ambulance that arrived sometime after the commotion. A paramedic opens the door and they all get inside.

“Do you know who that man was?” the agent asks.

“No,” Mark shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him before he bumped into me in Starbucks.”

“And he didn’t talk to you about anything?”

“No. Why would he talk to me? I don’t think he would’ve informed me that he was going to try and kill the President, that would be a really stupid thing to do.”

The agent looks at him. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“Do you think I could get my laptop back?” Mark asks suddenly.

“Your laptop?”

“Yeah. It was in my backpack. I had my work saved there, it was important. I need it back.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the agent promises.

“Okay. Can I go home now?” His dad is probably waiting for him and he bets his mom has somehow heard about the shooting already and is freaking out at home. Or maybe she will try to come and get past all the President’s bodyguards, Mark wouldn’t put it past her. His mom can be really scary sometimes.

“Not before we fix your arm,” one of the paramedics butts in. “We’ll do an x-ray to be sure, but it looks broken.”

Well, shit. Coding one-handed is going to be a bitch.

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 3b/?

They take him to a hospital despite Mark’s protests and repeated assurances that he’s fine, he really doesn’t need to go there. He ends up wearing a cast from the elbow down, which really sucks, but at least it’s not his right hand.

They put him in a private room while he waits for his parents and for some reason they insist on armed guards at the door, because apparently he’s some sort of a national hero now. The guards check everyone who wants to get inside and they try to do it with his mom when she arrives twenty minutes later, but she gives them such a verbal lashing that Mark is secretly proud of her.

“Mark!” she exclaims, rushing inside the room.

“Hi, mom,” Mark says, hugging her back awkwardly when she tries to crush his ribs.

She pulls back after a moment. “Don’t ever do something like that to me again, do you hear me?” she tells him sternly. “God, Mark, I thought you… Never mind. One more stunt like that and you’re grounded for life.”

“I saved the President’s life,” Mark informs her and then it hits him. He actually saved the President’s life. Huh.

His mom just stares at him wordlessly and then hugs him again.

“Can we go home now?” Mark asks, squirming out of her embrace. “Tell them I don’t need to stay here overnight.”

The doctor taking care of Mark is against the idea at first, but eventually he’s convinced that Mark will be better off spending the night in his own bed, so they take Mark’s stuff (the agent stayed true to his promise and had Mark’s backpack with its contents untouched delivered to the hospital) and head to the car. Back at home Mark goes right to his bedroom and takes out his laptop, placing it carefully on his desk. The screen is cracked and the whole case is broken. It’s probably beyond repair and Mark fervently hopes that he’ll be able to recover the data.

Maybe the President could get him a new laptop. Mark deserves something for saving the guy’s life, doesn’t he?


Sorry about the lack of Wardo in this part, but I felt bad about the cliffhanger in the last update and I wanted to post this sooner rather than later ;) More is still to come.

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 3b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-09-17 05:35 am (UTC)(Expand)

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 4a/?

Sorry for taking so long with the update! My classes started and I didn't have as much time for writind as I'd like.

For the purpose of this story, let's assume that Eduardo's grandfather was Brazilian, but his father was born in America. Their whole family lived in Brazil for a few years when Eduardo was little, before moving back to the USA.


“Mark!” his mom calls from downstairs. “Come down, please, you have guests!”

“I’m busy!” he shouts back and promptly puts his headphones on, effectively blocking all the sound. The only people who might visit him in his house are Chris and Dustin and it’s not like he won’t see them in school, so.

He startles when somebody taps him on the shoulder. His mom is standing behind his chair.

“What?” he asks. “Tell Chris I’m fine and I don’t need a babysitter, it’s just a broken wrist, seriously–”

“It’s not Chris,” his mom interrupts. She seems a bit tense. “Just come with me, all right?” She looks disapprovingly at his t-shirt, worn down from the years of use. “You should change into something nicer,” she decides.

“Why?” Mark frowns. “You’re being weird. Did aunt Mabel drop by unannounced again or something?”

His mom doesn’t reply, just hands him a button-down that is mostly clean, if a bit rumpled from being thrown carelessly into a drawer.

“Come down when you’re ready,” she tells him. “And… Mark, please, just try to be nice.”

Mark just shrugs in reply. He changes quickly – to be honest, he doesn’t think it makes that much of a difference, he still looks mostly the same, all bony wrists and unmanageable curls around his head.

He can hear the low buzz of people talking in the sitting room when he goes down the stairs. He really hopes his mom didn’t come up with the crazy idea of throwing him a surprise party, because the last one they had was when Mark was six and it ended badly after one of his cousins broke his favorite toy and Mark refused to come out of his room for the rest of the day.

“Ah, there you are!” Mark’s dad says, appearing from the kitchen. “Come on, young man, everybody’s waiting for you,” he tells him and all but manhandles him into the room. His smile is a bit manic, seriously, you’d think that Bill Gates decided to surprise them with a visit.

FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 4b/?

Mark’s mom brought out the good china, which is never a good sign. She’s talking to some lady that Mark doesn’t recognize at first and they both turn around when Mark and his dad come in.

“My son, Mark,” his mom says and beckons him to come closer.

“So you’re our hero,” says the woman, smiling warmly at Mark. As soon as he’s near enough, she draws him into a hug, patting him lightly on the back and completely ignoring his stiffening posture.

“This is the young man to whom I owe my thanks?” somebody asks and Mark turns around.

Oh. He supposes that explains his parents’ behavior. After all, it’s not every day they have to deal with the President of the United States sitting on their couch and treating himself to home-baked cookies only for the special occasion. He looks different up close than on TV – smaller, somehow, and older.

“Yes,” Mark replies, because he’s never been the one to beat around the bush. His mom makes a pained face next to him.

“Wonderful!” the woman Mark’s mom was talking to – right, the First Lady, Mark realizes belatedly – breaks the awkward silence. “Mark, you haven’t met my son yet – Eduardo, what’s taking you so long in that kitchen?” she calls out.

“Sorry, Mãe,” her son says sheepishly, coming into the room with a glass of water in his hand. “Hello, I’m – Mark!” Eduardo exclaims when he notices him, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, but then his whole face lights up in a smile, like he’s genuinely pleased to see Mark.

That at least explains why Mark thought the guy looked familiar.

“Yes, hi,” Mark says, somewhat awkwardly.

“You two know each other?” Mark’s mom asks, puzzled.

“Mark goes with me to Marion Gibbs Art Studio, we’ve met,” Eduardo explains.

“Well, Mark,” the First Lady says, reaching out to hold his good hand lightly between her own. Mark’s never been big on touching and it makes him feel a bit uncomfortable, but he does his best not to flinch and withdraw his arm. “We’d very much like to express our gratitude for what you did and we’d like to invite your whole family to dine with us.” The President nods gravely next to her.

“We’re very honored, ma’am,” Mark’s mom takes over the conversation. “Mark!” she hisses. “They’re going to think you were raised by wolves!”

“Oh, please, just call me Maria,” the First Lady says. “We’re looking forward to it, then. I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful.”

Sure. Dinner. In the White House, with the President and his wife, and probably their son. Just splendid.

Mark chances a look at Eduardo, who looks endlessly amused by the whole thing.


I'm not a native speaker, as you've probably noticed, so I'd be extremely grateful if there was somebody willing to beta read this for me. Pretty please? And thank you! ;)

Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 4b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-11-11 10:16 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 4b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-11-15 06:44 pm (UTC)(Expand)
Re: FILL: Hit You With The Real Thing 4b/? - (Anonymous), 2011-11-25 01:33 pm (UTC)(Expand)