#((and PEOPLE ANSWER YOUR FUCKING EMAILS. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GIVE ME A QUOTE???))

[queenharumiura]

((I'm real tired and stressed so I'm gonna have a lazy day. Maybe also tomorrow. We'll see.

Too lazy to post it but Haru got 18 and Fiore got 41. Haru is mad lol. Fiore is just, ah so below average? Checks out.))

[venomvalley]

RIPE FOR THE PICKING (II)

pairing: ID!leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: Your fake marriage is going strong and plans are set in motion. But things are never peaceful for long, and an attack from Umbrella leaves you scrambling amidst the unknown.

words: 7.6k

warnings: body horror/corpses, blood and injury mention, smut at the end so this one’s 18+!!

notes: this chapter was a beast and idk if i managed to pull off what i was trying to set up but im just here for the ride besties!!!! same as u!!! themes are hard!!!

>> PART ONE

Phase Two of your plan:

Well. Not that simple, now that you think about it.

Contact HQ. Link Carl Voerman to dealings in America. Acquire Carina’s information. Find Nolan Reed.

But you have an outline, a plan to move things forward. Namely, Carl’s emails. Provided to you in black-and-white ink, paper-clipped neatly inside a manila folder. Courtesy of his wife.

She joins you for a dinner of take-out and fancy, bitter wine—the kind of shit that rich people only pretend to enjoy. But it does the job well. Severs the anxious edge, allows you to relax.

Tonight is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen her. Stripped down to barren bones, ripped of her high-class façade. Dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, sneakers she left at the entryway. No need for on-guard mind games when you share a common goal.

“Carl’s out on one of his escapades tonight,” she says, accent more casual, each vowel elongated. Her natural voice, you presume. “Won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

“Were you a spy before or after you decided to marry?” Leon asks, stealing a piece of steak from your take-out container. Snarky in tone, half-assed in care, and you cut him a warning look.

“After, actually.” She chances a quick glance up before ducking her head. “I loved him, once upon a time. Before I knew what he was.”

You lean forward on an elbow, food moved aside to enable Leon’s indulgence. “And now?”

“Before this is over, I want him either dead or in jail.”

Neither you nor Leon say a goddamn word.

Amongst his emails, you find a link to various companies trading information, private dealings with CEOs, but he’s done well to cover his tracks. Simple names, most spoken in code, much like what you personally found on his computer.

Nolan Reed haunts you.

“A fake name, as you assumed. But I’ve seen his face.” Now sat on the couch, your spine straightens. Beside you, her eyes darken to fire-fanned pits. “You give me what I need, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

From the entryway, Leon scoffs. “Trust me, we’re trying.”

“And I know you’ll succeed.”

She has you by the balls. Twists a little for good measure. And now that you aren’t coerced into agreeing (an arguable oopsie on your part), you understand just how anti-bigger-picture her goal is. But you know better. Umbrella is every bit a hydra: cut off the head and three more grow back, branch off with their chaos.

It never fucking ends. Gotta sever the limbs, too, it seems. Carina might just have the solution to the problem, but there’s a bigger issue at play. Injure an animal and it scurries away to hide. To heal.

You’re gonna need one very tactical, very large rock. Kill it all at once.

~

You wake in the middle of the night to the blaring ring of a phone, your burner cell sat on the nightstand. Too early for whoever decided to chat. Leon jolts from a deep sleep, cusses a groggy mangle of words just as you roll over to answer.

Before you can even speak, Hunnigan begins. “Hope the two of you had a nice sleep. We need you alert and ready in twenty minutes.”

That wakes you.

“What’s going on?”

“An agent from Global Operations will be there shortly to debrief you.”

Global Operations? What the fuck are they doing all the way out here?

The line goes dead, then you jump from the bed sheets and sprint for the dresser. Leon quickly follows, spouting off questions as you remove the false backing and find your gear.

“Hunnigan said that Global Operations is in town.”

“They planning something?” he asks, grabbing the clothes you toss his way.

“Apparently. I’m guessing they need our intel.”

“For what?”

You’ve seen each other stripped down before. This is nothing new. Still, you can’t help the burst of modesty that digs into your nape. He’s seen you before. It should be fine.

Should be. These circumstances provide you with a new set of challenges, fresh hoops to jump through. Shit, when was the last time you got laid? Way before this whole mess, and now you’re stuck. Hypothetically, if you decided to jump into someone’s bed—maybe a cute stranger with a smart mouth—it wouldn’t be cheating, but yes it absolutely would.

Okay… Okay, yeah. So maybe this means something after all.

After a trip to the bathroom and a quick dressing, Leon comes to adjust the straps that pattern a criss-cross over your thighs. “Jesus—how did you tangle these so bad?”

Large fingers slot between jean and leather, and you lose a bit of your sanity during his process of twisting the straps. The most intimate he’s ever touched you, and the contact remains brain-melting.

With a resigned huff, he admits defeat.

“Leon, it’s fine. I’ll fix ‘em on the way.” With a sharp grin, your eyes lock onto the breadth of his shoulder. “But your holster isn’t any better.”

“I’ll fix it on the way,” said with raised brows, almost mocking in tone.

He stands to his full height, stretches his mouth into a perfect mirror of your own expression, and you have a decision to make. A very important, very time-sensitive one.

Fuck it. You slant your lips over his, curl a hand around the back of his neck, muss up the soft hair you find there.

And then it’s over. You step away to sheathe your knife, then holster your gun, and he scoffs from over your shoulder. “Was that one practice, too?”

You turn around to shoot him a sickly-sweet smile. “Of course, my dear. You never know who’s watching.”

He doesn’t believe it, and you don’t expect him to.

~

The agent sits tall enough inside the unmarked car that his hair would no doubt touch the ceiling—if he had any. A soldier sits on either side of him, armed to the teeth with weaponry.

“I bet a summer breeze feels amazing with… ya know,” Leon motions to his head. “Like when you stand on a balcony without underwear.”

The entire car of people turn to look at him, and he clears his throat, shimmies a bit closer into your side.

Agent Moriando replies with a blink before settling back into the conversation. “Anyway,” he says, voice a raking gravel, “here’s what we’re working with.”

“It was a compliment,” Leon mutters into your ear, and you comfort him with a pat to the back of his hand.

“I know, honey.”

Moriando hands over a set of well-worn papers, and you wonder how many hands they’ve passed through. The edges creased, dog-eared, ripped at one corner. Probably a hundred at this point.

The contents, however…

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you breathe.

Two days ago, a town nearby experienced an isolated attack, approximated at five thousand civilians affected—either already succumbed or anticipated to be. Method of infection: waterfall via helitanker. A first. You gotta give them credit for creativity and discretion.

But here’s the kicker: the helicopter was U.S. owned. Who signed off on the distribution remains a mystery.

“Your new Umbrella friends are suspected to be responsible.” You and Leon share a look, and Moriando gives a single chuckle. “What the hell’s taking so long, by the way? It’s been five months and you’ve found nothing.”

“No, we have. But apparently,” Leon leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, “STRATCOM didn’t think you were important enough to know about it.”

At the agent’s glare, you dive head-first into damage control. “What my partner means is: our mission is highly classified.”

“So what is this important information you’ve been sitting on?”

Leon decides to remain silent, and turns to you for answer.

“We found evidence that Carl Voerman, a wealthy exec, is involved in a secret Umbrella project. He also has experience working alongside B.O.W.s.”

“Do you think that’s our guy?”

“No. He’s just financing it. One of many others, most likely.”

“But you have leads, I’m guessing.”

Both you and Leon nod, and you say, “We’re playing the long game, sir. A mission like this requires patience and hyper-vigilance.”

“Those bastards are ruthless,” Moriando says. “I can’t say I don’t admire your loyalty to the cause.”

“Thank you, sir, but people’s lives depend on our success. We don’t really have another option.”

No pressure. No pressure at all.

~

The aftermath is worse on the ground. Bodies of all ages litter the streets, some curled in on themselves, some face-down, and the worst—flat on their back, more decay than matter, flaking flesh, missing lips and noses and eyelids.

The streets have been cordoned off, tents spread out as makeshift treatment centers—a guise for strapdown-style quarantines. The BSAA, local police, and military all gather together in small groups, sharing animated discussions and moments of silence and whispered gossip. They wave you through each blockade you encounter.

You swallow down rising bile, choke back a gag, and Leon comforts you with a squeak of his gloves between your shoulder blades. Says, “You never really get used it,” beneath his full-face respirator.

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Where Umbrella’s concerned, there is none.”

There it is. Within the ocean-tide of his eyes, a glimpse into the past. A bone-deep exhaustion ten years in the making.

Given what he’s witnessed, what he’s personally survived, you don’t know how the man goes on. How he still stands on two feet. But maybe that’s it, right? He’s seen Umbrella’s injustice firsthand, escaped the decimation of Ground Zero. How could you not keep fighting?

But maybe there’s more to the story, hidden within the blacked-out sentences of his personnel file.

You wish to know it all. Everything.

A team from the BSAA touches down shortly after you scope out the damage. With them, a leading expert in virology—a direct recommendation from the Commander himself.

Doctor Abernathy as he introduces himself, an older man, squirrely by nature, loud and fast-talking beneath his own mask.

“For this strain of virus, there are two methods of infection: skin absorption and respiration via water droplets.” He leads you through the town in the direction of his new outpost while two soldiers flank each side. Both you and Leon follow behind. “The first few hundred civilians were infected via the former, but we suspect the death toll to rise toward a thousand by morning.”

“They’re dying?” Leon asks, supporting your nauseous form with a hand wrapped tight about your bicep.

You’ve seen death before, but your dealings with Umbrella involved the living—the people catalyzing the destruction. Never fared well around gore.

“Dropping like flies, almost a domino effect. It seems that Umbrella had reason to choose such an isolated area.”

“Because they weren’t trying to start an outbreak,” Leon snaps. A quick conclusion that leaves you staring. “It was a test to see how well their virus is progressing.”

His knowledge on this subject far surpasses yours, and something akin to pride soars through you. A match made in USSTRATCOM heaven, like Hunnigan had said. **

But this affects him on a molecular level. All the death and the decay and the helplessness. The fingers around your arm tighten.

He’s seen enough. Too much.

Up ahead, Abernathy nods. “Those were my thoughts, too. Which means that someone is likely keeping an eye on the area.”

“You think they’re still in town?” you ask, glancing between the two men.

“Where they can’t be traced or become infected themselves.”

“Underground,” Leon answers easily, before shooting you a weary look. “Trust me, it’s always underground.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges, a laugh teasing on the end of your tongue. “Like rats.”

“Exactly.”

After a long walk, Abernathy welcomes you to the outpost—and you immediately ask for something to wretch into.

The doctor exhales a sigh. Says, “You eventually get used to it,” over the sound of your coughing.

“You should never have to,” Leon whispers to you, kneeled at your side, a palm patting soft at your back.

Eventually, the nausea dissipates. A surprising feat, given the smell of metallic decay that seeps through the tent’s thick walls. Abernathy takes the stool near the opposite wall, facing two desks—one for a mountain of paperwork and the other for a laptop and a microscope and various medical instruments. You don’t inspect the setup closely. Too busy trying to reign in the hammering of your skull.

Leon helps you to your feet, and a soldier forces a bottle of water into your hand. You thank him with a tired huff.

“This is outsourced, right?” Leon asks, eyeing the condensation that drips from your palm.

The soldier nods, expression hidden behind his full-face mask. “Of course. There’s no way we’d risk drinking anything within fifty miles of this place.”

“Good.”

A long guzzle of water later, and Abernathy waves you out, citing his need to work in peace. One of his soldiers leads you to another tent, larger than the last, already busy with the herd of people pouring in and out.

“This is the man you wanna talk to. He can give you a better debrief on suspects.” The man turns on his heel and strolls back the way you came.

Inside, everything’s a mess. Discussions of containment, detainment, shifting blame, delegating responsibilities. Leon shares with you a wide-eyed glance behind the plastic screen of his respirator.

A voice bellows out, calls for order. You’ve never heard a group fall silent so quickly.

Beside you, Leon exhales a laugh. Mutters, “Things just got interesting.”

You know Chris Redfield when you see him, and the dispersing crowd provides a perfect view. Head Honcho, Countermeasures Expert, Day One Umbrella Enemy. A legend in his field. Shit, a legend in everybody’s.

Who can blame you for being a bit starstruck?

When you approach his desk—paperwork seems a common enemy amongst personnel—he nods in greeting. “If it isn’t Leon Kennedy.”

Leon shakes the hand he offers. “In the flesh.”

Then the Captain turns to you. “And you are…?”

Chris Redfield is intimidating close up. Tall and bulky, fit with a permanent scowl that seems more personal than it probably is. You wonder what he’s had to witness, too.

“This is Birdie,” Leon says. Curls an arm over your shoulders, edges you forward with a flourish of pride.

“It’s Nightingale.” You shoot Chris a weary look. “Please don’t listen to him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard the stories.”

“From your sister no doubt.”

Chris pauses a moment, imperceptible to any other eye, but you witness the softness that overwhelms his features. His love makes you a little soft, too. “Amongst others.”

Beside you, Leon bristles. Regarding Chris’s comment, nothing significant stands out, which means there’s a history here. One you’re wholly ignorant to.

As such, it’s none of your business.

“Anyway,” you say, nodding plainly to the papers scattered about his desk, “what do we know about the people behind this?”

“This has Umbrella written all over it, that we’re sure of. As for specifics, we have a few individuals in mind.” Behind his own mask, his eyes crinkle at the corners. You think he might be smiling. “All thanks to your intel.”

Ah, hero worship. What a beautiful, embarrassing thing. You can never admit to anyone the sunny smile his words create.

“Ya know, I originally wanted to stay in the military, but they thought my talents could be used elsewhere. I liked to flatter more than fight, they said.”

Chris huffs out a laugh. “Were you the one who got a squad to surrender after ten minutes and a pot of coffee?”

“It was more like thirty, but yes. That was me.”

“Then they made the right choice.”

Ah, hero worship. A rosy blossom of warmth, rudely interrupted by the reintroduction of Leon into your basking bubble.

He sidles up next to you, ghosts a hand down your spine before remembering himself and pulling away. “Well, this has been fun, but we should probably talk strategy.”

You miss his touch, and the skin sears from where he pulls away—a phantom pain.

The strategy: you and Leon go in first. A bigger group would draw attention, scare away your little rat hiding in the tunnels. Chris and his team give you thirty minutes before they storm in after you. Long enough to find the suspect.

It’s a good plan. Redfield knows what he’s doing, and so does Leon. You’ll be fine.

During the hour-long trek to the sewers, Leon strays a fair distance on the opposite side of the empty, cragged road. You reign him in again, and again, and again, but akin to magnetic likepoles, you continue to repel each other.

Maybe it was the thing Redfield said. Maybe you pissed him off somewhere along the way. Maybe he’s just too deep in his own head.

Regardless, you trail after him. Catch him by the arm. “You’re moping.”

“I’ve never moped a day in my life.”

“You don’t gotta lie to me, ya know.”

His mouth pinches at the corners, brow furrowing. “Death likes to follow me. Been that way since I was little.”

“I’m guessing the Captain reminded you of that.”

At the sewer entrance, he stops. Turns to look at you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

A bit of you melts at the statement, confounded by its sincerity. You wonder how many people he’s lost in this fight, how many souls he’s sent off. How many funerals he’s attended. In the grand scheme of things, the rotting bodies he once called friends and colleagues and even family are just a drop in the ocean to the scale of Umbrella’s destruction. Maybe that’s what haunts him the most.

Regardless, you understand the weight of death. How well it siphons, sings, sinks to some unkempt pit where the good ones always end up—dewdrop memories that always, inevitably fade over time.

He can’t see your impish smile, but you paint it on anyway. Hope that he hears the jest in your voice, that you could never blame him. “If I get hurt, it’ll be of my own volition, thank you very much.”

A stubborn grunt from the back of his throat. “Glad to hear it.”

The sewer blisters with darkness the deeper you travel, despite the reprieve of both flashlights, but your mask thankfully dulls the smell. Something lurks just beneath the water, knee-deep and murky. Teases gooseflesh on the back of your neck. Each drip of the stone ceiling jolts you. Not even the comfort of your gun in hand quells the intrusive haunt of your presence.

Whatever lives in here wants you out.

“I’ve never done well with the unknown,” you say, barely a whisper within the looming walls. Rounded much like an archway, as long and desolate and maze-like as a catacomb.

Okay. You’re freaking out a bit. A lot, actually.

“Ever been in a sewer before?”

“Never.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a fantastic tour guide.”

Up ahead, the water splashes. Nowhere to go but a small lip of land on each side, barely wide enough to plant your feet. Nowhere to go at all, then.

Leon braves the danger first, form relaxed as he sidesteps his way toward the surfacing bubbles. As if he’s done this, been here a thousand times. Because he has.

He glances over his shoulder, holds a hand toward you as the water wells and wanes—

then silence.

An overwhelming, eerie calm.

Leon keeps his gun raised, poised toward the waterway’s intersection.

Silence then chaos. You blink and he’s gone, instead a splashing path carved out by a large, scaled tail.

You chase down the trail through the maze-like labyrinth and thank the BSAA gods for the protective gear. Would’ve been infected long ago with the way you trip and splash through the thickened sludge.

But who are you kidding? You would risk it for him anyway. A scary thought, that. One you have no time to dwell on given the circumstances—he’s probably already drowned somewhere, and you’ve delved far enough into the sewer that bodies crunch underfoot. Rotted hands float on the surface of jelly-esque water. Each step like sloshing through mud.

The trail ends at a ramp of sorts, leads into a clawing darkness that not even your flashlight penetrates. On the back of your neck, gooseflesh rises. The water tugs you forward, down, into the gaping maw of whatever awaits.

What would Leon do? **Shit, he would brave the unknown, slide headfirst into its depths. But you aren’t that fearless. Harbor opposing skill sets for a reason. You talk your way out of confrontation, have only seen mutations and B.O.W.s through the lens of fake credentials and test tubes.

But he’s your partner, and he’d do it for you.

Sliding down the ramp is a surprisingly dangerous journey, what with the pot hole that catches your foot and sends you flying asshole over elbow. At the bottom, your side smacks into the grating, and all the breath expels from your lungs in one heaving cough.

As you rise to your knees, pain a searing ache throughout your torso, a mourning wail echoes from somewhere out of sight. Inhuman, a slight growl to its edges.

Get up. The pain hasn’t set in yet.

Get up. You’re okay.

The wall keeps you upright as your feet follow the one-way path laid out before you. Down here, you find no streams of water but puddles fed a continuous drip from cracks in the stone above. They land on your mask and you clear the condensation with a wipe of your glove.

The longer you walk, the louder the cries become. Your adrenaline stays spiked, stays a choking heartbeat as you stroll along. Nothing hurts yet, but there’s anticipation for both beginning and end.

You pass by a break in the wall, large enough for you to fit through, and past that: a white-coat man, tall and dark-haired and young in the face, pacing beneath a collapsed ceiling. Beside him stands a lithe creature, half-reptilian for all its scales and large tail, stalactite hackles rising upon your notice. And behind them you spot Leon, suit dripping wet, face bloody beneath it, sat in a folding chair.

Against the wall, you spot a desk with two separate laptops: one with a clear view of the streets above via security cameras, and the other with a set of three different graphs, though you fail to read the small text.

Huh. Leon was right.

You think you might be in shock. Taking the whole your partner was kidnapped by The Enemy and a monstrous creature thing way too well.

“Here to save your husband, I suppose?” asks the man, face stretched into an expression you can’t quite place. Almost hospitable, if you can believe it.

“I was hoping to.”

He laughs, and Leon leans forward to rest his elbows on shaking knees, no doubt chilled to the bone. But the sight of him alive renews your energy, makes you stand a little straighter.

A part of you wishes to impress him, and you blame it on the adrenaline. The fish-out-of-water situation you’ve found yourself in.

“Carl said you were a spitfire. I can see why.” At your broken sigh, he nods to you, angles his head in question. “That was quite a nasty fall. Would you like to take a seat?”

“I’d like to get out of here, actually.”

Then, the pout of a lip. “I’m hurt. You don’t want to woo me first? Maybe talk me over to the good side?”

The creature circles behind you, nudges you forward with a sharpened muzzle, and you obey until you’re a few feet away from where Leon sits and the man stands beside him.

Already, the man’s face has begun to change, deep red burns peeling away to decay at his hairline. The runoff has made its way down here, and breathing all that infected air in. Well. You’re surprised he still remains intact.

Behind him, the cameras onscreen trigger movement. Chris and his team breaching the sewer entrance. Something the scientist fails to notice, enraptured as he is by you. But this is good. You can use his preconceptions to your advantage.

A wave of calm washes over you, a familiarity that soothes chattering bones. Keep him busy, get him talking. This is what you’re good at.

“How are you still so unaffected? By the virus, I mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually. I’m quite interested in how Umbrella operates these things.”

He takes a moment to answer, but eventually motions around the room. “This is how. Testing. Testing viruses, testing antidotes, testing our little friends.” He then waves to the creature still stood at your side, a strange clicking sound swelling its throat. “I think he likes you.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve always wanted a bioweapon as a pet.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, and the scientist’s expression shifts. Not exactly anger—disappointment, you suppose.

“He’s quite a good boy, actually. He follows commands well.”

“Why didn’t he take me, then?” you ask.

“Because I knew you would follow.”

A valid point. If he’s heard of you through Carl, then he knows the nature of your relationship. Or more accurately, he thinks he does.

“So why haven’t you killed us?”

“Maybe I miss having company. Maybe I wanted to meet the two people my boss has talked so much about.”

There it is. He realizes his mistake the same time you do. Get people talking long enough, ask nonsensical questions, and they always slip up.

“Carl’s your boss.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stares at you a long moment, eyes wide, jaw tense beneath the skin. But the damage is already done. Carina’s information—Nolan Reed—is within reach.

In another life, you think he would’ve been a better person. Charismatic enough to do good and do it well. Any outcome but this, left to rot inside some catacomb of filth. Umbrella never planned for him to make it out alive.

“Listen,” you say, stepping closer to him, and the creature hisses in defense. “You obviously have a conscience, and that’s something we can’t afford to lose.”

“Apologies, but my loyalties lie elsewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you know that they never planned for you to leave this place alive.” You glance over to Leon, slowly blinking behind his mask. Something toxic wells up the back of your throat, seeks to comfort him with clawing fingers. But you cast the urge aside, need to focus. “There’s a much better place for you. A place where you can finally do good.”

“Where I can be a slave to the government?” From the corner of your eye, Leon lowers his head. “No thank you.”

“As if Umbrella’s any better? At least we aren’t hurting people.”

“You hurt more than you think.”

“We aren’t the ones killing thousands with man-made viruses.”

“Neither am I. But are we not products of the same system? Doing our higher-ups’ bidding?”

You remain silent. He’s right. Undeniably. Not everyone associated with the Umbrella symbol is bad, the same way not everyone representing the government or the BSAA or the military are good. Just cogs in one very broken, very unfair machine. You had a choice—a lot of people don't receive the same luxury.

“No. You’re right.”

In response, he nods his head, and there it is. The adrenaline crash. The pain that lances up your side, that shallows your breath.

The scientist will die soon, and the poor creature along with him. Victims in two very different ways, yet the same. Is he catalyst or scapegoat? Which would be easier to accept? That he damned thousands of innocents, or that he, too, fell prey to honeyed words and galaxy-sized dreams. Like Mary or Carina or the other spouses.

You don’t know.

Redfield’s team bursts in, and the creature is downed before you can seek solace beneath the table. The scientist is taken out in handcuffs. Leon stays seated.

You can’t help it. You fix his hair with a soft hand, spread your lips into a comforting smile. The man is hauled off, taken in for questioning. The hard part—the who—will soon be over. You can breathe for a moment.

“You okay?” you ask, eyeing the swath of blood smeared across his temple and congealed in his hair.

He heaves a shrug, post-adrenaline in the way exhaustion bears prominence behind his eyes. “Head wounds bleed. A lot. I’m more concerned about you and that fall you took.”

He soothes gentle fingers down your side, and your breath catches on a hiss when he hits a spot rife with tenderness. “Cracked ribs at the worst. Not much I can do besides rest.”

Just outside of town, Doctor Abernathy sends you into quarantine. A harsh hosing down, a change of clothes, a checklist of symptoms to run through. Leon leaves with a diagnosis of a minor concussion, and you with three cracked ribs. Both of you require tried and true rest. The best medicine in the book.

On the drive home, a long four hours later, both of you remain silent. Sunrise threatens the horizon, peaks of gold behind sawed-off mountains and spotty trees. The start of autumn a few weeks out.

Six months on Saturday. Almost an anniversary at this point, less a celebration than a reigning of reality. You’re alone again. Thrown to the wolves, a little lamb on unsteady feet.

You wonder how old the scientist was. If he was even a scientist at all.

In the seat beside you, Leon stirs awake. Wipes his eyes with the heel of a palm, winces when he catches the medical tape holding the gauze in place just above his eye.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help back there,” you say. The words just come out, because you look at him and his bruised arms and his injured head and you see failure. “I might’ve made things worse, actually.”

You were scared. Terrified. If you had been faster, then maybe… fuck, you don’t know anymore.

He takes a moment to look at you, and then he smiles, and you know what’s coming. “I’m not used to playing the damsel in distress. It was kinda fun.”

“Did you really think I was gonna come rescue you?”

“Never doubted it.” He stretches best he can in the small space then turns back to face you. “The flips were a nice touch, by the way. But you should probably work on your landing.”

You breath slow through your nose to suppress a laugh, and the clench of your stomach aggravates sensitive bones. “I will never step foot in another sewer again. You can handle the fighting next time.”

“Not so much fighting as I was drowning.”

“Yeah. I thought you died.” His face softens, and you reach over to pat him on the knee. “Glad you’re still with me.”

“That’s sappy, even for you.”

“I am not sappy.”

“No, I like it. The other agents I’ve worked with have these big sticks up their asses. It’s nice to work with someone who still remembers how to be human.”

Oh. Huh. That’s… well. Sweet. Tooth-rotting, actually. The nicest thing he’s ever said to you, you think. And you aren’t sure how to respond.

Regardless, the silence that follows is comfortable.

You’re back home by late morning. Dead on your feet, impossibly sore, but alive. After a quick change of clothes, the two of you pass out in bed then wake sometime after dark.

He meets you in the kitchen, nursing a pack of sliced turkey and a glass of water. The snack of winners, you suppose.

“I was thinking earlier, and I’m honestly surprised,” he says. “You sure know how to sweet-talk.”

You take a seat on the couch nearby, reality still rosy at the edges from your long nap. “It’s my job, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to be so good at it. Almost charmed the pants right off me and I was just a witness.”

“I can be charming when I want to.”

“That makes two of us.”

He pulls a fifth of whiskey from the shelf and two glasses from the cabinet and you know your night’s done for. You’ll be drinking half the bottle.

“Leon, you can’t drink with a concussion.”

“Well, the ibuprofen in the cabinet isn’t cutting it, so this is the next best thing.”

You think to argue but then remember the hellish day he just had. Fuck everything, both of you deserve it. Just this once.

Leon collapses onto the couch beside you, head lolling against the cushion. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. What is there to say? Just another trauma piled atop so many others. You’ve heard and said it all before. He’s exhausted and so are you.

The first two glasses go down easy, desperation clouding the bitter burn that steals your breath and settles deep within your chest.

He stares as you fill your glass a third time, eyes a drilling pressure. Curious yet tentative.

“Just say it,” you whisper, and a warm palm rises to rest heavy on your knee.

“I just.” He exhales a sigh. “It’s always hard the first time, so if you need to talk…”

“You’re here?”

You look to him with a weakened smile, lidded eyes, and he nods. Says, “Yeah.”

You can blame it on the alcohol tomorrow, but a gnawing yearn nicks at the base of your skull.

Fuck it. Just this once.

You fall into his side, and he wraps steady arms around you, and he presses a kiss to your temple, and your tears stain the fabric of his shirt—but it means nothing.

At least he’s here. Who else but him do you have? Can you trust?

Nobody.

“Can I admit something?” you ask, a hand spread over his ribs, each inhale grounding. A perfect guide, a pathway to calm. The whiskey’s done its job with dulling the pain, and you sag in relief. Relax a little heavier into him.

He nods, the scruff at his chin prickly against your forehead.

“I am so unbelievably lonely. I mean, I have you, but we can only trust each other and it’s… it’s wearing on me.” You pull away to regard him: exhaustion sallowing his features, eyes carved-out and hollow, a bruise formed along his cheekbone, the gauze sat just above his eyebrow. Your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip. “I just wanna go home.”

Home home. Not this false life you grow more comfortable with each time you wake. With Leon at your side. Cuddled against you, sharing breakfast, kissing away your anxieties.

I’m here. If nobody else cares for you, I do.

And it’s so easy to believe. Easy as thought, as your beating heart, as hunger or thirst. But this life you’ve made, the lies you spin—they mean nothing.

Still. Still, you succumb. To the thought that maybe the mission affects him just as much as you. That somewhere within, feelings bud and grow and nurture and sometimes they make it so fucking hard to simply breathe.

You’ll return home and Leon will resume his workplace attitude and that thought should not hurt as badly as it does.

But it’s the alcohol talking. It has to be.

Why does that hurt the most?

“We shouldn’t be here much longer,” he says. “Not with Carina’s help.”

You fall silent. Tuck your brow against the curve of his neck.

At least you’ve stopped crying.

“I should not have drank tonight,” you say, little more than a whinging grumble. “I’m being too honest.”

His chest jolts with a huffing laugh, and your lips spread into a smile against his shoulder. He replies, “What’s that saying? A drunken mouth speaks sober thoughts?”

Late into the night, he sleeps soundly beside you. Shirtless as usual, an arm cradling the pillow beneath his head, turned toward the window. Away from where you curl up beneath the sheets.

He prefers for you to hold him. Never says it, but he sleeps more soundly with you pressed against his back, an arm slung over his waist. The nightmares fail to reach him here, like this.

You find a deep scratch neighboring the knots of his spine, and a deep-down part of you aches for him. His suffering. Those blacked-out lines in his file.

You trace along the bright pink edge with a thumb, his skin sleep-warm to the touch, peppered with freckles, and he never stirs.

The next morning, he kisses you over a cup of coffee. Lingers at your side for the better part of two hours as you make breakfast then eat then clean up the mess.

He wishes to say something, works up the nerve. You know him well enough by now.

“Do you regret coming here?” A question you expected. “With me?” His addition, however…

You pause mid-cup-wash at the sink. The water heaves as you drop both items in your hands then turn to face him. To give him your full, unwavering attention.

A conversation, months in the making, has to take place.

“Of course I don’t. Why would you think that?”

He offers no answer at first. Simply stares off toward the floor, arms a thick shield across his chest.

You remember everything from yesterday despite the haze you witness your words through. And then it hits you.

“If it’s about anything I said yesterday, please don’t listen to me. I’m a dumbass when I’ve been drinking.”

“It’s not just that. It’s…” His words trail off and you see in his eyes the shutdown.

“Leon, I don’t know how I could’ve done this without you.” His shoulders sag, and you reach for the dish towel beside the sink to dry off your hands. “Did somebody say something?”

“Nobody had to. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” You hold up your left hand with a wide grin, and the ring gleams beneath the window’s morning sunstream. “Married, remember?”

It’s a good cover-up until you can figure out where he stands in all this. Feelings and such. They love to ruin perfectly good things.

He tosses his head as if speared by irritation, and you wish to snatch those words from the air and swallow them down. When he removes his ring, turns it between thumb and forefinger—forever yours—you deflate.

“We’re fighting a losing battle. You know that, right?”

You’re no stranger to the heart of disillusion. In a field such as yours, it bears prominence. Flays people alive. So much bad in the world, and you’re only one person. Can’t possibly snuff out all of it. So you understand his point. He’s fought long enough—too long.

But you like to believe that there’s a cathartic ending to this, whenever and wherever that may be. If not, then why fight at all?

“We still gotta try,” you say. “I’m tired of Umbrella turning people into victims. Aren’t you?”

A little close to home, but you need to reign him in. Can’t risk losing sight of the goal. Not when you’re this close to the finish line.

He closes his eyes, fingers curling around the ring, and his face pinches a moment before he relaxes, almost resigned. “You already know my answer.”

~

The house lay quiet this late at night, and you could almost find serenity in the dim-lit hallways and creaking pipes if not for the paperwork you search through, passed off by hands belonging to Carina’s second-in-command.

Captain Redfield’s findings. A link between Carl Voerman and the United States, as testified by the captured “scientist” who, you come to find out, joined the organization to follow in his father’s footsteps. Always a cycle to be continued, and never a chance to break away until it’s too late.

He was nineteen.

But you digress. Can’t think on it too hard.

Part one of phase two: complete.

Leon passes by the dining table an hour into your reading. Grabs a glass of ice water, takes the seat to your left. He lands heavy in the chair, blows out a breath. Readies himself for conversation. Something darkens his eyes, leaves his hands restless against the chilled glass.

“What you said a few nights ago. About being lonely.”

A pull of your lips, barely there. Nostalgia, in the way only whiskey-forgotten memories can be. “Leon, I was drunk.”

“But did you mean it?”

You fingers pause amongst the papers, and you look up at him. Hope and pray that you hide the severity of your longing. “Yeah.”

He nods. Leans both elbows on the table with a resigned sigh. “So am I.”

Something settles between you then. A tension not unlike the lead-up to a first kiss, or the moments before a heartfelt confession. A shift that pockmarks change.

You’re holding your breath.

“Maybe we can figure something out,” he says, eyes tracing the edges of each paper you hold.

“Well. Marriage is about compromise, after all.”

He breathes out a laugh through his nose. “That it is.”

There’s not really a compromise at all. Instead, an unspoken agreement that leads you to your shared bedroom. A frenzy that strips you naked and lays you upon the sheets and fuck—he kisses you like he actually loves you.

You ask to ride him. It’s been a while, and you’ve never minded a stretch, but you prefer to control the pace. You also don’t think his head would appreciate all the exertion.

The eye contact happens and then it doesn’t. Over and over again. The bounce of your hips is slow, and everything is slick and tight, and his fingers brush against your waist only to remind himself of where he is, who you are. Nothing but letting off some steam: that’s what this should be.

You refuse to hide your pleasure. No sense in it when you were dripping for him before he even touched you. His breathing staccatos each time you swallow him up, and you couldn’t fight the clutch of your insides if you tried.

“This okay?” you pant, pace quickening. Maybe it’s been too long, maybe you’re too goddamn sensitive, but the drag of his cock lights a fire at the base of your spine. Your eyes threaten to roll back into your head.

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches as you work him over with a grinding roll of your hips, and his palms soothe over the top of your thighs—the cold metal of his wedding ring scorches your skin. His eyes glue to the sight, to the pinpoint of his pleasure. “Feels good.”

You swallow down a sighing moan and try not to collapse atop him. It’s been so long, and his eyes roam your body like he wants you, and he looks so good like this: red-faced and focused and messy-haired. The intimacy seeks to flay you alive, break you open, rip you to pieces.

He meets your gaze and you almost wish to cry when he doesn’t look away. You feel tender. Mushed by mallet. He whispers your name and you shatter into fractals of fractals. “Very good.”

Someone kisses first, and you cross a threshold of no return. Indelible nothingness. A hand rises to the nape of your neck and you moan pitifully into his mouth and he meets your hips thrust-for-thrust. Carnal need in its purest form. Lust.

This means nothing.

He feels amazing, perfect, you could die like this—but it means nothing.

The next morning, when the smoke’s cleared and the hormones have balanced out, you sneak glances at each other from across the kitchen table. Neither of you mention the sex, but you don’t have to. A bruised blotch of skin sits proud on the curve of his neck. You walk with a slight limp. There’s an air of pride to the room.

The aftermath should be awkward, but it isn’t. You’re married. You’re a married couple who now fucks. Maybe now, people will stop questioning your authenticity.

He can bend you over the goddamn banquet table if they want proof.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

y'all, if you want me to participate in a boycott, you have to tell me why. I should not have to google the name of the thing and the date to get an answer.

In case anyone else has seen things about "economic blackout on February 28 ", it's about protesting DEI rollbacks from large companies.

But I had to look it up. You can't run an effective boycott if people don't know why, and you shouldn't want to run a boycott where people can't easily answer why.

Also, the info I saw about it said "Starting with one day, maybe going up to three."

You don't get to be wishy-washy on the length of your short boycott. That's not how this works. Are you doing a 24-hour boycott or are you doing a 3-day boycott? Because it feels like you're trying to have a ready excuse if the numbers aren't as devastating as you would like them to be in 24 hours.

Also, frankly, setting it for February 28th when Valentine's Day is FRIDAY and a day that large retailers usually get slammed makes me feel there's no real backbone in play here.

Look, if you wanna participate, participate. Here's a Newsweek article explaining it.

Also, here's Newsweek explaining who The People's Union is because i sure as fuck didn't know, and frankly from the what the founder of the union focuses on on his own Union website, I do not find them serious in the least. It's all buzz words and sob story background with nothing in the article actually indicating what this group does to actually effect change.

If Newsweek has to run an article explaining who the group is who is trying to run a boycott, and that article doesn't actually explain what the group hopes to achieve by having the boycott, it's not a serious group.

"But, Gayle! They want DEI offices back!"

Okay. But do you really think PBS cut its DEI department because it wanted to or because if they don't, the government funding they get will get yanked? Do you really think Target, that loudly made a point to talk about how less rainbow their capitalism was gonna be before Pride last year, is just chomping at the bit to put their DEI office back into place, or do you think maybe they showed up which side they were on and now they have an easy excuse to drop it?

Do you think Google, who was literally head-hunting me for nearly a year, and then suddenly stopped talking to me just as they got sued by female employees for sexist work practices geniunely care about what DEI can do?

Do you think Amazon, who has cut me out of interview cycles TWICE because when they ask "How do you innovate every day?" and I go, "I don't. I think it's an odd standard to judge all possible employees by especially in my department, where the focus should be on being able to communicate complicated information to anyone in any place at any time, which can lead to innovation but should not be a high-ranked goal" gives a shit about DEI? The Amazon that demanded workers come back to the office back in September while announcing everyone had until January? Thus making it possible for them to have a "voluntary headcount reduction" instead of a layoff to deal with whatever shortcomings the balance sheet showed?

"But, Gayle, I care!"

Aim it somewhere useful. Do a personal boycott. Email all those big companies The People's Union think they can hit on the bottom line within maybe 72 hours and tell them what you generally spend at their company and that you are taking that money away. Because, honestly, an email campaign that is "Hey, I did the math, and last year, I spent $500 at your business, and this year, I'm spending $0." Get your friends into it. Do some community organizing around it. Rather than this empty threat of 24-72 hours, commit to a long-term refusal to work with these private companies who do not have to answer to the government for their funding.

At the end of the day, for me, it comes down to this: A maybe 3-day boycott by an unproven group calling itself a "Union" whose main talking points are "government bad" and "I've been meditating since I was six" (that's not a joke, that's in the article about who the fuck People's Union is) isn't going to do jack fuck all for any DEI program. Literally every business they want you to target can easily handle three days of no shoppers. They can probably handle three years of slow sales, frankly.

The reasons boycotts work when ACTUAL unions call for them is because companies know their average sales. So, if a REAL union says, "Please show your support for the union on February 28 by refusing to buy from our place of business," and that place of business sees a HUGE drop in sales on February 28, they can only assume it's because the union asked customers to show they stand with the union. (By the way, if you ever participate in a boycott like that, please also send an email to customer service that says "I will not be buying from you on February 28 because I stand with the union," but also please only do it if you actually go to that business in general; lots of people call things a boycott when they mean they just don't and never have shopped someplace.).

Those 24-72 hours the People's Union want you spend not shopping but maybe shopping if they feel really powerful after the first 24 hours, will be much better spent bothering your elected officials to make them refuse the anti-DEI executive order.

This is a bragging rights boycott. It will not harm the businesses in the least, but at the end of it, all the people who participated can smugly announce they didn't buy anything at the Target for a whole 3 days because they're so morally correct.

[maxlarens]

hi lilli! i’s me jayde (ham1lton)!

happy bday in advance!!! and for your event can i have a 🌎 office au with charles/lewis/oscar? up to u!! feel free to change up the prompt!! love u and ur blog <3

hihihi jayde thank you so much for this!!! ugh i love it so much i'm just gonna say a few things about each of them because i got ideas for all of them😇😇 i know u love a bit of a cringefail loser and honestly they're all a bit like that here:

charles is that coworker u have weird tension with iykwim like the guy that you KNOW if you'd met him at a bar or a party or whatever you'd be flirting up a storm and you'd probably be making out in a dark corner by the end of the night. but you're coworkers! so instead he spends too long talking to you at your desk. he asks you pointless questions just to have an excuse to talk to you. and other people def gossip about you two when you're not around. like everyone is aware that there's SOMETHING going on there. also i think he's bad at his job. sorry charles. u just scream failloser in the workplace. he ignores his inbox and every time you get a "finished" project from him you have to redo it. which is why u never hook up with him.

look lewis is definitely your boss or your manager. like he has to be. he does not give coworker vibes at all to me. he's not very middle manager to me either. so i think he's the CEO or the director or whatever. he's not in the office most of the time but when he does come in he knows everyone's names your name and he asks how your mum is going or whatever it is. like he remembers little details about you even though you'd fully expect and be fine with him to have no clue. and he's charming and nice and has you blushing and giggling even though you KNOW he's your boss. and then after he leaves you realise he didn't do ANY WORK. no meetings, no paperwork, nothing. he just came in, chatted you up, gave a speech and left before anyone could complain about anything serious.

oscar is the only coworker you have that's competent sorry charles he answers emails with haste! he completes his projects on time! he's the person you talk to when you need to bitch about the one several coworker that doesn't do their job. he brings u coffee and pastries everyday but is never pushy or weird abt anything. he's happy to be very normal friends, but if you want to initiate something then he's probably happy to do that too! he'd just be that guy who takes no shit and is good with telling overbearing managers to basically fuck off.

i'll tag u as well 💝 @ham1lton

my bday celly💝

[my-castles-crumbling]

TO CAMP ANON

Hi love! Someone sent some advice to you, so I'm putting it under the cut because it's a bit heavy. I hope you're doing well <3

I’ve been keeping up with your tumblr and your asks and stuff, and I hope it’s okay but I had something to say to Camp Anon.

I sort of inferred the situation through your answers Cas. When I was a kid I was often in group at church with other “rebellious” kids. I know now that we were all the queer kids who hadn’t realised yet (credit to them, maybe some of them had) and then when I turned 16 and partly figured myself out I started getting invested in peoples stories.

By that point a lot of the kids I’d gone to church with were also closeted, and we started talking to each other about ourselves and our experiences.

And turns out a few of those kids went to conversion camps. The summers before and after I found out. 

One of the kids was a year older than me and is still a very close friend of mine. She’s actually taking a course to be a therapist now.

And there were a few things they said (and my friend still says when she decides to talk about it) that I thought maybe you should know. 

It seems like from Cas’ answers to the ask, that Camp Anon has been somewhere before and I presume is going somewhere else again this summer? (Parents don’t usually send kids the same place twice in a row)

Look, I have some advice that’s gonna suck but I think you should hear it. You need to know before you go to the camp what sort of level/type the camp it is. 

There are ways to find out and i’m gonna list some here and just do as much research as you can (safely) because if you’re unprepared it will be difficult to leave if you need to.

So the camp has to find away of telling parents what it’s like without directly saying it. It’s often found in quotes.

Theres a big difference between “helping your child” and “healing your child” and “fixing your child”. 

Helping usually means giving quotes and bibles and doing straight kid activities (whatever that means).

Healing usually means a lot of churchy sessions, “explaining” what’s wrong with you, being more delicate

And then fixing means being absolute dickheads. 

There should also be a website somewhere, or a form or something that your parents had to sign. Sometimes that can be over an email or sometimes it’s a letter. It’s just another way for the camp to cover their asses. Whatever is written inside it should give a vague message about the danger level, how many things they want to cover themselves for.

Also- about recording the camp. If you do decide to (no pressure, always prioritise your safety), focus on filming the other kids around you. If your phone is caught or found, if the videos start of silly with other kids in (as long as they know the risk of being caught with a phone too), it’s unlikely someone will scroll through all the videos, which will mean even if they’re deleted, you won’t rise too much suspicion. 

You can also hide videos in other places, like take a video you have and put it in a draft on your tumblr account, and then delete it from your phone. That can be done on Insta too. It does require internet but I assume you have mobile data.

Also camps without phones will still have wifi for adults, sometimes this is free wifi. If it is, don’t use it (if possible).

Also, sometimes the location of the camp on fliers won’t be the real location. For example, it might be the location of the church you go to, but the place you sleep might be one road over, so stay awake. Keep an eye on road names if you move from the location your parents dropped you off at (in case someone needs to come get you, and then can’t find you). 

It is illegal to say that being queer kids can be “fixed”. It’s against the law for camps to do this. Conversion therapy is illegal and wrong. Morally wrong and literally wrong. Not a thing. Doesn’t work. Total fucking bullshit.

And be careful. I know there’s a temptation to bring a weapon (like a knife) with you to these places, and it makes sense. But these kids have been through a lot, like you, and can be really depressed and have mental health issues. And you don’t want a kid to do something bad to themselves with a knife you brought with you to the camp. 

(Cas here: just remember if that ever happens, it's NOT your fault)

Just think it through. 

And be careful who you talk to, some of these kids believe the stuff they’re told. It’s not their fault but don’t assume everyone will agree with you about the situation. 

I don’t want to get too involved, I understand this is an overwhelming thing and reaching out just to talk about it was so brave. If you’d like I can ask my friend, who’s been to places like that, if there’s any personal advise she can give.  Or not, either way is fine. 

And finally, the area I grew up in had a terrible social services place nearby, and when you called the number for social services that school gave you, they’d just send someone from there. There was a kid I used to know who called social services on his family and the guy who showed up was friends with his dad. 

Idk if you have good social services or not but do some research first if you can ❤️

(Cas again: let me know if you want me to reach out to this anon to ask any questions or to get info from their friend! We support you <3)

[gradstudentdrone]

"How was your summer?" When time speeds up and stands still

It is August 27, and in less than a week, the school year will begin. In the lead up to the start of the school year, I've had an influx of meetings and a noticeable increase in emails. In many of these interactions come the question:

"How was your summer?"

It is a hard question to answer. In all cases, I respond honestly. It was a terrible summer, my dad unexpectedly passed away, my family and I are still processing our grief. Sometimes, people respond compassionately. A few times, it is clear that I've made a faux pas, making me realize that social norms dictate that when people ask how you are, most don't really want to know.

I am also sharply aware that there is a time limit to how long you're expected to grieve. A few days is understandable, a few weeks maybe, but a few months? Then people are just being self-indulgent!

That my workplace offers a one-month bereavement leave is apparently a rarity since other workplaces, from what I hear, only offer five days. It is cruel to expect people who have recently lost a love one to - what? - attend a meeting to figure out service commitments for the year? Who gives a shit? Why does that matter?

So how was my summer?

Here's the real answer:

It began with a beautiful trip to the cottage, where my dad read at the dock, hung out with us at the beach and the lake, and even played table tennis. My mom told me that my dad was a table tennis shark in his youth, and it was pretty cool to see him play with SP, aggressively ducking and dodging and watching the ball eagle-eyed.

Another favourite memory was him having ice cream with us, which, being diabetic, he normally opted out of, but this time decided to eat with his grandkids.

That trip was idyllic. Time stood still. Was it 9 am when we were at the dock? How did it become 3 pm so quickly? Should we figure out lunch? Should we go to town? Did we want to take a nap? Or did we want to keep reading? Having no obligations meant that we could do whatever we wanted, and so could relax and unwind. We didn't know then that this pleasant, run-of-the-mill, beginning of summer trip would be the last we'd have with my dad.

The contrast between the slow pace of that week is sharp compared to the rapid escalation of events just whirling by on the week of June 30. (And readers, trigger warning - this gets somewhat bleak).

At 8 am, I woke up with a text from my brother saying, "Papa is dead." When I saw all of the missed text messages and phone calls that accrued in the last half hour, I realized belatedly that something horrific had happened. The entire car ride to my parents house, I was in a state of cold numbness. Part of me didn't believe what my brother texted. Maybe I would open the door and my dad would be ok. Maybe they just had a scare.

I was wrong. When I entered the house, I saw my dad lying on the floor by the couch, an orange blanket over him, my mom and my brother huddled together, ashen-faced. A cop with a notepad was asking questions.

And here time moved so quickly that it was hard to catch up. I couldn't even take a breath. I was hit with information: my dad passed away on the couch, where my mom and brother found him. They estimated that he probably passed at 3:30 am or 4 am. He was watching Netflix, which was still on the tv. Apparently, at 7:30 am, they called the paramedics. My brother was asked by 911 to try to resuscitate my dad, to no avail.

At 8:30 am, the cop who was left there was still trying to contact the coroner. "It's a busy day," he said wryly. Left unsaid was that that Sunday, June 30, was a busy day for deaths. I remember thinking that for him, and for the coroners, that day was just another day at work. I made a mental note that there were procedures we had to follow, that I had to be an adult, that I couldn't ask him to leave right now even if I wanted to have just a minute to myself to figure out what the fuck just happened because there were forms that had to be filled out. He couldn't leave unless the coroner released a report. Catatonic with shock, my brother, mom and I tried to confer, whispering, trying to make sense of events.

At 9 am, the cop asked us where my dad's funeral home was and what we wanted to do now. He still couldn't reach the coroner, but he could have the coroner fax the report to the funeral home.

Decisions had to be made.

There was no funeral home on standby. And now we had to get one.

My only point of reference (I shit you not) was the tv show, "Six Feet Under," when it came to the logistics of death. After googling funeral homes in Toronto, I called one, and made arrangements for 'a transfer of care.' My mom, brother and I were trying to process what was happening, and had to figure out whether we wanted the funeral services in Canada, or whether we'd make arrangements to go to the Philippines.

At 10 am, the cop got ahold of the coroner, and asked about whether we'd want an autopsy. My mom said no. I had made arrangements with a funeral home for the 'transfer of care' and they would liaise with the corner.

Decisions had to be made.

At 1 pm, the 'care transfer' team came to take my dad away. This was the last time we'd see him before the funeral, they told us. I asked if they could come back in half an hour. In that half hour - the only time since 8:30 am when we were finally alone - we wept.

At 2 pm, we took an Uber to the funeral home closest to my parents' house, where we were presented with a list of costs and options. Did we want a cremation? Did we want a religious service? Did we want a reception? What casket did we want to have - here, have a look at options at the back. Did we want to bring our own caterer or select from a list of caterers who were familiar with the venue? How about flowers?

Decisions had to be made.

At 3:30 pm, hungry and in shock, the three of us tried to eat at a nearby restaurant. I couldn't eat. I think we want to a ramen restaurant, which I normally would slurp, but everything tasted like cardboard. We tried to plan logistics but because the next day, Canada Day, was a holiday, nothing could be done because all business establishments were closed.

The next day, Canada Day allowed us to pause our planning. It was an odd day. We took my kids to High Park. We knew that this was the calm before the storm. It also dragged longer, in anticipation of what was to come.

And for the rest of the week, time sped up, again.

Many many many decisions had to be made, the bulk of which I, as the eldest daughter, had to decide. There were two events, and others surrounding these events: main events were the funeral service and the reception but there were also logistics to handle, including figuring out the transnational virtual component of our celebration. There were family members to host and to manage, video tributes coming in, a slide show to compile, eulogies to write. Catering menus to consider. Biblical passages to assign. A cantor to hire. A schedule to oversee. All of this had to be decided in four days, given that the funeral and reception were on a Saturday, six days after my dad passed. And amid it all, we still had to live: eating, bathing, and cleaning were still necessary.

Then after the rush of the events being planned, time once again stood still. The silence and calm of the days following the funeral were hard to navigate because it was in this very silence and calm that it became clear what we've lost. We went to the lake and to the beach, again, and while it was nice to be by the water and fun to make sandcastles with the kids, the looming absence of my dad, who normally would be there, haunted us.

In my month of bereavement leave, we also had to deal with a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy, which again was cruel, because certain funds would no longer be accessible past a certain point. Beyond this, though, we just were...there. Trying to remember to eat. (Here, the constant influx of food from friends left at our door helped us remember to eat. I am forever grateful for this act of kindness).

Time stretched long during the day, and sometimes became unbearable at night. I would check the clock. Midnight. 1 am. 1:15 am. 2 am. Why was sleep not coming? I belatedly realized that I was subconsciously keeping vigil till after 3 am most nights, which is when my brother had a final conversation with my dad. Then I would fall asleep, exhausted, after. Early Sundays are especially horrific. Because my dad passed early on a Sunday, Saturday night to Sunday morning have become my haunting hours. My body freezes, my mind whirls, I can't sleep.

Yet even amid all of the sadness this summer, there were still moments of beauty this summer. Normally, I would try to sneak in bits of work, even when I'm off. I would sneak a peak into my inbox to make sure that I didn't miss anything. I would try to jot down a paragraph for a paper. I would look at my WhatsApp messages to see whether I was needed by someone, somewhere.

This time, I had no desire to do so. I was only aware of where I was in the present moment. I saw beauty in the mundane. I was perfectly content to be at the splash pad with my kids, laughing at both of them racing each other to see who would get to the button that would activate the sprinklers once more. I loved digging into the minutia of the University of Alabama dorm room where Kiley Reid's new novel, "Such a Fun Age," is set. I was perfectly okay going to Home Depot numerous times, wandering the aisles with MOTL and my kids, debating the merits of different shades of light blue paint for our living room. I didn't have to be anywhere but there, and so I was fully present. Who knew that bereavement would allow me to finally learn all the lessons that meditation apps have tried to teach me about only being in the moment?

Following bereavement leave, with time speeding up once again, and as I return to work, I oftentimes have surreal, out-of-body moments where it becomes clear that the urgency that workplace missives demand is fabricated and made-up. That a lot of us have been trained to jump and run. That we're all perpetually trying to vie for the legitimacy of our presence in this institution. That we are all indoctrinated into publishing or perishing, with many women of color professors actually dying prematurely young because the corrosive nature of academia have taken a health toll. (The term slow violence, I think, is applicable here).

I don't want to play this game anymore.

In one such surreal, out-of-body moment, when I was exchanging messages with a friend, I realized that I didn't have to. This friend wanted to apply for a grant, but wanted to meet THAT week even when I couldn't, and when I said this wasn't possible because I had no childcare that week, then said that most of the other partners could not meet in September, the implication being that I had to make myself available. Whereas old me would have contorted herself, parked her kids in front of the TV to try to make the meeting work, now, I realize that I have control over my time. And so I backed out of the grant.

This doesn't mean I don't think time is important. I am beholden to workplace requirements: for example, I have to teach at certain times, or go to mandatory meetings. I also want to make sure my graduate students finish their dissertations before their funding runs out. And I am beholden to research partners who are facing actual time pressures: their tenure clock is non-negotiable and so we have to work together to churn out that article. I also feel an obligation to my community: there's a deportation order for someone, and so it was important that we write our support letters asap!

But ultimately, being selective about what to focus on, on what truly matters, is the only way for me to survive the year.

So, really, how was my summer?

It was shitty. So fucking shitty. But when it wasn't shitty, I got to be present and appreciate what I actually still have -- time to live.

[omgpoindexter]

Hey!! saw some people talking to you about this and i thought id add my piece as someone who got diagnosed with adhd in college. I completely relate to your experiences with trying not to procrastinate things but doing it anyway and then feeling crippling guilt bc of it. i got away with it through high school but as soon as i hit college and nearly failed a class bc i only did half the content i knew something had to change. I’m diagnosed w adhd inattentive type, on meds, and in therapy now and while it’s not perfect i have hope and seen signs of improvement and the hope is rlly what matters i think.

i know you’re not american so i cant directly help you information-wise, but i went through both university resource and a private online psychiatry org so if you have anything like that available then it will probably help. another thing that helped me was having a friend sit with me while i wrote emails/made phone calls.

i guess all this goes to say that i absolutely feel your pain and there are ways to make it better for yourself. maybe an adhd diagnosis isn’t what you get, but if you think there’s anything that can help you deserve to get it and not just suffer in silence. i believe in you and i hope you find answers

hiii!! <3 i do relate to that, and it is really hard! i think these instances have been far enough apart for me so far that i have been able to forget how it made me feel at the time, or, like - in my head if i feel like this for a few weeks every year or so then it’s okay. if i were to go back into academia now and have regular deadlines i would certainly see a difference.

the thing i was procrastinating that i just finished, the one i posted about; i was avoiding it for so long and it became so last minute that i felt sick with guilt every time i went to sleep at night. i’ve finished it now and it’s done, but that feeling doesn’t go away instantly, i still feel like that every time i do something like read or play a game. or SLEEP!!!

i also have this feeling of, like - i am relatively smart, i always worked hard and i was always SO well behaved (i fucking loved rules as a kid, like my mum told me i should care a little bit less about rules) and that’s not the kind of thing i always associated with adhd. that also adds to the thought that maybe somebody wouldn’t take me seriously if i went and asked for help, because i don’t look like somebody that could have adhd. that’s total bullshit i know, like absolute nonsense, but those feelings are still deep down somewhere.

i’m so glad you’re seeing a difference with the help you recieved, that’s amazing! hearing these stories does give me more confidence & challenges that idea that if i went for help i wouldn’t get turned away, so thank you very much for reaching out and taking the time to write me a message! it’s so lovely of you <3

[giftedpoison]

Things I've said at work as someone in charge of a ragtag group of people:

Please don't pass out, take a break, if you pass out i have to call the emergency line and i really don't want to.

I'm going to run you over. (In lieu of asking them to move. In a deadpan)

Please don't commit murder on company time.

I shouldn't have to say this, but don't strip in the department there are cameras.

If management doesn't want to help you when you're drowning just threaten them by saying you'll cancel orders. They usually jump into action then.

If you're gonna do something against the rules i don't really care but the least you could do is be stealthy about it.

Yeah i picked the lock on the drawer because i accidentally lost the key. No i can't explain that skill. But it's like riding a bike.

My manager told me x thing was how you grow a business. And i told him or how you burn them down when you don't have the tools to handle demand.

*writes a 1200 word email to two of the managers because I'm better at the written word and i was fed up*

Bitch you ate a silica packet once don't start with me (they are my friend)

I'm coming for whoever did this' knee caps. What the hell. (generally in response to a bag being overstuffed)

If a cart locks on me on the way out I'm burning the building down. (it does and i just give the camera a middle finger and carry on)

*sighs* what the fuck (in response to my idiots finding another weird trinket to collect in the department. Last time it was a cut out of a cartoon that had a character saying they always smell good because they put a dab of peanut butter behind their ear. And it was taped to the computer. We've also had a random baby sock in there.)

Listen i try not to ask questions i don't want the answer to.

I'm gonna need you tall ass motherfuckers to remember I'm in fact five feet and the top shelf is head height. Thank you.

Yeah she's confessed to multiple murders to me before. And i still have no idea if she was lying. I'm sure she was but i don't really care either way that's not my business.

You are not working every day of the week. No i don't care that you were scheduled to give one away. (They wanted to because of money and overtime)

I sincerely do not care enough about anything, no i don't know where my employees are right now, I'm sure they are being productive (they are probably outside smoking)

As long as you get your shit done and aren't making major errors i do not care how you get your work done. (They know if they screw me over I'll be pissed and like me enough not to.)

Sir why do you gotta be like that about it (after an irate customer asked for my manager, i never got the manager and i finally got him to go back to his car)

If I'm still working here by September please come here with a gun and kill me. *Later in the convo* Its a win win because you'll finally get free food and housing and hey maybe you'll get reunited with your mom in prison. (The coworker is at risk of homelessness currently)

I know you don't want to take the temp of the chicken but see it as free therapy if you stab it hard enough.

[the-old-man-has-the-phonebox]

Vent

I hate my NP.

If I had the spoons, I'd find someone else.

I saw her for the first time since July after she magically couldn't get me in for a month despite me needing my meds changed immediately and then rescheduled me *again*. It turns out the email with the telehealth link isn't automated and she sent it to me not a few days before like she usually does, but TWO MINUTES AFTER THE APPOINTMENT WAS SUPPOSED TO START.

She had a med student shadowing her, too. Good fucking luck to her, I don't know how the fuck she's even practicing at this point. I should've said I didn't want her to sit in, but I've always been a fucking doormat and that's all I ever will be.

She had no real sympathy when I told her about my broken foot. I feel bad because I, an autistic person, of *all* people should understand not adhering to social cues, but Jesus Christ— a little sympathy from anyone in my life would be fucking amazing!!! Like, a little more than "sorry to hear that" from her would've been really nice.

She even forgot it multiple times. She also forgot another thing I've been asking of her for MONTHS that I had to once again remind her about.

"So is there a pharmacy near campus you want me to send your refills to?"

"Umm... like I said earlier, I'm not at school. I'm at home and will be indefinitely. I can't really walk on my own right now, let alone live alone in my dorm. Just send it to my usual one."

"oh."

Anyway, I'm starting new meds. Again. I'm trying an NSRI for the first time because she thinks the serotonin part of SSRIs is what gives me nausea issues with new pills (I've been going to her for over half a decade. Did it seriously take that long to think "hmm, maybe SSRIs aren't the answer?"?!?!?)

She made a cheeky comment about "Hopefully next time will be our last meeting for a while because these pills will work and I won't need to come back so often :)".

Ma'am. I think about not being alive multiple times a day every goddamn day. We've discussed this thoroughly, in fact.

To reiterate: as an autistic person who misses social cues like it's my job, I shouldn't be the one to pass judgment. But *god fucking dammit*, you're the PROFESSIONAL here!!! Do your fucking job!!!!! Give a single solitary shit about my life and my existence!!!!!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!!!

Hell, I could probably do her job better because at least I can fucking mask!

I didn't even bother asking her about a PPD (Paranoid Personality Disorder) evaluation.

I'm so fucking tired. My mental health has taken an absolute nosedive since I broke my foot and I'm stuck either in bed or on the couch all day every day, and I didn't think it could even *get* any worse than what it was pre-break.

Not even my own fucking doctor cares enough to give a shit about me. My family doesn't really, either.

I'm so tired. I don't want to keep doing this anymore. Fuck.

How the fuck is she a functioning human being? How can she be considered an employable adult when I'M NOT?!? How the fuck has she kept this job?!?!? Why the fuck do abled (to my knowledge) people get to be so fucking incompetent, but if I managed to secure a job and asked for accommodations, I'M THE ONE OUT OF THE TWO OF US GETTING FIRED????

[dragonagepolls]

#hey why the fuck is the amount of people who voted merrill so high#i work in IT and part of my job is tech support and im an expert on this so#merrill: very tech savvy. knows all the lingo. i would not question het about whether she has already booted her computer. shes the kind of#person who. if she were to call IT theyd all be like ''oh no it's merrill who wants to answer...'' bc i KNOW her tech problems would be some#nightmare problems no one on the internet has ever before even looked up. like. something that takes a long time to solve#bc she has already tried everything and shes tol busy to do more#bethany ans carver: know how to operate a smartphone and the very basics of using a laptop#aveline: she knows the programs she needs to use at work. rarely has problems. could do shit with excel.#varric: he would be capable of using tech. but also. if you were to ask him something like ''do you use one drive on your computer'' hed ask#u to repeat that in english. i know it in my heart. he does not know what a cloud is. he knows how to send emails and look stuff up and use#some programs or sites and thats enough#sebastian: im sorry ive yet to play da2 dlc but he looks like a tech bro (derogatory). i doubt he would be but. yknow.#fenris: ''he cant read'' ok shut up thats irrelevant. he would get by and he's resilient and a fast learner#he doesnt need help with the same problem more than once#now. isabela. she. okay she is so very smart and capable and i love her but could you honestly see her using any piece of technology#she would not be an instagram influencer she would have a rotation of burner phones#using a computer is nerd shit. she has the sea what kind of tech do u need there. actually yeah modern ships have a lot of tech#she would be proficient with those. man i voted wrong.#my point was going to be that i cant see isabela using a phone or a computer ever#ok no yeah i still cant see her being good with tech. isabela my love im sorry.#anders: he knows the basics of using a computer and could do VERY simple html to post on forums#hed have a shitty ass webbed site#i dont think hes generally good with tech though. doesnt give me the vibes. (via @perilegs)

[barnes-n-nobles]

Dont You Forget (SMUT)

Request: 

I really love your Bucky fics and let me tell you something, I. Just. Can't. Get. Enough. Of. It! I truly meant every words I said, seriously.

Can I request a Soft!Dark!Mob!Bucky smut being a possessive, lying, manipulator, control freak he is? Like, he won't let you see any of your family or letting you have any friends at all, putting a tracker inside your phone, monitoring all of your activities, gets jealous very easily, always have his men following you around so you can't escape him (If you ever tried), persuade you into quitting your job so you have to financially depends on him, basically all the red flags there are.

Pretty please and thank you. Keep in mind there's no rush in this, I want you to enjoy your own writing too so take your time!!

Tell my why I absolutely love this MMMMMM!! You're too kind! I tried to make him as soft as possible while keeping that dark element to him, I hope thats okay. I also hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it ~

Thank you for your request! Please reblog, like, and let me know what you think!

Warnings: smut, drugging, threats of murder, manipulation, overall toxic behavior, stalking, slight dumbification? 

18+ !!!! If you “keep reading” you are acknowledging that you are 18+ and that you have read the warnings.

Please Do not translate, no permission to repost any of my writing on any other platform, and do not copy this and claim it as your own.

He knew it. His intuition was nothing short extraordinary. Bucky watched as you sat down during your break to chat with one of your colleagues. The cafe you worked at was a very popular destination for wealthy people, not everyone was willing to pay $12 a cup every morning. This was a decent sized establishment with big open windows that customers loved lounging in. Bucky had actually met you here while you were first hired on. He came every single day to see you, making short but sweet conversations. He was parked in the other side of the street, his eyes watched your colleagues moves intensively, making sure he didn’t touch you at all. Buckys thoughts were beginning to get dark with every smile and laugh you flashed at him. He thought about going in there and dragging you out, or beating the fuck out of the little shit, or even better, holding a gun pointed right between his eyes to show him that he does not share with anyone. That last thought had his mouth curl up in a sinister smile. Oh how he loved to cause problems. 

You two had been texting for the past 3 days and he kept flirting with you. You never followed along though and you had to remind him constantly that you had a boyfriend. The guy obviously didnt give a fuck and Bucky was getting tired of it. Bucky originally found out because your phone lit up with a name that was not familiar to him. He pretended he didnt see it and you didnt say anything about it either. He had a feeling that you were doing something behind his back, but he decided to trust you. However that didnt last too long because that night he hacked into your phone remotely and he was able to see every single thing you did on it. From texts, to calls, pictures, emails, social medias. Everything. He was able to see it all through his computer. He fidgeted with his fingers, trying to calm himself down as he watched the idiotic man talk to you. Taking his phone out, he started to call you, watching you as he brought it up to his ear. You felt your phone vibrate, reading it was his contact name, you pressed the green button immediately. “Bucky...whats up” your sweet tone almost calmed him down, but he needed to hold on to his anger a little longer. 

“My doll...are you busy?”

“Not really just went to break. Is everything okay? You sound kind of off”

Bucky let out a breathy chuckle. Your perceptiveness was remarkable, another trait he loved about you. 

“My precious girl, I’m going to ask you somethin’ and I need you to answer it truthfully. Can you do that for me?” 

You gulped, your eyes darting right to your colleague who was chomping down on his food, scrolling mindlessly through his phone.  

“Y-yes, ofcourse” Fuck. When you stuttered it meant that you were nervous. You hoped that it was barely noticeable and that he didnt pick up on it. 

“who is Seth” 

“Hes one of my coworkers here at the cafe” 

“Hmmm. Why havent you told me about him” 

“Bucky..its really not that big of a deal, hes just a friend here at work.” 

“Darling, that didnt answer my question. Why havent you told me about him” 

At this point you knew there was no way you would be getting out of this without arguing. You quickly muted yourself and told Seth, “Im going to the bathroom, Ill be a while in there. Can you cover for me?” Seth noticed your expression drop, knowing that you were worried about something. “Sure, is everything okay?” he grabbed your hand and felt it shake. “Oh my God y/n whats wrong?”. You took a deep breath before pulling your hand away from his, “nothing ill be right back” as you turned he grabbed you again, this time by your arm. “No, tell me whats going on. Is it your toxic boyfriend? What did he say to you to have you this worked up. Look at your hands, they're literally shaking”. “Look ill explain later” as you shrugged him off you turned to walk towards the restroom, only to see that Bucky was already walking towards you. 

“Seth fucking Powers. So you're the one thats been talking to my girl. Didnt anyone ever teach you to not go for someone whos already taken? C’mon..why are you braking the bro code”. Bucky was fuming. His steps were heavy, his gloved hand in a fist as if he was getting ready to smash the guys face in at any given moment. You got in front of Bucky, placing your small hand on his abdomen. “Please Bucky, dont do this. Not here” you whispered, looking around the cafe to make sure no one was looking, but all eyes were on you and your problematic man. Seth chuckled, “Of course I know that. But youre a control freak who doesnt let his girl breathe. Why do you think we've gotten so close, she needs someone to confide in, someone who gets her, and can listen to all the bullshit you put her through. You did this to yourself. Look at her, she clearly doesn't want this, but you're too much of a rabid dog to comprehend or even acknowledge what she want and needs.” Seth was exposing you. You did indeed confide in him, but he wasn't supposed to say it out loud, ever. Bucky looked down at your for a moment, as if asking you if that was true. All you could do was shake your head in disagreement. Bucky used his arm to push you away, getting all close and personal with Seth, who was surprisingly not backing down. 

“The only reason why I dont blow your fucking brains out right now is because of MY doll..shes the only reason why you're alive right this second. But she wont be here to protect your miserable life ever again, you will pay for this..with your life and thats a promise. I hope it was worth it.” Bucky turned around and grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the cafe. As you tried to keep up with him, you turned around to give the cafe one last look, knowing that you would never be stepping foot in there again. When you got to his car, he opened the door for you and motioned with his head to get in. When you did, he slammed the door, making you jump a little. The car ride home was so freaking long, you didn't even dare move a muscle because you didn't want to distract him from his thoughts. Maybe it would trigger him to remember that you were in the car, hence making him talk. 

As he raced through the busy city, you took your phone out. You saw that Seth had sent you quite a lot of long messages. Before you could start reading them,Bucky grabbed your phone and crushed it in his hand. “What the fuck! Why did you do that” your voice rose, but careful to not make it too loud. “Y/n, im going to ask you to stop talking. I dont want to do anything stupid. Please just shut up” he could loose his shit over everything, he’d scream at the top of his lungs when speaking to people on the phone and even in person, but he never did it to you. He tried his hardest to stay calm and not scare you, just as he had promised to do so when you two started to go out. Before you got home you got an idea that would hopefully deescalate his mood. As you two pulled up, you stormed out of the car. Running as fast as you could towards your shared bedroom. Bucky was not even parked yet when you got out. He was so confused but instead of laughing about it, he got more mad. He quickly parked the car and told his guards to go home and switch out with the night crew, which were the ones that made sure no one got in or out of the property unless it was him. Buckys mansion was beautiful, he made a lot of money in his businesses but he made even more on top of that by being the head of the mafia. He controlled all of the southern borders, allowing drugs to flow in to the US from Mexico, Latin America and the West Coast while his best friend Steve Rogers controlled the northern borders and the East Coast. Making them the most successful and powerful mafia in the world. 

As you ran through the house, you could hear faint steps behind you which grew closer and closer. You started to giggle as you thought that he was playing with you too. When you reached the bedroom, you closed it, only for the door to fly open making you fall to the floor. Giggling, you looked up at Bucky only to see his death stare, making your smile fade. “Do you think this is a joke? Are my feelings a joke to you” he slammed the door closed and locked it. “Im sorry Bucky, I thought we were p-playing around now” you stammered while trying to catch your breath. He walked towards you, looking down at you, before grabbing you by your neck and lifting you up to your feet, “Im so fucking mad right now y/n..I keep remembering that imbeciles hands on you and it makes me want to burn him alive” he said through gritted teeth, his hands still wrapped around your neck. The feeling of having him this close made your body tingle, his dominant aura radiating off of him.

“Bucky, please don’t. I’m sorry” your words meant nothing to him. He knew if you were truly sorry you wouldn’t say it, you would show it. He scoffed and let you go, making you stumble onto the end of bed bench. “Miss me with that bullshit. I know you’re not sorry. You kept a secret from me, knowing damn well how badly that would hurt me”. Something about that last sentence got you heated. “Hurt you? Bucky, you made me cut all of my friends off. Friendships that I’ve had for years, for you! If anyone is hurt, it’s me. I felt lonely and lost, but I thought I was okay with it because of you but now…Seth helped me see things for what they are not how you wanted me to see them”. Wow, you couldn’t believe you just said that. Bucky narrowed his eyes, his forehead lines were visible as he scrunched his eyebrows. “So you’re fucking tell me you felt better talking to that bitch than me?! After all I’ve done for you? I let you have a job and this is how you show me you’re grateful?…you can forget about it though you’re never going to work again. You can find something to do in this house. You got everything you could ever want under this roof” as he stormed off, he slammed the door making you flinch. Your heart felt like it was in your stomach, a stupid prisoner with golden bars. You weren’t going to deal with this anymore thought. This was the last straw, so you decided to pack up your shit and leave.

As you went through the closet, most of your items were expensive pieces of clothing that he bought you. The shoes were almost all heels and wedges. You needed something comfortable to blend in with and run in. As you realized that most of your old clothes that were actually yours were gone, you grabbed some black sweats and a black hoodie of his to get the hell out. You managed to find some old workout shoes you had and got ready to go. There was cameras almost everywhere, so your only way out would be through the window. When you opened it, the sensor went off, announcing that the window had opened. As you pushed it up, you threw one leg over the ledge and the other one followed. Pushing your body out, you landed on your feet, groaning at the feeling of them hurting as you got down. Moving quickly, you started to make your way through the property, evading any guards and blending in as much as you could with the huge bushes and shrubs. Thankfully, you were able to make it to the gate, now the last obstacle was the gate guard. He was the one that opened the gate, but there wasnt any way that he would just let you go through without  his boss’ permission. The only thing you were able to do was wait until someone passed through so you could run right out. 

*Back at the house*

Bucky was drinking some whiskey to help with his anger. Most women would just listen and follow directions when a man of power was in their life, but not you. You were not like other women, you were a challenge and he loved it. He often blamed your stubbornness to your age. You were the youngest girlfriend hes ever been with, so you two would butt heads a lot. He was more traditional, and you were more modern but you two made it work beautifully. Bucky had a very short temper, he got stressed often, however, you were able to take it all away. When he needed to take his anger out, you were the first thing he did when he got home. His heightened senses were able to detect exactly where you were, almost hunting you down. As soon as he laid eyes on you, he pounced, taking you right then and there, chasing his much needed release. You were erotic to him, he just couldn't have enough of you. As he thought back on all of those times you were there to have fun with him, he softened, realizing how shitty he treated you a bit ago. You were probably right, but he was just too angry to even hear you out. You were his doll, always there for him, needing you by his side forever. He really did love you so much, he cared for you and cherished you like no one has ever done before. You two were meant for each other. All these thoughts in Buckys head, had him yearning for you. When he went back into the room, he noticed it was a bit cold, quickly shutting the window. He noticed that the shower was going, so he waited for you to come out. 

“My Doll..its me. I know youre mad but lets talk..please” a couple moments went by, and nothing. “Darling, you know I dont like to be ignored. Answer me” this time he went to the door and knocked on it. Still nothing. Bucky was mad all over again, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it, only to have it stop due to it being locked. He took a deep breath, forcing the knob all the way down, breaking it instantly. He pushed the door open, only to see the shower going..with out you in it. He could feel his heart almost jump out of his chest, he pulled out his phone and called the head of security. 

“Have anyone of you seen y/n?”

“I havent boss. Let me ask the crew” 

Buckys rage started to overpower him, his heart was racing and his jaw was clenching like crazy. He couldn't even track you because he stupidly broke your phone hours ago. 

“Nothing boss. No one has seen her. Is everything okay?” 

“No, go through all the camera footage from when we got home till now. Have the rest of the men look for her on the property. I need the day crew back, tell them to get into their cars and search for her all over the city.Ill pay double time for their work. Whoever finds her, tell them to keep her there until I arrive” 

Your feet carried you through the city streets, running like a maniac to get to your families house. They would surely help you, and besides Bucky didn't know where they lived so you would be safe there. Your side started to hurt, sprinting as fast as possible, getting closer and closer. When you got there, you were relieved to see that all the lights in the house were on. You caught your breath before knocking on the door, taking in breath after breath. The door unlocked and you were met with your mother, who instantly went to hug you, “My god! my little y/l! I thought we would never see you again” her voice cracked as she started to cry. Her warm embrace was enough to have you in tears as well. “Mom, I missed you. Im so sorry for not coming sooner”. Your mom rubbed you back, “Dont worry hun, come in hurry”. As she walked you in, you froze. Your face turning pale at the sight. “James..” is all you could say. 

Bucky got up from the couch, half smiling as he approached you. You took a step back but he had you in his arms before you could go any further. “My precious Doll...you have no idea how worried I was...” his hand went from your waist, up to your back and under your hair, he grabbed the back of your neck and squeezed it, making you wince, “Never..do this again to me again, okay?” The profuse fear that was coursing through you was something you hadn't felt before. “why dont you stay here for tonight” your mom suggested, holding onto her hands as if she was pleading, “Yes id like that” you answered as you let go of Bucky. He just followed you with his eyes, waiting for you to make eye contact with him but since you were actually avoiding it, he got frustrated. 

“y/n, we need to talk outside..lets go” 

“I dont really want to talk, I just want to sle-”

“I said lets go outside” his tone was harsh this time, and your mom noticed. 

“James, maybe its a good idea if you just go home and let her stay here tonight. Ill take her to you tomorrow in the morning.” 

“Look y/m/n, do not intervene. Your daughter needs to learn how to obey me. In fact, lets go. Were leaving right now” Bucky went to grab you by your wrist and started dragging you out. “Dont even try to call the cops y/m/n, they all work for me”. That was the last thing he said to her before dragging you out to the car. “What the fuck is wrong with you” you spat, finally breaking your hand away from his harsh grip. “Im sorry baby” he pulled out a cloth and a brown bottle along with it. When he started to soak it, you were a bit confused as to what he was doing, but then it registered that he was about to chloroform you. When you tried to run, he yanked you by your hair pulling you back into him, covering your nose and mouth. Struggling against him, you felt weak, the world started to blur, your eyes were being consumed by darkness until you fully passed out. Bucky grabbed onto your body, placing it in the back seat before giving you a kiss, “Dont worry my love, were going somewhere far far away where only you and I will be happy”. 

Bucky drove hours to get to the mountains. He got to his newly built cottage that you fantasized about living in when you grew old. He wanted to gift it to you as one of your wedding presents but this would have to do. No one know about this new property, not even his best friend Steve. This was a safe house, completely bullet proof, the windows do not break, soundproof, everything that he needed for an emergency. The doors didnt open unless a key was used, it even had a secret basement that was accessible through the kitchen island, but the best part of all, it was completely off the radar. As he arrived, he took you in first, placing your limp body on the couch. He brought in all the luggage that he gathered from the other house and place it into the master bedroom. He then brought you to bed, waiting for you to wake. As time went by, he noticed that you would not wake up, so he had to get some ammonia and put it near your nose to have you come back. 

“My love...wake up” he whispered, shaking you a little. The piercing aroma woke you up, making you turn your head away from it. Feeling disoriented when you opened your eyes, your mouth started to water as if you were going to throw up. You quickly sat up and covered your mouth, trying to swallow as much as possible to not be sick. Bucky watched as you started to react and smiled at how silly you looked. “My doll..how are you feeling? You look like a lost puppy” he giggled, brushing the hair off of your face. Once you started to look around, you thought you were still dreaming. This area seemed so familiar. Everything you told Bucky you wanted in a house was there. “Is this a dream, where am I” your voice was hoarse, feeling your throat dry. “No baby its not. Were in the cottage that you always wanted to be in” Bucky reached over to get you a glass of water. “here drink this while I explain”. 

“After your little stunt, I decided it would be much better if we just came here for a while. This way, there will be no distractions and we can focus on our relationship. Ill forgive everything you've done, but under 1 condition....you submit yourself to me completely”. Suddenly everything came back. “Did you fucking drug me to bring me here?” getting up from the bed, away from him. “Dont talk to me like that, show me some respect” he warned, getting up with you. He reached for your hand but you yanked it away. “You're insane James. I cant believe you've done this. What makes you think I want to be with you when you've gone to this length over something so little.” Bucky laughed, charging towards you, grabbing you by the neck and pinning you against the wall. “If you think cheating on me is something “little” then youre the one whos fucking insane. I love you y/n, I will not let you ruin this for us. Im the best thing thats ever happened to you. Ive helped you and your annoyingly nosy family like no one ever has. The least you can do is show me a little bit of appreciation”

His metal arm was squeezing you a little too tight, making it hard for you to breathe, “youre a m-murder..why should I-I”. His eyes went wide, letting you go immediately. As you coughed to catch your breath he backed away, there was an expression you've never seen before in his eyes, but it looked like shock. “When you told me about your past as the Winter Soldier, I should have just left. You have no remorse over anyone lives. I dont want that in my own” 

“Then why did you stay” 

“I...I dont know” feeling your face heat up, you turned your back towards him, knowing damn well why you stayed. Bucky walked up behind you, pressing his body against yours. His flesh hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him while his metal one went up to grab your face. You tried to move away, but his grip on you was too tight. His hand moved it to the side, exposing your neck, he traced his nose over your shoulder and up to your neck, taking in your scent as he littered kisses from the base of your neck up to your ear. “Go on..tell me why” he let out a breathy laugh, making you get a shiver down your spine. “Bucky..” you moaned accidentally. “Baby, could it be because you're a horny little thing? Hm? You looove it when I touch you all over. All those times you threaten to leave me..you can never really do it because you know youll miss this” he pressed his erection into your ass, moaning out your name, knowing you love it when he does that. “No one can fuck you like I can, y/n...and frankly I know you dont want anyone else but me to do so” his hand dipped inside of your pants, rubbing your clit over your now wet panties. You arched your back, your head falling onto his shoulder, bitting your lip to not moan. He ghosted his lips over your ear, whispering, “Youre never going to leave me, Doll...you know why? Because youre mine. Fight me, kick me, punch me..anything but it wont change the fact that you only belong to me..and dont you forget it” 

He pulled out his hand, and loosed his grip on you, quickly turning you around to face him. He connected his lips with yours, french kissing you as he guided you into bed. He pushed you down, and watched you pant, smiling to himself at how beautiful you looked when you got manhandled by him. “Why are you looking at me like that. Please just come here” you whined, motioning for him to join you. “Do you deserve it?” Silence. You knew that you didnt, but you still wanted it..soooo badly. “I asked you a question” he insisted. “Well..no but I..you cant leave me like this” 

“Catching an attitude will not get you what you want, brat. Come here and show me how much you want me”. You quickly got up, unbuckling his pants, yanking the Gucci belt off of him and then undoing his pants. Bucky loved seeing you like this, so horny to the point of not caring how desperate you looked. He adored it. He got so hard, just thinking how we was going to keep you in this place until you learned how to be obsessed with him just as he obsessed over you. Taking his thick cock into your mouth, caused him to shudder, moaning out in pleasure. “Mmm fuck y/n...you filthy little whore” he grabbed a fistful of your hair, making you bob your head faster. You gagged yourself on his dick, your nose touching his pubes, taking all of it in. You them took him out, panting, only to do it again and again. “Such a good girl...your mouth feels heavenly”. 

“Please...can you fuck me” you tried to speak while having your mouth full of his cock. Bucky went mad when you did that. He grabbed your hair again and yanked you back onto the bed. He tore your clothes off, making you smile at how rough he was being. As he got naked, you decided to go a little farther. You spread your legs open, touching yourself as you watched him get undress, “buckyyyyy...pleasee come here” you moaned, rubbing your clit. Bucky grabbed your hands and pinned them up to the sides of your head, almost crushing your wrists. “What have I told you about touching yourself without my permission? Are you trying to get punished?” when you laughed, it gave it all away. “what a fucking slut” he spat. He opened your legs with him, and slammed himself into you, instantly thrusting in and out. With no time to adjust, you screamed at the sensation. He was so deep inside you, hitting your g-spot with every snap pf his hips. “s-stop..it hurts” you moaned, balling your hands up into a fist. “No..I know you can take it” his fingers wedged themselves into yours, interlocking them. He panted against your neck, giving you kisses at first then sucking hickeys onto it. He growled like an animal, at how good your pussy ate him up. He eventually started to bite you, making you gasp. “Buckyyy..” you moaned, your hands squeezing his. 

“Youre mine y/n...this is me marking you as my property. No one can have you but me. F-fuck..who does this pussy belong to?” he angled his hips a little before hammering into you again. Your grunted and screamed at how delicious he felt, “fuckk..you..yours”. He chuckled darkly, “come on my slut...form a complete sentence...or are you too fucking dumb to do it? Is your brain not working because of all this cock thats inside of you?hm? my little dumb baby” the way he had you, was too much. You couldn't hold it and you squirted all over him, your legs shaking as you did. As you convulsed under him, he let go of your hands, and wrapped them around your neck. The image of him fucking you, as his hands were on your throat was pornographic. His bulgy flesh and metal muscles tensing up, as his dog tags dangled over you, was just so sexy. “C-cum inside me Bucky..please..im yours to use and abuse” you choked out. He bit his bottom lip, before cursing through gritted teeth. Your lewd words were enough to push him over the edge, making him spill his warm seed inside of you. He thrusted into you a couple more times, before laying on top of you as he caught his breath. 

“Bucky..youre crushing me” you struggled to lift him up, but he got up using his arms, and didnt disconnect his dick from inside you. “Sorry Doll..just give me like a couple minutes. I want to go again”

“again? I dont think thats such a good idea. We still need to talk about this whole situation.” 

“Ugh dont ruin the moment. Just understand that we will be staying here for a while. Just until we can figure things out” 

“Bucky...I dont know” 

“of course you do. You did a really shitty thing to me and we are here to make sure that wont happen again. You promise to be good for me, right?”

There wasn't any indication that he was lying so you decided to trust him. “Right” you answered, even though your gut told you otherwise.

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[jaehyunnie77]

hey babess i love your writing! can i request a jaehyun x ceo! y/n fic? (fluff + smut) something along the lines of jaehyun being the only one who can turn boss babe y/n soft & submissive?

Pairing: assistant!jaehyun x female!ceo

Genre: smut and tiny fluff

Warnings: mentions of masturbation, sexual tension, office sex, fingering, oral (male recieving), dom jaehyun, sub reader, protected sex

Word Count: 2.2k

a/n: hi love! thank you so much for the request. it makes me so happy to hear you love my writing <3. I had fun writing this one. I'm so sorry this took forever, but I do hope you like it. Also, Lemonade and Sticker Jaehyun did something to me so I got carried away a bit lol. enjoy

—

Knock knock.

"Come in!" you yell keeping your eyes on the computer screen. You really don't understand why people use Urgent as the subject line when it wasn't really urgent at all. The door to your office opens and the woody cologne of your assistant hits your nose. It takes everything in you to continue reading the email.

"Miss Y/LN, you have a five o'clock meeting today with design department." Jeong Jaehyun looks at his tablet in his hand to make sure there wasn't anything else he was missing. Last time you missed an important conference call all because he wasn't paying close attention to your schedule.

"Fuck." you say under your breath. You completely forgot about the meeting and honestly, didn't want to go. You stop reading and rub your temples. You look up just in time at your assistant and you both lock eyes. There is no denying there is heavy sexual tension between you both. Everyone in the office, hell, everyone in the entire building can sense the chemistry between you and your assistant.

You won't admit it to anyone, but the way he talks to you in his soft voice, makes your ovaries go in overdrive. The way his hand would slightly touch yours when handing you papers, gave you goosebumps. From your desk you have a perfect view of him, you can't help but look at him and daydream. When you two would talk about something outside of work, you can't help but smile and laugh with him. You wouldn't say you were whip for him, he was just a good eye candy to have around during stressful times.

Okay, you may have thought about him and his fingers a couple of times whenever you masturbated, but no one needed to know that.

However, you would never act on those fantasies because you are the CEO of a multimillion-fashion company. You can't afford to be distracted.

"Cancel and move it to another date and time next week. I have all of these paperwork I need to sort through." you say.

Jaehyun nods his head as his hand starts tapping away on his tablet. "Done. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No that is all. You may leave for the day."

Jaehyun gives you another nod and walks out of your office. You stare at his back and thirst over his figure. You wish you could run your hands all over his broad shoulders, hug around his waist, and your hands running through his gel back hair.

Jeong Jaehyun has been your assistant for the last four months and surprisingly, he is the only one who stayed the longest. All of your other assistants were either fired or quit because of how demanding you are. You were prepared to find another assistant when Jaehyun quit, but he could handle your sharp tongue and ranging mood swings.

In the end, it works out for you because you get to see his muscles flex and his dimples almost every day of the week. You get to boss him around whenever you like just to see if he would break one day. Strangely enough, he is the only one who makes you feel this way, both horny and soft for him.

If you could, you would fuck him on your desk and have your way with him. You would edge and overstimulate him over and over again, if only your reputation wasn't on the line. Your pussy clench around nothing with just the thought of Jaehyun under you. Before your imagination could run any more wilder, you get back to work.

The following day, you were overwhelmed with the stacks of paper work that sat on your desk. Jaehyun has been helping you sort through most of it the entire day and by the time you look at your clock, it was well past eleven o'clock. You sigh as you glance over at Jaehyun who looks just as tired as you.

"Jaehyun that should be it for today. We can sort through the rest on Monday." you collect the papers in front of you and put them in your file cabinet. "You should go home to your girlfriend or whoever is waiting for you at home." you mentally slap yourself for even saying that aloud.

Jaehyun sees your flustered state and grins as he puts the stack of papers on one side of his desk. "It's fine and for your information, I don't have anyone waiting for me."

You try your hardest to breathe and tighten your cross legs. It was his voice and the way he said it that sent shivers down your spine. His sexy sulky voice that you've heard once and made your pussy clench. Oh how you want to fulfill your fantasies right now.

"Miss Y/LN?"

"Yes Jaehyun?"

You didn't notice Jaehyun getting up from his chair and walking towards you.

"Y/N."

You finally look up surprise to see him leaning against your desk right beside you. He has a cocky smile and even from this angle, he looks like a hot Thor, but hotter.

You gulp as you regain your composure, "What is it Jaehyun?"

Jaehyun leans down, his face comes closer to yours, and you don't dare back away. When his face was inches from yours, you whisper, "This is unprofessional."

He gazes into your eyes, still smirking, "Was it unprofessional all the times we've been eye fucking from across the room?"

You sigh as you gave in and close the gap connecting your lips. It was cold a minute ago, but now it was hot. Hot and sexy. He grabs your neck to keep you in place as you get up from your chair and your hands finding their way to his neck. Both of your hands wander all over each other, until you start to unbutton his white shirt and he unzips your dress.

The height difference is making you weak, but you want to show him you're the boss and dominate him. Jaehyun notices what you're doing and you feel him smile in your heated make out session.

"Still trying to be the boss Y/N?"

"I am the boss Jaehyun." You finally get rid of his shirt and damn, does this man work out. You stop to admire his hardened abs, while Jaehyun finally takes off your dress, admiring you in just your bra and panties. You both take each other in.

To be clear, this has never happened before to you. You were always the one to set the pace, to show your partners for the night you were in charge, but this was different. Jaehyun was different. He was captivating and you wanted him to destroy you now that you've seen what it's like to be kissed and touched by him.

He leaves kisses on your jaw, your neck, to your chest and as he senses the sudden change in attitude, he growls. He captures your lips once more as he picks you up to sit you on your desk. He pushes everything on top of your desk away onto the floor and lays you down. He continues his kiss attack by leaving purple bruises all over your chest, boobs, and stomach. When he finally reaches where you need him the most, he teases you over your panties.

"Jaehyun." you whine.

"Yes baby." Even the nickname is driving you crazy.

"Stop teasing."

"If you say so." Jaehyun pushes your panties to the side and slides a finger between your folds.

"You're dripping wet. All for me?"

Without an answer or a warning, he pushes in a finger, then a second. The stretch makes your back arch as he pumps his digits into you. He curls his fingers and set a rapid pace as your walls pulsate around his fingers making you see the stars. Before you could reach your orgasm, he stops and takes them out.

"Jaehyun!"

"No. Be a good girl and don't come until I tell you to."

"I would do no such -"

He reinserts his fingers pumping into you again and when you clench, he stops again. He loves to see your expression when you were right on the edge and can see the frustration take over.

"J-"

"I said, be a good girl and come when I tell you to. If not, you won't come and we'll do this all night if we have to."

Fuck was he hot.

You whimper as you slowly nod to his command.

"Good girl. Now get on your knees."

You sit back up and get down on your knees anticipating for what's to come. Just as you were about to unzip his pants, he stops you with his hand on your wrist. "Don't. Hand behind your back." Once again, you did as you were told as you watch Jaehyun slowly unzip his pants and bring down his boxers. His long hard cock standing proud almost hitting your face. Precum visible as it leaks from his tip. You unconsciously lick your lips wanting nothing more than to have him in your mouth.

"Suck."

With your hands still behind your back, you inch forward and put him in your mouth. Jaehyun groans at the feeling of your warm mouth around him. You bob and twist your head as you slurp on his dick. Saliva mix with his precum are coming out of the corner of your mouth. You pull off him to catch your breath but Jaehyun wasn't having it. He grabs the back of your head, pushes his cock into your mouth, and fucks your mouth. You feel him hit the back of your throat and gag around him.

Jaehyun hisses when you moan and gag around him, "You're fucking sexy."

When he feels himself almost coming, he pulls you off, helps you up from the ground, and bend you over the desk. "Spread your legs."

You do as you he says and spread your legs best as you can. He grabs a condom from his wallet and rolls it on, pumping himself a few times before finally entering you. You let out a loud moan when his girth stretches you out perfectly. You feel so full.

Jaehyun doesn't wait for you to get use to him as he starts to pound into you. The way his hips thrusts into you has you moving up on your desk. You try to grab onto anything, but Jaehyun kept your hands behind your back still. Your head laid to the side and Jaehyun has the perfect view of your fucked out face.

He leans down next to your ears, "Do you think you could boss me around as a lost boy?" he thrusts harder.

"J-Jaehyun, ahh!"

"Do you think you could make me your bitch boy and tell everyone to reschedule your meetings every day?"

"Fuck!"

"Ah, do you think you could tease me every day when you wear those short dresses and skirts, bend over in front of me, and don't expect me to get hard?"

"Fuck fuck fuck!"

"What would everyone say when the CEO is getting fucked by her assistant?"

"Th-they w-won't b-believe y-you."

He growls in your ear, "Even when I'm balls deep in you, you still want to be the boss."

He pounds into your harder and faster making you see the stars, "Please Jaehyun."

"Who's the boss Y/N?" Jaehyun pulls your hair bringing you up to his chest. The new position as him hitting in deeper as you continue seeing the stars as tears fall out of your eyes.

"Jaehyun! You are! Oh my fucking God! Please don't stop, don't stop."

"You like that? You like getting your hair pulled?"

"Fuck yes! Only for you. Please let me come."

He was getting close too, "Come on my dick baby." You didn't need to be told twice as you let go and cum on his cock and soon enough he also reach his climax.

His hold on your hair loosens up as you fall forward on your desk with him falling on top of you, both of you worn out. He kisses your glistening shoulders as you feel him go soft inside of you. He pulls out throwing the condom away and helps you get dress.

Standing there with clothes back on and hair slightly messy, you suddenly feel shy. Jaehyun caresses your cheek as you shyly look up at him, a warm smile on his face with those beautiful dimples showing.

"Hi." he whispers.

"Hi." you feel yourself get butterflies in your stomach.

"I know this is reverse, but do you want to get dinner tomorrow?"

You study his face for any remorse or seriousness, but all you found is adoring eyes staring back at you.

"I'd love that, but," you pause. Jaehyun's expression falls.

"But?"

"But I'm still your boss and," you wrap your arms around his neck while his found your waist, "you're fired."

You smile up at him, feeling the rumble of his laughter. "That is fine by me as long as I have you by my side." He kisses your lips and you kiss back.

"About time honestly." you joke as you detached yourself to get your purse.

Jaehyun smiles at you, "Well if you weren't so busy bossing me around and playing this cat and mouse game -"

You lightly smack his chest laughing and you both walk out of your office interlocking your hands.

[fuck-customers]

few small things this week that make me wanna strangle people:

EVERY time the truck has come this week, we've had to throw away several hundred dollars worth of product because they aren't putting things away. its takes 5 minutes to move our walk in around to put stuff inside it. we've also gotten so many damaged products that we think they're doing it on purpose now. commissary isn't even responding to the emails we're sending them about credits or just general complaints. thanks 👍🏻

the oven hood died over the weekend and no one was able to come out until monday to fix it. 75 in a restaurant doesn't sound hot but MY GOD we all left every night covered in sweat bc it was so bad

finally, shout out to these specific customers

1) the guy that shoved his whole finger up his nose as he was paying, got his nasty boogers over the card reader and then proceeded to leave his nasty tissue under another card reader. who the fuck raised you to think this is okay?

2) the lady who came in and screamed at us because there was myself and my manager in the store. we couldn't answer phones bc of how busy we were. are you blind to the fact there's a full screen and only 2 people in the store?

3) finally, the guy who yelled at me because he didn't get his free pizza. we're running a "bullshit company" because i stopped the car side reader 9 seconds before he got his free pizza. "it took more than 9 seconds for you to give me my pizza. i want my free pizza" fuck you no? call corporate for all i care, i don't get paid enough to deal with your bs

in good news, ya boi got employee of the month 🤌🏻🤌🏻 when you find the right management, loyalty does go a long way my friends

[studiojeon]

troubled outsiders | intro - jjk

| summary | -  how you two end up pining for each other.

warnings: none :) 

content: idol!jungkook x student!oc, friends to lovers (because it’s THE superior trope okurrrt), jungkook is quiet and shy but a social butterfly when needed (and when it comes to oc but you’re not supposed to know that yet), oc is both a badass and a socially akward queen, she has TWO friends and only because one is dating the other (like... same), the Lee Charyeong is her bestie, oc works at bighit and feels like everyone either fears her or hates her, author nim is a crackhead and has no plot planned for this series whatsoever (doesn’t know if she’ll keep this up, we’ll see).

words: 1.93 k

His presence was overwhelming, to say the least. Even if he were surrounded by six hundred other equally handsome men, somehow, to you (and the majority of the female population, at that point) he was as captivating and magnetic as they come. Jeon Jungkook didn't pay no mind to no one, but sure as hell everyone became hyper aware of his existence and essence in time. And that didn’t exclude you.

Yet, as nonchalant and indifferent as the man could be perceived, in reality he was more considerate and friendly than the aura he exuded. You knew this because working in the same company had to teach a thing or two about the people who literally carried said company and the whole industry at some point, still you barely knew four or three people, including your assistant and Jungkook, whom you had met once.

The opportunity of working at the company had come to you out of the blue, quite literally, you were attempting to send one of your assignments in when an email appeared in your notifications during your sailor moon study break. 

HYBE Entertainment

We’re glad to inform you that you’re being recruited for the position of Logistics Manager in one of our sub companies, BIGHIT Entertainment. We’ve thoroughly looked through the CV you’ve submitted and are very interested in your capabilities and what you can contribute to our organization. One of our other managers will gladly meet you on a day you can both agree on. Make sure to answer this email to get more details about your interview.

“Nani!? THE FUCK?” sure as hell that your eyes and cognitive functions were deceiving you (ADHD) you went over the text a little over three times in a row before the message settled in your mind. This was sus. 

Before even considering a reply you made a quick call. “Fucking Lee Chaeryeong” you spat on your end of the line. “You did this, didn’t you?”.

Her silence was more than enough to have you cursing her under your breath. “I don’t know what exactly you’re talking about but it most likely was me. Does it have to do with a sex toy in particular?”

“No” you denied almost monotonously, guessing the pile of boxes in the corner of your room with her names on them was what she referred to. “Does anything come to mind if i mention BIGHIT FUCKING ENTERTAINMENT?”

It was her. All those conversations during the summer about how badly you wanted to work in the entertainment business as marketing staff of some sort had their effect on your friend, who, despite all your excuses and denials, knew you better than you and your mom combined did, and because of this, was sure as hell you were not making a move towards that goal whatsoever. So, being the boss bitch she was, she took matters into her own hands, was what she explained.

You concluded that was the reason you had reached a point in your life where you had more experience than most recently graduated kids in your field, because Chaeryeong had you moving every summer break. You had been the manager of a coffee franchise and convenience store during you junior and senior years, and also figured a way to improve the marketing management strategy of a fucking restaurant while at it. Not to toot your own horn, but you were kind of cool.

Or not. “I hope this job satisfies your workaholic ass for once, I’m running out of ideas”. Chaeryeong spat before hanging up.

Sure as hell it would. 

On friday afternoon, you made your way to the HYBE INSIGHT building and introduced yourself to your recruiters who promised to give you a call at some point. “It went fine” you told Chaeryeong once you were in your car. And it was the truth, however you weren’t so sure if they would actually hire you at some point since well, you were a girl in a male dominated industry and, in your opinion, there were always better people than you. “Wanna go grab coffee?”

“I want to. But, I have practice today. I’m actually on my way there. Please avoid driving through Hongdae today, this shit’s packed.” You sighed and thanked her for the heads up. You missed your friend, badly. You hadn’t seen each other in three weeks, and you didn’t even live so far away from each other (you did, but it had been worse before). You two had very agitated lives to say the least. Chaeryeong was a kpop group member, and well, you were jumping from job to job and getting your phD in Business Management at the same time. It was hard to find moments to spare together during some periods of the year, but you guess the anticipation made your encounters better.

“Talk about anticipation” you slammed your forehead against your desk, taking a breather after such an anxiety packed situation. Short story: you got the job (for some fucking reason). And you had gone through a whole week of expectancy and anguish. Not getting that job would have broken your heart, and ego at the same time. 

You guessed the law of attraction tactics Chaeryeong had taught you had sorted their effect and were what led you to your current position in life.

“Miss _____, your presentation’s ready” your work assistant gave you a comforting pat in the back as she took a seat somewhere next to you. You were nervous, shitless. It was your fifth week at the job, and being the proactive woman you were, you had collected lots of data in order to come up with a resources management plan.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and more than a hundred people sat in front of you, waiting for your speech. Including him, who you’d once bumped into accidentally during one of your data recollections runs inside the building. 

You hated having the need to impress others yet, hence your anxious behaviour. But this was a decisive moment in regards to your validation in your new job and how you’d continue to be perceived during your work stance (no reason to panic at all)… you needed to get it together.

“I think I just pissed off a bunch of old men right now,” you told your assistant right after you got off stage. “I need a bathroom break”. Linh gave you a reassuring smile, one she always had plastered on her face.

“Take as long as you need to. I’ll give you a call once the rest are done”.

The commute to the bathroom was unnecessarily complicated in your opinion. You had spent a little over a month rushing through the hallways of the building and you swore every single day your spatial orientation got a bit more fucked up. There was no way there wasn’t a single bathroom on the floor you were in, that would just be atrocious. “It’s not completed yet” someone said beside you as you stared at the half empty map the company had projected on a wall next to the elevators. “Where do you need to go?” 

Kim Taehyung of all people in the world was talking to your ugly and unworthy ass. Your breath caught in your throat and after staring for at least five seconds your body finally reacted to your orders. “Oh, um… the bathroom. I’ve been looking for it for a good ten minutes” you explained with a nervous laugh.

“Trust me, I get it. I still get lost over here” he smiled gently. “It’s in the hallway in the middle of the next hallway” 

You laughed at his very ambiguous explanation. “Thank you” you bowed your head and made your way to said destination.

It was in the hallway to your left, not your right, and it took you a while to figure out that new piece of information. Once you were staring at yourself in the mirror, you realized that you looked considerably tired and exhausted from all the social interaction you had undergone throughout the day. You were used to the side stares and whispering you’d get whenever you entered a room at that point, but some days you just wished you could get a break from them. After all, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look Korean at all, and that you also didn’t fit the stereotype of a foreigner.

You got that from your mom, both the non Korean features and social fatigue. But that wasn’t even the problem most of the time, it was your friendly and smart nature which she had also passed onto you. Some would consider it a blessing, but to you it was a burden, like a clear glass that shielded you from introducing yourself into other people’s realities. You had few friends and people to trust, but in your everyday life you had to deal with the pressure of standing out too much and that came with a lot of negative energy from others. You sigh as you spray your favorite fragrance on yourself. You could be feeling like shit, but no one will ever catch you slipping.

But that excluded him apparently. You hadn’t noticed that on the other side of the hallway was the men’s bathroom and the realization hit you as you were calmly getting some tea from the vending machine. “Good afternoon” the man greeted you as he made his way out the hallway, but stopped in his tracks right after he noticed you. “_____! Hi” he smiled at you and you wanted to die, suddenly forgetting what you were ordering in the first place.

“H-hi Jungkook” You smiled back, poorly attempting to put your wallet back into your backpack. 

“Need help there?” he noticed your agitated state and held your bag for you. He smelled just as heavenly as you had expected, somewhat between big dick energy and flowers. Oh, and he also remained as kind and polite as you remembered him.

Seeming as if he wasn’t planning on continuing his path to wherever he was heading to in the first place, he stood quietly by your side, waiting for you to be done with your deal. “How have you been?” you break the ice for him.

Quickly, you grab your tea and start walking back to the auditorium together, unaware of your surroundings or the suspicions that could arise. “Busy, but very good. How have you been? I saw your presentation earlier… I wish I understood half of what you said but you still sounded amazing”.

And you would never admit it out loud, but you were positive you were blushing (and falling in love too - platonically, of course). “Oh god, you think so? I basically told them they’ve been doing things wrong all along so maybe you’re the only one who’s appreciative of my work” you handed him the second can of iced tea you bought without him noticing. You swear his eyes lit up like stars in the night sky. “Payback for the other day” you smile at him.

The first time you two had crossed paths you didn’t look nearly as glamorous as you did now. In fact, you looked incredibly disturbed and in pain, carrying a huge pile of paperwork in your hands. But as soon as sweet Jungkook noticed your state, he offered you a hand and somehow ended up helping through your multiple data collecting trips that afternoon. It was a nice day.

“Anytime” he took the can in his hands with a shy look on his face. “Unless I’m practicing, you know…” you look down at his feet, with huge black boots engulfing them, and you smile due to their contrast with his personality. “Here, i’ll give you my number so you can call me whenever you need to put all those papers back. Hopefully I’ll be around” he added as he pulled his phone from his back pocket.

Way to get a girl’s number, my god.

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”