#But on the other hand people have always been people

[webism]

sugar daddy!gojo who cuts a deal with you one evening: for each orgasm he can pull from you, he'll transfer $1000 into your account. who has you on your back, sweat soaked and fucked boneless as he brings you to your eighth climax of the night.

who, instead of dirty talk, or talking you through it, he coos about all the things you'll get to buy with what you earn. "can get your nails done so pretty, oh and that bag i know you've been looking at baby," because cocky is an understatement and you're too cumdrunk to tell him to shut up even if you wanted to.

sugar daddy!gojo who pays your rent on the condition that he has his own key cut for him to use as he pleases. sometimes you'll come home to a new set of lingerie laid out on your bed. sometimes you'll open the door to flowers on the kitchen counter, other times it's diamonds.

who sometimes surprises you when you're home, too. he sneaks in as you're showering and gives you the fright of your life as he hops in with you. it's okay, though, because he makes up for the scare by dropping to his knees and eating you out with such scalding passion you barely notice the heat of the water against your skin any longer.

sugar daddy!gojo who takes you shopping with the intention of showing you off. of course people turn their heads when a pretty thing like you walks by with his hand dangerously low on your back. bags hang off his free arm full of gifts for you, who he loves spoiling more than life itself.

who can and will fuck you in the dressing room if you show him an outfit that he particularly likes. no one will notice, bar from the slightly sore gait you walk with for the rest of the day. pushes you against the full length mirror and fills you with his cum, makes you spend the rest of the day shopping with him leaking out of you.

sugar daddy!gojo who buys you a car despite always being the one to drive you around. he likes being behind the wheel with one hand inching up your thigh just a little higher at each red light. you swear he brought you your car just to show off, just to make the purchase obsolete.

who fucks you in it regardless of the fact that it never sees the road. parked in your garage it sees more movement than it ever would otherwise. he hardly fits even in the backseat, but it's worth it when his legs are splayed and you're bouncing on his cock like you have no regard for the expensive leather lined seats. not that it really matters if you mess them—he can buy another car.

sugar daddy!gojo who likes giving you your allowance in cash, just so he can have you on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock as he lazily counts out the thousands he'll gift you. every time you make him feel particularly good, he reaches over into his safe and pulls out a few more notes to add to the pile—laughs when you moan around his cock at the sight.

[pseudowho]

"--and this is the staffroom," Gojo sing-songed, swinging open the door on your First Day Tour, with you a few steps behind him, "--ah! And that's Nanamin. Say hi, Nanamin!"

A tall, suited blond man looked up from his spot on the sofa as you peered in; at first, he simply nodded to you, disinterested. Then, Gojo spoke again while leading you out.

"--he's not very fun, don't worry-- no sense of humour."

Your final glimpse as the door closed, was of the blond man's irritated scowl.

It was true; Kento clearly didn't make people laugh, for he was either too mean or too subtle to be funny. This was the case, at least, until you. And you had no idea what your laughter did to him.

You had formed an alliance of respect, an easy bond that would have been camaraderie if not for Kento's standoffishness. You felt him hover nearby on joint missions, close enough to lunge to your rescue, but far enough that he could resist your magnetism.

Talking, and surveying the abandoned school, you spoke aloud as you walked down the stairs.

"So perhaps I'll take the East Wing, and you take the We--ergh!"

You reeled back, having walked headfirst into a buckled ceiling. Kento stepped to your aid, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, and lifting your chin to look at your forehead. He huffed, barely a puff of breath through his nose, wiping dust from your forehead before grumbling.

"You'll be alright. Not much in there, anyway."

You burst into laughter, and Kento electrified, absolutely rigid. You patted his chest, still giggling as you walked away, cooing back over your shoulder in a way that utterly melted him.

"So mean."

You soon learned that Nanami Kento was possibly the funniest man at Jujutsu High. Dry and unforgiving in a way that made your brittle colleagues crumble, you found yourself, instead, choking back laughter every time he crippled one with another savage put-down.

When Yuuji arrived late to a mission, Kento stepped over to him and, poe-faced, pulled up his shirtsleeve to show Yuuji his wrist.

"This," Kento hummed, flat, "is a watch. You can buy one at any good supermarket."

When a waiter slopped coffee over Kento's shoulder, Kento dabbed at it to the waiter's frantic, apologetic bowing. Kento raised a placating hand and insisted to the confused waiter.

"It's alright. I never liked this suit anyway."

When you stood at the staffroom window with him, watching a monsoon in companionable silence, Kento murmured over the rim of his mug.

"Lovely day."

He had timed it just-so, and barely concealed his lopsided smirk when you choked on your tea. Shoko walked in, drenched, looking at you and Kento in dismay. You coughed, opening your mouth to speak, but Kento got there first, firing shots.

"Is it raining?"

Shoko scoffed, sputtering, while you buckled against the windowsill.

Kento grabbed a hand towel and an umbrella, heading to the door. As Shoko reached for the towel, Kento pressed the umbrella into her hands instead, his expression flat, but his voice edged with a feral pleasure that made you come undone.

"You'll need this."

Kento's meanness was tempered only by his self-deprecation, and when you took as good as you gave, you felt his icey facade melt away completely, revealing such warmth.

It was no wonder you were drawn to each other, when the only reason neither of you laughed together, was because you were in a constant stand-off for who could remain poe-faced the longest. Kento always won.

Still, you felt the need to break him; you had cracked smiles, or the occasional chuckle out of him, but nothing more. You knew nothing more than the truest irony would do it.

The day came; you arrived, to your usual staffroom rendezvous, covered in blood. Kento paled, abandoning his book to rise immediately and reach you in three long strides.

"--you're hurt-- we'll go to Sho--"

"Kento. Stop. It's not my blood-- it's Gojo's."

Kento did a double-take, his eyes narrowing in disbelief, so you explained.

"Gojo invited himself to teach me about Curses that are 'above my paygrade', so he took me to one. I told him this Curse was clearly more powerful than it looked, and Gojo told me to step back so he could handle it. Said he'd even do it without his Infinity on. So I stepped back."

Kento's nose flared, barely perceptible.

"...and?"

You took a deep breath. "So, Gojo has a broken nose--"

Kento broke down with a wheeze, before bursting into a rich, deep rolling laughter that split the clouds with sun. His hands clasped the windowsill, his eyes crinkled, and his shoulders shook with wicked, throaty mirth.

You felt yourself becoming drunk off him, utterly intoxicated by his laughter. Kento couldn't stop himself, trembling with schadenfreude to the point of indecency.

Finally, sighing and straightening as if exhausted, Kento wiped his eyes with the side of his finger, and smiled at you with sweet adoration. Laughter still threatened to break through as he begged you.

"Would you-- would you like to go out for dinner? With me?"

You paused, your expression pained.

"Ah...no. No, thank you."

Kento froze, his face beginning to fall. You looked down at yourself, and announced, still deadpan.

"It's just-- I'm covered in blood, you see--"

That sent Kento over the edge again.

You remained content throughout the years of your marriage, for Nanami Kento to be viewed by others as boring and humourless. You found yourself jealously greedy of his rare laughter, anyway.

After marriage, you viewed it as the highest badge of honour to make him laugh like that while he was buried inside you.

[mostly-imagines]

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

[astonmartinii]

i will always love you | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem bodyguard reader

what he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with his bodyguard? this IS a rom com

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1insider

liked by user1, user2 and 45.925 others

f1insider: red bull have confirmed that max verstappen will have a bodyguard for the rest of this season after increasingly aggressive fan activity towards drivers at races. what do you think about it?

view all comments

user3: i completely understand that it’s insane that it’s gotten to the point where he needs a bodyguard …. but like JEALOUS

user4: i pray there’s never any need for her to do her actual job

user5: f1 need to sort it out i agree

user4: i meant because i would be no better than a man im sorry god but i want to watch her fight someone 😫

user6: this should’ve been done so long ago but i’m glad they’ve finally made the step

user7: what i find crazy is that people can afford a paddock pass and wanna fight the drivers ??? what a waste of money GIVE THEM TO ME

user8: i’m being completely serious when i say … any punk ass influencer tries to film max in the bathroom i want this bodyguard to shoot them with a gun

user9: no i agree

user10: and when i do it on purpose so she can beat the shit out of me ??

user11: choke

user12: she look familiar to any of you?

user13: i thought i had seen her before but like i just can’t quite recall

user14: swiftie here! she was taylor’s bodyguard for a couple years so you probably have seen her in paparazzi photos or something

user15: taylor swift and now max verstappen i need her agent

user16: the thought of that massive hunk of a man cowering behind her is killing me

user17: it’s killing you? it’s getting me excited this is so romance book coded

user18: you people’s obsession with putting people in “relationship” is the worst thing to happen to the sport

user19: i agree! (they would be unbelievably cute)

user20: i’m glad to see we’re all being very serious about the state of the sport where a driver needs a bodyguard and not the fact that said bodyguard is visually appealing

user21: sky i will deal with your bias if you give us the visual on her

user20: jesus wept

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 120,399 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: new job, same friendship bracelets

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user22: WE FOUND YOU

user23: hi mother !!!!

user24: we miss you serving face with taylor :(

maxverstappen1: you were a bodyguard for TAYLOR SWIFT ???

yourusername: you didn't read my CV? you had the last say on me being hired?

maxverstappen1: i let GP read them and he's never steered me wrong before

yourusername: that seems irresponsible

maxverstappen1: ANYWAY my point was going to be ... can we still get eras tour tickets?

yourusername: i can see what i can do

maxverstappen1: what if you just called taylor up?

yourusername: do NOT reference the kardashians if you want tickets

maxverstappen1: noted :3

user25: i can't have anything in this life ??? what do you mean you've worked with taylor and max?

user26: she looks so hot with a gun i'm starting to think the NRA are on to something

yourusername: absolutely not get out of here with that shit

user27: oh she educated as well? will you accept my hand in marriage?

maxverstappen1: 🤨

landonorris: and if i said you could guard me all night

yourusername: it's kinda my job to guard max all night

landonorris: but you'd rather guard me 😉

yourusername: i doubt you'd pay me as well as max

landonorris: i can pay you other ways 😉

maxverstappen1: lando i will break your fingers one by one

user28: max is out here like SHE IS MY BODYGUARD

user29: him being possessive... idk where to look but both of them - mark me scared AND horny

user30: TOO REAL

maxverstappen1

liked by schecoperez, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,452,099 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: simply lovely to be back on the top step in brazil, @yourusername you're clearly my lucky charm

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user31: max does a generational drive and immediately gets on instagram to flirt with his bodyguard

user32: he's so real for that because look at y/n

user33: i once thought swifties were crazy for being so obsessed with her but now i am just as bad lol

yourusername: nuh uh that drive was all you big boy

maxverstappen1: heheheehehe

maxverstappen1: did i make a good first impression?

yourusername: a very good first impression ;)

maxverstappen1: are you proud of me?

yourusername: very proud maxy

maxverstappen1: :3 thank you <3

user34: what in praise kink did i just read?

user35: i know he's done it in a very public forum but just leave them to do whatever they gotta do

user36: i know this man saw her in a suit and with a gun and fell to his knees

yourusername: well... close enough!

landonorris: idc about all of that ^^ i'm still going to shoot my shot

yourusername: is me rejecting you luck or talent?

landonorris: HUH ?????

yourusername: i may just be a bodyguard but i still have working ears 👍

user37: okay so she does serve more than just looks ...

user38: she's got a fan in me now

charles_leclerc: let me just sit back and observe

yourusername: you good?

charles_leclerc: i am sitting back and observing

yourusername: you are observing very loudly

charles_leclerc: i am just watching max embarrass himself, this is very healing for my younger self

maxverstappen1: RUDE

yourusername: he's not embarrassing himself if it's working?

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, schecoperez and 2,451,045 others

redbullracing: statement regarding today's incident.

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user42: sorry red bull but i want that video tattooed on my eye balls

user43: i am so unbelievably hot and bothered after seeing that video

user44: red bull i'm afraid you'll have to take that video out of my cold dead hands

landonorris: i didn't realise the paddock came with dinner and a show today

oscarpiastri: lando they tried to kill max...

landonorris: well he was never in any actual danger with y/n around

oscarpiastri: do you ever read the PR briefs?

landonorris: PR whats?

oscarpiastri: this is starting to make a whole lot of sense

user45: they'll try to cancel lando for this but like he's being real

user46: no because why was george russell and kimi antonelli literally in the back of the footage eating LITERAL POPCORN

user47: i've never wanted to be two people so bad

maxverstappen1: i lived bitch

yourusername: MAX????

maxverstappen1: because of you, i'm forever in debt to you <3

yourusername: just doing my job :)

maxverstappen1: so you didn't just do it because of your undying love for me :(

yourusername: i think that would be inappropriate

maxverstappen1: THAT'S NOT FAIR, THEY CAN'T TRY AND KILL ME AND YOU CAN'T SAY YOU HATE ME IN ONE DAY

yourusername: oh maxy, do you need a cup of tea

maxverstappen1: and a hug ????

yourusername: yes, even a hug

user48: oh to have max that pathetically down bad for you

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 2,309,773 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: can you people stop thirsting over my girlfriend please - i may not be able to fight but she can

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user49: HE HAD ENOUGH

user50: i mean i too think thirst comments from my literal friends would throw me over the edge

user51: he was like winning in brazil is not enough i gotta watch my gf beat the fuck out of someone and then publicly claim her

yourusername: you're puffing out your chest in the paddock when all the girls on the internet are thirsting over you - if anyone should be jealous it's me

maxverstappen1: but you're so much better than anyone else i am horrendously in love with you

yourusername: HORRENDOUSLY

maxverstappen1: i have never felt anything like this? im scared???

yourusername: no need to be scared baby i'm in for the long ride

yourusername: and i can and WILL protect you

maxverstappen1: i need to report a hostage situation? it's me in my bedroom - i need to be saved

yourusername: you're so cheesy, you're lucky i love you

user52: i have another hostage situation - it's me in this comment section

user53: watching them be in love is like torture to me i'm so lonely

user54: they need a trigger warning i fear

maxverstappen1: @landonorris @pierregasly @olliebearman suck on that

landonorris: LEAVE ME ALONE

pierregasly: don't hate the player hate the game

olliebearman: why did you say fuck me for ????

maxverstappen1: i've seen those looks ollie don't lie to me

yourusername: babe i think he might just be scared of me

olliebearman: WOMEN IN POSITIONS OF POWER SCARE ME I'M SO SORRY Y/N

yourusername: no worries ollie! max is just possessive

maxverstappen1: ugh duh! you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, obviously i want to keep you to myself

yourusername

liked by olliebearman, maxverstappen and 342,067 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: and iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii will always love you! sorry it had to be done - whitney houston is a LEGEND

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user56: of course she knows that song, she's basically living that story

user57: OF COURSE SHE KNOWS THAT SONG IT'S ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS SONGS EVER ???

yourusername: and you can bet your ass the red bull garage have been singing it non stop since i arrived

redbullracing: singing is our passion

maxverstappen1: they'd have to kill me to keep me from you DEADASS (pun intended)

yourusername: and that won't be happening because i'll be there to protect you

maxverstappen1: i'm not opposed to watching you deal with a problem in the paddock

landonorris:WHY WAS I MADE THE BAD PERSON WHEN I SAID I WANTED TO WATCH ???

maxverstappen1: because it was my life that an attempt was made on ?

landonorris: and?

maxverstappen1: AND?

landonorris: it would've made winning the championship much easier ?

yourusername: nuh uh i would jump into that red bull and win out of spite

maxverstappen1: it's true, i've been training her up

landonorris: you gonna let me have anything

maxverstappen1: nope :P

yourusername: nope :P

user58: oh they're so annoying 😭

user59: true ride or die couples are so irritating

user60: i still wish i was them

danielricciardo: i get fired and you get a girlfriend ??? how is this fair

maxverstappen1: idk what you want me to say, i'd never give y/n up for anything

danielricciardo: not even a red bull maxiel reunion

maxverstappen1: sorry buddy, maxiel is dead

danielricciardo: EXCUSE ME?

yourusername: sorry daniel, there's a new sheriff in town - should've charmed max when you had a chance

maxverstappen1: try as he might, he'd never be you

yourusername: awwwww considering your massive teenage crush on him... i love you!

danielricciardo: so fuck me then?

fin.

note: TWO IN ONE WEEKEND WHAT?

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[notjustjavierpena]

Tink

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This is so many days late but I promise that it is worth it. I hope you enjoy a broken heart.

Summary: You leave a Halloween party to go see Joel but it turns into a horror show when conversation between you takes a poor turn.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, secret relationship, dad’s best friend, possessiveness, daddy kink, lots of pet names, alcohol consumption, dirty and dark Tinkerbell roleplay, dirty talk, ass smacks!!!, clit stim, fingering, squirting, doggy style, overstim, tears, rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, angst, fighting, no happy ending.

Word count: 9.9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60461590

Tink

You’re readjusting the straps on your pale gold stilettos as Joel slips into your childhood bedroom. He has gone unnoticed by the rest of the people in the house like he always does, having mastered the art of sneaking around since the beginning of your little fling. This is even as he has gotten far bolder over the summer, especially over the last month when you told him you loved him. It fills him with a carefreeness that he hasn’t felt in years, a feeling unlocked from his teenage days that he was so sure his body had forgotten by now. However, it doesn’t mean that he is careful not to disturb the noise downstairs as he clicks the door shut. 

You’re standing in front of the full-body mirror just opposite the door, bent over as you undo your shoe strap to tighten it slightly. Joel feels like a damn dog as he lets his eyes skim up your beautiful legs, letting his gaze wander over the body he has come to know so well before it eventually settles on your strutting ass. 

You are wearing a Tinkerbell costume, its green satin fabric hugging your curves like it has been specially tailored to your body. You have chosen a version of the fae that he doesn’t quite remember from the movie he used to watch with Sarah; the neckline dips way low, the straps are tucked away into the top to expose your chest and shoulders, and the hemline of the skirt barely reaches your mid-thigh which he is sure that a twirl will reveal your underwear to the world, something that makes his jaw tighten when you should be for his eyes only. And then there are the wings; pale, translucent and with tiny flecks of gold in them. You may be demanding attention from people other than him but despite being sexy and driving him wild, you mostly look cute. It makes him smile affectionately as he takes a moment to gather himself instead of being completely overtaken by the need to possess. 

You are lost in your own world, clearly not expecting anyone to come in, so it takes you by surprise when he pads across the room to lay his hands on your hips without announcing his presence. He swallows hard as he sees the two of you in the mirror, imitating something far more explicit than what he is actually doing. 

His touch startles you, eliciting a small gasp from you as you feel him caress on top of the fabric of your dress. He curls his fingers into it, fighting the urge to lift it and see what kind of panties you’re wearing underneath. 

“You frightened me,” you say but there’s no accusation in your tone. Instead, he can hear that you’re happy to see him and his hands stay on your body, only going up to your waist, as you straighten, “Where does Dad think you are this time?”

“Restroom,” he answers simply and lets his palms move to lay on your tummy. He leans his head over your shoulder, looking at you in the mirror with a soft smile. When he speaks, it is with paternity lacing his voice, “Ya goin’ out like that?”

“He might think you have bladder issues soon, old man. You can’t just barge in each time you want some sugar,” you tease him, eyes sparkling in competition with the glitter on your blush-covered cheeks. Joel leans in to kiss your neck. He nibbles along your pulse point, inhaling deeply to breathe you in as he reaches where you’ve applied your sweet perfume.

“You smell so good, little fae,” he says instead of acknowledging your jab at his age, the tip of his nose skimming along the delicate column of your throat. Shamelessly, he grabs the hem of your dress and lifts it just enough to start something between the two of you that he cannot finish, “What’ve you got under here?” 

“Joel,” you say with fake outrage and tut disapprovingly. The both of you know that he’ll fuck you at some point tonight. Still, you make a statement out of grabbing his much bigger hands and removing them from your dress. You stretch his arms out in front of you both to keep him out of reach but he is so much stronger than you, manhandling you easily until he catches you in an embrace from behind. Being caged against his broad chest makes you giggle so goddamn heavenly, his body responding with interest in getting you on your back.

“You didn’t answer my question, Princess,” he whispers into your ear, letting his breath tickle your skin until you shiver. 

“About?” You light up the room when you smile innocently at him in the mirror and God, if it doesn’t make his heart nearly leap out of his chest. Your eyes are wide, your grin mischievous. 

“If you’re goin’ out like that,” he tightens his arms around you, focusing on the softness of your palms in his rough ones. He isn’t letting you go before you give him an answer.

“I am,” you lean back into his chest, turning your head away from the mirror to glance up at him through your lashes. You are in the mood to dare tease even further, “Don’t you like it?”

“You know I do. Too much actually,” he murmurs back at you as he takes in your costume once more in the mirror. He notices that you bite your lip as he ogles you, tilting back and forth on your feet while you let him eat you with his eyes. When he finds that you aren’t looking at yourself but rather still batting your eyes up at him, he reaches up to cup your jaw. He turns your face to the mirror, “I’d like it much more behind these walls.”

“I’m not staying here,” you say. Joel lets out an annoyed sigh and shakes his head as if to argue but his head isn’t in it. He feels somewhat secure when your voice sounds a little out of breath, “Besides, you know I’ll always come back home to you. No one makes me feel like you do.”

“You better, sweetheart,” he can almost imagine you shrinking down and flying around in his close proximity just to tease him. He finally moves you around in his arms until you are face-to-face with him and then, still holding you by your chin, he leans in to capture your mouth in a kiss that’s slower and deeper than usual. He brushes your soft tongue with his own, kissing you like he is claiming you and hopefully reminding you of what awaits back home. 

When he pulls back, you’ve gone dumb. There’s a vacancy in your eyes, a dazed look that tells you just how ready you are to melt into him and forget about everything else. Joel would love to keep you home but he’ll settle for the satisfaction he feels from looking at you blink rapidly, “Still with us, little fae?”

“Barely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. 

“Go have fun,” he encourages with a little smirk and, albeit reluctantly, lets you go but not before giving your ass a playful smack and causing you to yelp quietly, “Before I change my mind.”

“Bye, Daddy,” you whisper to taunt him as you leave out the door, and Joel has to stay behind for several minutes to get his aching cock to flag down. It doesn’t take long since he is an expert now, has learned to join the party downstairs without any trace of what he has been doing to his best friend’s daughter. 

—

The party has been going on for a few hours now, with costumes ranging from elaborate to barely there. The crowd of people crammed into the tiny house is buzzing with exciting fun, resulting in happy bursts of laughter bouncing off the walls along with the music, both of which get louder as drinks are consumed. Yet no matter how many times your friends cause you to throw your head back to laugh along and no matter the three drinks you already have in your system, your mind plays tricks on you and continuously goes back to Joel. The way he had kissed you goodbye earlier still feels imprinted on your lips, haunting you like a ghost and causing your skin to buzz, your thighs to press together. Nothing seems to get you out of this trance, not even the lingering eyes caused by the dangerous hemline of your Tinkerbell costume. The attention feels good, sure, but it is nothing compared to the way Joel makes you feel when he looks at you. 

You take a sip from your fourth drink. You’re supposed to be out having fun, dancing and drinking, but you can think of nothing else than leaving this place and going to his, only so you can slip back into that familiar embrace where you belong, only so you can feel his calloused hands grab your hips as he drags you down onto his—

“Who is he?” You look up to find your best friend staring at you with a knowing smirk. Hannah awaits an answer, quite a few more drinks in than you. She is dressed as a Poison Ivy, complete with green painted skin (which has been smudged off on every surface she’s touched) and her red hair decorated with plastic leaves she has cut off from a fake plant. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask innocently but you betray yourself by not being able to maintain eye contact with her. Your cheeks are warm but if she asks, you’ll say it is due to the alcohol. 

“You’re staring off again,” she notes and her eyes grow more devious. She points the straw from her drink at you and tiny splashes of homemade daiquiri fly in your direction, “I didn’t fly home and go to this party with you to not hear about who you are having sex with.” 

“Who says I am having sex?” You ask with comical indifference which accidentally reveals you in your lie. You rub off a spot of red liquid from your arm, “I’m not.”

“Please,” she dismisses your statement by waving a hand and moving closer to you on the couch. She talks loudly over the music, “You’re either getting continuously laid by some great secret boyfriend or I need to take notice of your skincare routine since you’re practically glowing.”

“Hey, keep it down. I don’t need anyone but you to know,” you shush her with a finger pressed to your lips. There’s no way you’re telling her that your secret boyfriend is Joel Miller… but right now, with alcohol in your bloodstream, it is tempting to let someone else in on the secret that’s been eating at you since June. Perhaps even to brag a little bit.

“You’re acting like seeing a guy is some forbidden romance,” Hannah sighs dramatically but when you smile and shrug, she narrows her eyes just a second before they go wide, “Wait, it is?”

“It’s a secret… because he’s a lot older,” you lean in to make the conversation more private, taking Hannah’s drink out of her hand in case the excitement that looms underneath her surface will make her spill the red liquid onto you. 

Her eyes are nearly bulging out of her skull, “Like how much older are we talking? Silver fox?”

“Old enough to remember dial-up internet and hate my music?” You test the waters and watch her process your words, not sure if her reaction is going to be one of shock or enthusiasm. However, with the amount of questionable things Hannah has gotten herself into over the years, you are more certain that it’ll be the latter. One can never know though. After all, right now you are keeping out the earth-shaking detail that the guy you give your nights to is your father’s very best friend.

A satisfied smile spreads on her face, slowly because she’s intoxicated, “So you’re telling me that you - the girl with a history of pissant boyfriends - have a mature, well-seasoned man in your grasp?” 

You giggle, happiness bubbling up at Hannah’s silly wording but your heartbeat thrums underneath your ribs because how Joel makes you feel is nowhere near previous flirtations; it’s intense, it’s all-consuming, and has you tossing and turning whenever. You can feel your cheeks ache from smiling. With a groan, you lean forward to bump your forehead against her shoulder. 

You earn an embrace in return, squeezed by the arm around your shoulder, “Or maybe he has you in his grasp?”

“I think it’s serious, Hannah, I love him,” you whisper in the crook of her neck just loud enough for her to hear you over the noise around you. There’s a gentle vulnerability in being nearly four drinks in and confessing your love - even if it’s words tumbling out of your mouth - for a boy to your person, the one who came through and gave you her approval without hesitation despite the scandal. 

Hannah pulls back a little, excitement on her face instead of shock. She has always had a tendency to live vicariously through you whenever something exciting happens, and it comes across when she urges you away, “Then what are you doing sitting here with me?” 

“Uhh, spending time with my best friend?” You straighten and raise a brow, stifling a grin.

She rolls her eyes playfully, “We’ve known each other since middle school. I’m sure I can survive a night without you if it means you getting with your mystery man. He’s apparently the love of your life judging by the amount of smiling you’ve done since we started talking about him. Who is it anyway?”

From her tone, you can hear she tries to sound nonchalant about the question at the end. However, the relief of talking to her about your affair with someone off-limits makes you a little too bold, too nonchalant yourself.

“I am seriously putting my life on the line here, so you have to promise not to tell anyone,” you stress, leaning in as far as you can while still looking at her. Your heart races in your chest, your eyes locked onto her widened ones. 

“Of course, of course! Cross my heart and all that,” Hannah sits up a little, almost imitating the way a cat’s ears perk up, “Spill!”

“Joel Miller,” you confess to your sins but much to your surprise, you don’t burst into flames and there is no sound of a record scratch before everyone looks at you in horror. In fact, it feels surprisingly easy and light to tell her. 

Hannah processes the name for a moment before her eyes widen just the tiniest bit more, “Wait what?! Joel Miller as in your dad’s buddy?!”

“Keep it down,” you hiss and shush, “I think someone upstairs didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry,” she is flustered, lowering her voice theatrically, “But this is huge. I mean… Does your dad know?”

You furrow your brow, “Of course, he doesn’t. He’d murder Joel if he found out. Lifetime imprisonment because of manslaughter style.”

Hannah nods in understanding. However, she still seems deep in thought, “But how does that even happen? You’re like… seriously off-limits, aren’t you? That’s bro-code even for boomers.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you recall, your voice taking on a dreamy note, “Just kinda happened. I was having a really difficult time at college and he just— he told me all the right things, then one thing led to another… He makes me feel things that I didn’t even know I needed. I know it’s wrong but—“

“Wrong? You’re a grown woman,” Hannah tuts, “Go see him. What’s the worst thing that could happen? That you probably end up having mind-blowing sex with an experienced man?” 

“You’re really sure it’s okay?” You ask but you are already getting out of your seat next to her. You start absentmindedly fixing your clothes to make sure you look like something out of Joel’s deepest fantasy, straightening out a squashed fairy wing and curling your hair around a finger to make it bounce into place. 

“Jesus, look at you,” she laughs at the way you fuss, “It would be classified as torture if I didn’t let you go, so go! See your silver fox, but just text me when you’re there.”

“I will, thank you, Hannah,” you beam. 

You leave her with giddiness and make excuses to your other friends about a ‘family thing’ when they appear bummed out that you are heading home. The air outside in Texas is still hot in October but you can’t feel warm without Joel’s arms around you. 

You're so sure that your heart says his name as it beats in your chest when you leave for him. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

—

You stand by his front door not half an hour later, having checked that your parents’ car is not parked in his driveway. The house is quiet except for the soft glow of the floor lamp in his living room and the TV’s light flickering through the curtains. You take it as evidence that he is still awake. 

Just before you knock, you shoot Hannah a text, telling her that you’re here with five exclamation points and she types a barely coherent message back at you. She also wishes you good luck which you know you won’t need because the man opening his front door is so whipped for you. 

Joel says your name in surprise, quickly checking to see if anyone is watching as you twirl on his doorstep in your little green dress. The booze in your blood is making you more courageous than normal even if you aren’t anywhere near plastered. You step inside his house without permission but he doesn’t seem bothered as you saunter into his living room, your heels clicking as you step over the doorstep. He has turned off the TV, almost as if he knew that it was you behind his front door and therefore there would be no more time for lounging. 

“How much has Tink had to drink tonight?” He asks when closing the door. You don’t give him much time to do anything else as you enter his personal space again, caging him hungrily against the door to kiss him with all the heat in your body. 

“Not nearly enough for you to stop touching her, Peter,” you let him know as you take a quick breath, too excited for what he can give you if he allows himself remember to inhale through your nose. You rush back into making out with him but he holds you just out of reach, fingers digging into your shoulders. 

“Peter? I don’t think so, Tink,” he grumbles, large hands sliding down the length of your arms until he can rest them on your hips. His touch makes your cunt clench, desire stirring even further inside of you as you make a mess in your panties. 

“But…” You press your thighs together without any shame. 

Joel holds your waist firmly but then goes further down to cup the tops of your thighs underneath the satin skirt. His hands squeeze obscenely, denting your jiggling skin while his eyes have gone dark to indicate his lust. His fingers are calloused and warm as they graze upon where your panties hug your ass, “Peter ain’t never had the guts to get his hands on Tinkerbell like this. Lemme show ya what a man does to his own, personal little fae.”

He then drags your body against himself to let you feel every inch of him, the outline of his already hardening cock underneath his usual jeans. There’s no way he fucked you silly just a few days ago because your pussy reacts like it’s been craving him for days. 

“This is what good fairies get stuffed with. If they can handle the stretch,” he chuckles darkly. You moan longingly, brows furrowing to make you look slightly dumb as you suddenly become aware of how empty you feel, how much you need him to fill you out and stretch you to the brim. You had marched over here to be alluring to the point of control over him but he touches you and your mind blanks. He won’t fuck you here, told you last time that he prefers his bed so he can take his time. 

“Bedroom. Now, please,” you whine pathetically and reluctantly take a step back. He nods, allowing you to lead him upstairs. You take his hand before it falls to his side from your hip, dragging him through the house and earning a smack to your ass with the hand you aren’t holding. You yelp a little, gush a little more.

By the time you reach his bed, your head is spinning with how horny you are and your belly is swirling with heat. You drop down onto it, bouncing slightly on the mattress and he stands between your legs with delicious authority. 

“Lay back and let Daddy take care of his baby,” he commands but his voice is somehow both soft, harsh, and dirty. He watches you lower yourself onto your back, the glittering wings of your costume spread out beneath you and fluttering slightly as you wiggle your hips when tugging up your dress. 

Joel smiles with pride. He lays a warm hand on your knee, slowly gliding it up until his palm rests against your core, and touches you carefully through the fabric. 

“You gotta tell me somethin’,” he whispers with his eyes focused on yours, not needing to see what he is doing because he knows your body so well. He feels how damp your underwear has become, the sensation pulling a low moan from the back of his throat. You nod, words embarrassingly failing you when you are so overcome by your body’s need to have him where you need him the most. However, he is expertly avoiding your clit for now, clearly wanting to get his sentence out before your attention is lost. 

“A little birdie told me that when a man keeps his fae excited and happy, she produces a little extra magic down there, sparklin’ so prettily for him,” he tightens his grip between your legs when your hips start moving on their own accord. He holds you down, rubbing you closer to properly now but it’s still not enough to build anything to a crescendo. However, there’s an urgency to the way he touches you, a mix of frustration and relief now that you’re back here with him, 

“Only for those who know how to bring it out of her,” you finally manage a coherent sentence, a teasing one even, but your breath stutters through it. Your clit pulses in time with your heartbeat by now and as if he has heard your prayers, his thumb finally presses down on the hard little nub before going in mind-altering circles. 

“Then I just gotta make sure I show ya that I am the only one who can make enough magic spill from you to light up this whole damn house,” he growls, using his fingers expertly until you are on the brink of coming, “And every bit of that magic, honey? It’s mine. I ain’t stoppin’ until you’re glowing, little fae.”

You come so hard that your mind blocks out all other senses for a split second, your pussy going off into spasms that have you arching your back like you might actually float off the bed. You whimper at the oversensitivity that he teases out of you with featherlight touches. 

He pushes your pelvis down when it lifts itself up and snaps without anger in his voice. Instead, his voice is laced with lust, an octave deeper and threatening, “No moving away or I’ll pluck your pretty little wings off.”

The threat makes you moan, eyes widening as you stare at his face like a trapped animal. You can see how much Joel’s eyes darken at your reaction, unable to understand how he hasn’t ripped your panties yet to screw your brains out. 

“Wouldn’t want that, would ya? Unable to fly away?” He smirks deviously and draws back to undo your golden stilettos, his hand that isn’t working the lock holding your calf firmly. He presses kisses to your ankle too and is so delicate with your shoes even as he drops them onto the floor. 

“No,” you whimper and shake your head. You can’t bear telling him the truth which is that you want nothing more than being a wingless little fae, completely at his mercy. You imagine being tied to the bed with nothing to keep him from using you how he pleases and your chest feels alight. 

Teasingly, you slide your foot up along his arm until you can rest it comfortably on his shoulder. He allows it and turns his head to kiss just below your ankle in response.

“Then be a good girl and stay right where Daddy put you,” he rasps, letting his strong hands glide up the length of your legs. He squeezes your thighs gently as he passes over them, a part of your body that he would categorize as his favorite if you asked him to choose. When he inches his fingertips up under your skirt, the anticipation in the air nearly makes your body want to crawl away because what you will get from him will be too much. You shiver when he starts tugging your panties down, the white lace impossibly damp right at where your pussy has sat. 

When he drags them all the way off, lifting the leg on his shoulder briefly, his eyes settle right between your thighs. You clench involuntarily at being watched, slick dripping onto his bed sheets as you pulse for his gaze. He lets out a low groan, his hands gripping your hips as he stares without shame, taking in every inch of you as you are laid bare for him. The sight of the heat he’ll slide into has his jaw tightening, his breathing growing irregular. When he is satisfied with his inspection, his eyes lift and he gives you a look that could melt you right into the bed. 

“Look at this little pussy. It’s glistenin’ f’me, the magic’s pouring from it,” he says while he slides his fingers through your folds with slow and tantalizing strokes, the leftovers of your last orgasm still lingering as he taps your clit and causes you to squeak. 

“Yeah? Does it look pretty for you?” You ask deliriously and catch your bottom lip between your teeth to whine, lifting your hips up despite the rules and basically presenting your cunt like a gift. 

“So goddamn pretty, little fae. Do you want me to touch it properly this time? Inside to make those wings flutter?“ Joel’s threat is apparently less serious now that he’s got a glimpse between your legs. He turns his wrist so he can hook his fingers upward, rubbing your cunt teasingly around where you want him to sink into. He enters you to the first knuckle, applying the slightest pressure inside of you, only to draw back and make you lose your mind. 

“You’re teasing me,” you state the obvious, breathless and squirming underneath his ministrations. You push your hips to meet his hand, “Please, Daddy, I need it so badly. Don’t you wanna slip inside and feel how tight I am?”

“Then spread those legs for me,” he orders you in a gruff voice, clearly affected by your words. He reaches with his free hand to lift your leg off his shoulder and plants your foot firmly on the bed. You mirror it with your other leg until you can let both of them fall out to the sides. 

“You want me to get a towel, baby? We haven’t done that in a while,” he smirks at you knowingly, a certain glint in his eye as he asks. You know exactly what he is referring to and he chuckles when you answer by nodding eagerly with wide eyes, looking like a kid in a candy store being offered their favorite sweet. 

“That’s my girl, so eager to feel good,” he praises with a warm smile and rises from his position. He peels off his t-shirt, throwing it in your face - a fairly new habit of his - so you can drown in his smell before exiting the room to head for the bathroom, stepping out of his jeans on the way there. You curl your fingers into the fabric, bringing it to your nose to inhale deeply. Joel’s shirt smells of cotton and faded aftershave, mixed with something unmistakably him; a hint of sweat from being in the Texas sun, his wood-scented deodorant that still lingers. It’s enough to make you even wetter.

He comes back a moment later, towel in hand. He watches you clutching his shirt, having smeared the golden glitter on your face onto it, your pretty eyes nearly rolling back and your hips wiggling to no avail. 

“Ain’t you worked up, sweetheart? I’ve barely gotten started with you. Are all faes so greedy between their legs?” He taunts as he slides the towel beneath your hips, flattening it out neatly while you hold your breath in his proximity. He yanks the shirt out of your grip and stares down at you. Your costume is so messy by now, the green dress sitting around your hips to obscenely make you look like a thing used for shoving one’s dick in, and the translucent wings are slightly crumpled by your impatient wiggling around, your cunt’s search for pleasure. 

“Please, Daddy, need you to make me come,” you whimper and earn a look of pity. Joel moves to kneel on the floor by the bed, leaning over the edge of the bed until his upper body is between your thighs. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his ring- and middle finger into you, rewarding your desperation by curling his digits upward just in the right way.

“Oh,” you let out a slow, breathy moan when he finds the right spot inside you in just a few seconds, the one that has a direct line to your clit. Joel smiles at his immediate success, watching you with the pride of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing in his quest to undo you. 

“Right there, huh? God, you’re so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs lowly, his tone affectionate and aroused. He pushes his fingers deeper into you until his index finger and pinky brush your ass and then makes a come-hither motion inside of you. You can feel a lump form in your throat, the flesh of your ass and thighs jiggling from the effort he puts into fucking you with his thick digits.

“You’re so good at that, mmm… Daddy,” you only just manage to say before you choke on a whine as he creates electricity within you, your voice breaking and trembling with desperation. You are well aware of how pathetic you sound, how needy, but you don’t care because you can feel the tension building with each stroke inside of you. With his thumb, he reaches out and swirls it around your clit, and you know he can feel how hard it has gotten in its aroused state; a little bump underneath the tip of his finger. It is so sensitive now too, making you wetter with each little push against it. 

You throw your head back and draw in a desperate breath, wanting so badly to swear at the sensation of him fucking you open like he has been thinking about it all day. Yet it doesn’t feel worth it to break the rules of using foul language, resulting in having him halt his doings. Instead, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth and reach for your chest to relieve some of the tension in your body. 

You cup your breasts through your dress, squeezing them to add another dimension to the way Joel is touching you. He swears below you at the way you clench around his fingers when you catch your nipples between two fingers, tugging to intensify the sensation between your thighs. 

“You are so sexy like that, Tink,” Joel murmurs softly in praise. He leans down to kiss your belly, kiss your inner thigh, and all the way up to your knee too. He keeps the relentless rhythm of his fingers but then also rests his free hand on your stomach just below your belly button, knowing that this is how he made you squirt the first time. He pushes down on your belly to add that final touch, and it is almost too much, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. 

Your legs start to tremble in Joel’s peripheral vision, in need of being held down by Joel’s strong arm so he doesn’t lose his grip on the intense orgasm he has built up inside of you. Your eyes start to roll back and a high-pitched whimper escapes you as he has you teetering on the edge. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are so goddamn close, ain’t you? Glowin’ f’me so prettily. Come on, come for Daddy, baby. He put in so much work,” he talks you over the edge in the next moment, holding your cunt in an iron grip as you suddenly clamp down on his digits and start shuddering violently. He keeps his fingers inside of you, pressing them firmly against your g-spot while simultaneously rubbing your clit in taught little circles. It makes you gush all over his hand, soaking the towel beneath you as wave after wave comes crashing. 

You have been vocal throughout the whole thing, sure, but it is nothing compared to your cries right now as relieving pleasure wracks through your lower body and makes you sob. 

“God, you make Daddy so hard,” you hear Joel say but there’s a fog wrapped around your mind like a woolen blanket. When you feel yourself gushing again, it’s so intense that tears are spilling down your cheeks and the fabric of your dress clings to your sweat-slicked body. You feel slightly claustrophobic in the moment but you have no control of your body, so you let Joel’s soothing words guide you through an orgasm that’ll be worth bragging about to Hannah. 

When it finally ebbs out, Joel eases his fingers out and makes you mewl. He wipes his hand on the towel and then soothingly strokes along your thighs as you try to relish in your post-orgasmic bliss. 

However, you start tugging on your dress instead, desperately trying to escape its confines while you pant in the aftermath. You are still so fucked out that it doesn’t come off during your attempt, your hands shaking and a whine making Joel gently chuckle. 

“Stop, stop, lemme help you,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice, taking your wrists in his hands to stop your desperate effort. You let out a soft plea for him, pouting for show as you follow orders and he guides you to sit, slow as he moves you in case your head is still woozy. He reaches behind you and up under the fairy wings to undo the zipper of the green dress, pausing for a moment before deciding to tug the fabric downward instead of up over your head. The garment slips down until it sits around your waist. He pushes you down onto your back again so he can ease it past your hips and off your legs. 

He stands there for a moment more before tugging his underwear down his legs, quickly kicking them to the side, and then he just stares. You feel cherished by him when he touches you but it’s different when he just looks; you feel sexy underneath his gaze. You know you’re a sight to behold when he swallows thickly, a disheveled little naked fae with her wings bent from how well she’s been fucked. 

Finally, he crawls on top of you. He presses close to you, pulling your leg over his waist as he catches your mouth in a long, drawn-out kiss that perfectly displays the affection and hunger within him. You kiss him back, sighing softly into his mouth and reaching up to run your hands over his broad shoulders, eventually settling them on the back of his head. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug him back to your mouth each time he needs a breath, whispering to him during the mere seconds you are without each other. 

“Need you, baby,” you pant softly, lips sensitive from kissing so feverishly until your body feels ready for more without the risk of combusting on the sheets. Joel’s cock is hard against your thigh, and he can’t stop murmuring half sentences as he crashes his crotch into your hip with a low moan while telling you just how good it will feel to be inside you. 

“Yeah? This little pussy needs to get fucked?” He cups your face and dives into your mouth anew. 

“Yeah,” you moan breathily with a nod, brushing your tongues together in the new filthy kiss, “Need you to make me your little fucktoy, Daddy. That’s all I’m good for.”

“That’s right, Tink,” he growls, his eyes having darkened at your obscene words. With a hint of reluctance, he pulls away from you so he can flip you onto your stomach. With a firm grip on your hips, he helps you up onto your hands and knees. 

It’s a struggle to hold yourself up but you stiffen, quickly finding your bearings, as Joel raises his hand a little in the air before giving you a firm smack on your ass. The sting makes you gasp, your fingers clutching the sheets below you. He soothes the pain, speaking as someone put together even if his ragged breathing gives him away, “Who do ya belong to, little fae?”

“Y-you,” you stammer, your voice wavering but still holding a tinge of eagerness. He smacks you again, this time harder so the sound bounces off the walls. 

“And who am I?” He demands, not satisfied with your simple answer. 

“Daddy,” you plead with a feeble cry, clenching around nothing and feeling a bead of slick drip from your clit. 

“That’s right,” he gruffs. Even though it is unnecessary with how soaked you are from your arousal and Joel’s impressive generosity tonight, he still spits into his hand and coats his thick length in it. He aligns with your dripping slit and breaches you with the tip of his cock. 

A whimper tumbles from your mouth and he shushes you gently. He is so big inside of you that everything hurts just enough to make you whine feebly but at the same time, he feels just right inside you as he slips in right to the hilt. There’s a looming yet exciting danger of him being in complete control in this position but he is so careful with you as he starts fucking you. Well, as careful as a man can be when he gets to be balls-deep in Tinkerbell. 

You groan at the feeling of him having his way with you. He has reached the point where he has little patience left from putting his own needs aside for too long, longing to use you to spill into. You are overstimulated by the two highs he has already pulled from you. It intensifies the sensation of him effortlessly slipping in and out of your slick cunt, so much so that you don’t last long in this position and end up with your face in the mattress.

“Ah–... ah,” you squeak each time he bottoms out, mercilessly letting you feel the depth of each stroke and keeping you panting under his weight, almost dizzy with how hard he is inside your soft heat.

“You like that?” He presses you down further into the mattress by planting his hand firmly on the back of your neck as a clear, dominant gesture that holds you in place for him to drive into you even harder.

"Yes, yes, thank you, Daddy," you manage to gasp out, your words muffled by the bedding as your body shudders under the force of his thrusts. Each of your words stutters along with your breathing, each movement of his harsh rhythm makes his hips crash into your ass.

Joel's grip on the back of your neck tightens just a little, his breaths coming out in shallow pants while a growl leaves him, “Just fuckin’ take it, baby. You can do it.”

“You feel so fu—“ you catch yourself in your delirious state of mind, yet again not about to be punished for breaking the rule of swearing. That’s only allowed by the real grownups, so you swallow around a little gasp and pretend like it almost didn't happen, “You feel so good, Daddy.”

Suddenly, he rakes his hand down your spine, through the sweat that is beading there and grabs your hips. He drags you onto your hands and knees, your tits bouncing as he knocks all wind out of you when he begins thrusting again. 

You make a noise in the very back of your throat, a sudden surge of pleasure through your body at the new angle making you realize how close you are again. You are sweating, you are crying with actual tears spilling down your cheeks, your heart nearly beating out of your chest, and God, you just need a little help getting there.

“Harder,” you plead pathetically, craving his cock right against the spot inside of you that he might as well label as his own, “Please, I can take it, Daddy.”

It is the truth; you’re practically molded into a sheath for his cock only from how many times he has fucked you since the beginning of the summer. However, at the same time, it feels like you can barely take anymore he has to give, so stuffed that you think you’re about to lose control. 

“Shh,” he soothes your sobs, voice softening in beautiful contrast to his relentless pace, “Daddy’s got ya. Daddy’s happy to give you - shit, baby - to give you whatcha need.”

“Ah!” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the pleasure right around the corner. It makes you able to hear how the bed is squeaking, how the headboard is continuously slamming against the wall. 

“Fuck, I can feel you squeezin’ me. You gonna come on it?” You hear him behind you and in response, you nod frantically when no intelligible words come out. He splays a hand on your back and gives you his all to get you there, “God, I love to see you act like a cockdrunk little fae.”

“Mhm!” Your cries turn to high-pitched keens as your orgasm catches up with you and hits you like a bolt of lightning. You are done for, trembling through the strong pulses between your legs as you come hard enough to wipe your mind. Behind you, Joel groans as your walls try to trap his cock in a grip that has him faltering just for a moment. However, he quickly regains his momentum so he can fuck you through each overwhelming wave. 

“Well done, baby. Good girl comin’ on my cock,” he praises through gritted teeth and you can imagine the slightly angry face he has on as he feels his own climax speed towards him, “Daddy’s gonna fill you up right now.” 

“Really?” You ask dreamily with your eyes closed in the middle of your afterglow, a dazed smile on your face. Bliss is not the right word, too much mind-numbing and brain-quietening exhaustion following it. Behind you, Joel is still pounding into your squelching cunt but you can do nothing more than giggle happily in between sweet moans whenever he hits something just right. 

The giggles cause you to tighten around his girth, squeezing him just enough for him to swear loudly at the exquisite feeling your body wrapped around him. He lets go because he can’t hold back anymore, coming inside of your pussy with controlled, hard thrusts that wipe the little smile off your face because air gets knocked out of you. 

“Yes, please gimme your come, Daddy, please give it to me,” you urge him and furrow your brows, practically drooling down onto the sheets as he abuses your pussy in his blissful state. He is so deep inside of you as he spurts, coating your velvety walls in his thick and generous load. It feels so fucking good. Nothing like anything a good little fairy would ever do. You even start thanking him, panting as you say the words over and over again.

“Christ, baby,” he moans behind you, “So goddamn dirty for Daddy.”

You whimper when he leaves you empty a moment later, causing you to collapse onto your front with your hands resting underneath your cheek and your fingers curling into the sheets. You want to bite into the bed, your head swimming with how good and fucked out you feel. 

Joel moves to lie down next to you, his body halfway on its side so he can kiss your sweat-glistening shoulder. He moves upwards when you shiver at the first touch of his lips, dragging his mouth up to your warm cheek. He plants a kiss right by the corner of your mouth, and you absentmindedly reach out to stroke along his jaw. 

“That was so good,” you say with a tiny moan. 

“You are so perfect,” he praises lovingly. He moves to lie down on top of your limp body, crushing you so heavenly with his weight as his chest sticks to your back. The wings of your costume crumble, flattening from being squashed. His arms envelop you and a large hand brushes a bit of loose hair away from your neck. He dips down to kiss just below the base of your skull and you find yourself automatically stretching your neck for even more. He showers you in kisses, lips trailing up and down your throat until you feel a burning need to breathe him in further, to be even closer. 

You whine like a child, wiggling underneath the weight of him until he shifts to lie beside you again. He drags you close to his warm chest, planting a broad palm on your back and you respond by scooting forward to climb even further into his arms. Frustration bubbles up in your chest because it doesn’t feel like he is close enough, not even when you whimper and bury your face in the crook of his warm neck. He chuckles affectionately above you, cradling you like you are the most precious thing he owns, and rests his lips on your disheveled hair. 

“Joel…” You whisper and try to tug at him even more, your arms going under his so you can be flush against him and mold together with his much stronger embrace. You grab at his shoulders, had no idea that there could be such a loud and powerful yearning in your chest for someone you already have.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer. You feel his hand move gently along your naked back, trying to soothe you as you continuously try to shift yourself even closer in his arms though you’re already as close as you can get. 

“It’s not close enough,” you complain feebly and shift once more, a bit of embarrassment flowing through you at how needy you come off. It’s rare that you feel like this but the conversation you had with Hannah earlier has your head in a lovesick spin. The need for Joel is unmatched by anything you have ever felt because this state of mind isn’t fuelled by desire anymore - you have already gotten that out of your system - but rather an all-consuming need for love. 

Joel shushes you gently when you whine once more and squeezes you tightly to relieve your discontent, coaxing your impatient and restless body to calm down. He talks gently and says your name, his voice reverberating through his chest, “Look at me.”

You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, and he smiles one of the smiles that he only reserves for you. He whispers, “I love you.”

And then he reaches up slowly to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. He dips down to kiss you softly on the lips, grounding you further and making your mind go quiet. It’s not rushed, not as passionate as the kisses you’ve shared just moments before but it’s sweeter than honey. 

As you let your guard down fully with a mind completely blank, a sentence slips from your mouth without a second thought. It’s not something you planned to say but you have no control over your actions when he kisses you like that.

“Guess what?” You giggle, lost in his eyes. 

“What, babydoll?” He smiles down at you.

“I told Hannah about us,” you confess, another wave of giddiness washing over you at the excitement. 

However, it quickly passes over you as Joel’s face shifts to an expression of something concerned, tingeing on angry but mostly just unpleasant. Immediately, his jaw tightens, “You did what?”

Your face drops along with your stomach. You try to find the words to calm him but when you open your mouth there are no words that fit. His stare is so intense, laced with frustration and paranoia that makes your throat start tingling with tears. 

“Joel—“ you croak when he pulls back a little, the distance between you feeling unnaturally cold. 

“Do you have any idea what could possibly happen if she lets this slip?” He doesn’t look at you, rolling onto his back to rest the back of his thumbs against his forehead, “You should have talked to me about this first.” 

“Joel, she would never— I trust her!“ You insist but you mostly just hear yourself sounding like a child. You want to defend your choice even further but he is already interrupting you with a dangerous chuckle.

“That’s not the damn point, honey. People talk, people slip up. You think we’re goin’ to be in the shadows for much longer now?” He sits up, hands on his bent knees. 

“You’re acting insane,” you say bitterly and sit up as well, anger bubbling up in your own chest at his condescending tone and suddenly, you find yourself fighting his lecture. You bite back, “It’s not that big a deal. It’s not fun for me to hide all the time because you’re scared.”

“No, don’t you dare twist this ‘round on me when you are out there runnin' your mouth,” he growls, making you flinch when his voice is louder than you have ever heard it before, “I - opposed to you - am tryna protect what we have.”

You can hear your pulse in your ears, “You know what? Stop pretending like this is for my own good when it feels like you are just protecting yourself. Actually, maybe you should ask yourself if this is what you really want.”

Joel scoffs, suddenly hauntingly calm in his tone once more and you miss the warm tinge that his voice always has when he speaks to you, “Maybe I am some kind of fool for thinkin’ we could ever work. Maybe if we were closer in age, it’d be easier. Maybe if I didn’t have a past with your family, and I hadn’t known you since you were a kid then this wouldn’t feel so goddamn wrong.”

The words hit like a punch. Your anger mingles with hurt. It doesn’t feel fair to attack your age like he is because you cannot change it, and that’s the worst part of it. In a feeble attempt to defend yourself, you go for the killing blow. 

“You think you’re the fool here? I let myself fall in love with you,” you falter with a tremble in your voice but then get a hold of yourself, pulling your knees to your chest, “I laughed at your jokes and I let you fuck me because I thought you weren’t going to run the second things got hard. Well congratulations; you got to play self-righteous to make yourself feel better. You are the biggest fucking coward, Miller.”

The second you see the glimpse of hurt in his eye, you regret every syllable yet your stupid pride makes you hold onto the image that you meant every one. You realize your wording, that you have talked about him as if you and him are in the past, and you flex the muscles in your throat to stop yourself from bursting into tears even if your face burns.

“I’ll make it real easy for ya then, sweetheart,” he says coolly, and suddenly, his weight is gone from the mattress and your heart is screaming for him to stay. You watch him move to pick up his clothes and dress quickly, not bothering to fix the way his shirt sits askew on his torso because the determination on his face tells you that he is desperate to leave. 

You clutch around your knees when he bolts from the room, listen to the sound of his feet on the stairs as he descends them, and then finally flinch when the front door slams hard enough to make the whole house rattle. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, the air leaving you shakily.

A single tear rolls down your face, followed by another but you swallow down the grief that comes with how final this interaction seems. Something about it tells you that you won’t see him for a while now, and not just because you are going back to school soon. 

With shame, you slowly rise off the bed. Your body is sore, sensitive, and aching between your thighs, and you are still covered in evidence from having sex with him. Feeling him on you despite his absence is usually a thing you relish in but in this moment, it just feels like a cruel reminder of what you might not get to have in the future.

You sit down on the toilet to pee, your knees falling inwards and your body sagging from the exhaustion of what you have just been through. The heartache is so raw, sitting tightly in your throat as a lump that you can barely swallow around while you do your business and afterward mechanically take a shower and clean yourself up in front of the sink. 

When you reenter the bedroom, it feels like you are an intruder and this is your crime scene. You scan the room for your things but cruelly, your eyes fall on one of Joel’s shirts hanging on the back of the chair at the desk. It is already worn, hasn’t been thrown in the laundry basket yet. Ideally, you shouldn’t walk home in the skimpy outfit you arrived in and so, you’re tempted to put it on - if not only to let his familiar scent envelop you - but you cannot risk it. The last thing you need is to walk into your parents’ house wearing his clothes, walk in with the smell of him lingering on you. 

So instead, you slip back into your Tinkerbell costume in the emptiness of Joel’s bedroom, not even the ghost of him lingering, trying not to think about how excited you had been about dressing up for him just a few hours ago. 

—

Your father is in the living room when you quietly enter the house again. You try to sneak past him, hoping that the low hum of the TV will distract him from your footsteps, but as you move past the doorway, he catches you off guard. 

“You’re home early?” He says but it is a question as well as a statement. He reaches for the remote to turn down the volume but when he sees your face, he furrows his brows and turns off the television altogether. 

You force a little smile, “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling it.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, pushing himself to stand in the soft glow of the reading light, “C’mere for a second.”

Reluctantly, you make your way to stand in front of him, your heels clicking on the floorboards. Your shoulders sag as you stop in front of his tall frame, and he studies you for a moment before nudging you with the warmth of his voice, “Did something happen tonight, honey?” 

“No,” you say shakily, avoiding his gaze as your throat feels tight, “No, it was a great party but I was just too tired.”

“Hey, look at me,” he says softly, reaching out to lay his hands on your shoulders. His palms are warm and you’re cold from walking home with a barely dried-off body and no jacket since you bolted out the door. You stare into his eyes, lip trembling as he continues, “I can see you’re not okay. Did something happen?”

You wish that you could say that it is nothing because the reality of it is cruel, ten thousand miles between what he thinks he understands and the truth that you must keep painfully lodged in your chest, taking up too much space for your heart. However, the dam breaks at the gentleness he shows you, the love burning beneath his concern, and suddenly, a sob breaks free. 

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close with his hand rubbing your back. You know you don’t deserve his reassurance as he coos in your ear, has no clue how complicated things are. 

You shake in his embrace, your tears wetting the shoulder of his soft shirt. He kisses your hair affectionately, squeezing you while his protective words rumble in his chest, “Listen to me. I need you to tell me if someone hurt you, okay? I won’t be mad. I just wanna help.”

“It’s not like that,” you reassure him and in response, you can feel him relax a little bit as he holds you, sighing in relief. You sniffle, resting your cheek against his chest, “I just got close to someone and it got complicated. He said some things that— I mean, I did too but it really hurt, Dad.”

“You’re allowed to make mistakes, to care for people who maybe don’t deserve it but don’t let anyone make you feel small,” he pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, pauses for a moment before continuing, “If this person don’t treat you right… maybe it’s time to reconsider how much space they take up in your life.”

“Yeah… maybe you’re right, thanks, Dad,” you reply with enough conviction that he gives you a smile, proud to have gotten through to you. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the person you are talking about is the only person that you cannot avoid either, the only person who can break both of your hearts.

.

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[cherrygirlfriend]

do your job right pairing: assistant!reader x ceo!rafe synopsis: assistant!reader forgets to mail important documents; the diligent mr. cameron makes sure it doesn't happen again. warnings: smut, spanking, degradation, praise MDNI - wc: 1.1k this is the first day of my birthday-week fics! honestly i had a blast working on all of these and i hope people enjoy them. ᯓᡣ𐭩

rafe had always been a hardworking man, especially when it came to his business, and he couldn't stand it when his employees didn't do their jobs right. people say that you can either choose to be feared, or respected, and rafe cameron was the kind of man who'd rather be feared.

so, the fact that he refused to fire the ditzy, airheaded girl who'd been hired as his assistant was nothing short of a miracle in the eyes of his other employees. what they didn't know, they couldn't ruin.

you were shaking as you walked towards his office, wobbly on your kitten heels, the tone that rafe used with you still fresh in your mind.

"come into my fucking office. right now." he had barked into your phone, before shutting the call. you chewed on your lower lip, not knowing what you had done this time for him to be cross with you. still, you lifted your hand, softly knocking on the door with the golden nameplate reading 'r. cameron'.

"come in."

you took a deep breath before pulling the door open, revealing your boss leaning against his desk, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows, crossed in front of his chest, a harsh look on his face, his eyes as cold as ice.

"lock the door."

hesitantly, you did as you were told, chewing on your lower lip, looking at him through your eyelashes. "w-what did i do this time?" you asked with a shaky voice.

rafe let out a small chuckle, entirely devoid of any positive emotion before clearing his throat, picking up a small stack of papers off his desk, and when you realized what they were, you felt all the blood drain from your face. "look familiar, hm?"

"mr. cameron, i'm sorry, i swear i was going to-"

"but you didn't." rafe interrupted you, tutting as he shook his head, one of his hands going to scratch his chin in thought, "you know, i'm starting to think you keep doing this on purpose. that you like it when i get mad at you, when i punish you. 'cause i don't know how someone could be so... dumb to keep making these mistakes."

"i'm sorry, i'll send it over right now, please-"

"no. that's not how this works." he pushed himself away from his desk, slowly striding over to you. looking at you up and down, rafe lifted your head up from your chin, making you look up at him. "you know the drill. desk. bend over."

"mr. cam-"

"now."

the air of finality in his voice caused a shiver to run down your spine as your wobbly legs took you to his desk, and you hesitantly bent yourself over his desk, the desk cold against your arms.

"you know what to do." rafe said, his hand resting over your ass that felt bare under his touch even with the fabric of your pencil skirt that was separating your skin from his, a rush of heat in your lower stomach. "count for me."

slowly, he pushed up the fabric of your skirt, revealing your bare ass, rafe letting out a small chuckle, "i see you decided not to wear panties, like i've asked. looks like my dumb little secretary can actually listen. you know what they say about broken clocks."

he grabbed at the flesh of your ass, massaging it slightly as he tutted, "five. you ready?"

"y-yes..." you mumbled weakly, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down on you're lower lip, preparing yourself for the impact.

a loud smacking sound echoed around his office before you could even register the sting on your ass, a small squeal unwillingly escaping your lips as your body was jolted forward by the impact.

"o-one." you counted, rafe's palm massaging at the buttock he had just slapped, before slowly pulling it away.

"you know, if you weren't such a dumb, forgetful slut, i wouldn't have to be doing this."

before you could even process what he had said, his rafe's palm landed another slap on your ass, your body jolting forward once again. this time, he didn't even take the time to massage your buttock before he pulled his hand away, delivering another slap to your ass almost immediately, one that made you let out a noise that was something between a moan and a squeal even though you were biting down on your lower lip so harshly you could taste blood.

"count."

you took in a deep breath as he massaged your ass, trying to stabilize yourself, your breathing erratic, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. "t-two, and, uh... three."

"i'm surprised," rafe cooed mockingly, "that a dumb little thing like you can even do simple maths."

rafe pulled his hand away, and you intertwined your own fingers together as a way to calm yourself down, your eyes stinging with tears threatening to fall, and once you felt his palm hitting your ass once again, a tear rolled down your cheek, your entire face feeling warm as you managed to pitifully let out the word "four." and although you were hurting, you also couldn't deny the arousal starting to gather between your legs.

"i mean, you'd think that you'd understand how important my work is. you could lose me thousands for forgetting to mail those papers." he tutted, pulling his hand away, "so, what are you gonna do from now on?"

"i-i'm gonna remember it, mr. cameron, i promise."

"that's my girl." rafe said, and once again, you felt his palm connect with your ass, a small yelp leaving your lips.

"five..." you babbled almost incoherently, a panting mess, certain that by now your asscheeks were red in the shape of rafe's large hands, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you realized that your punishment was over, a small hiss escaping your lips when the pained skin of your ass was met with the biting air of rafe's office.

"you did so well..." rafe said quietly, softly massaging your asscheeks before slowly sliding your skirt back down, smoothing it out. he helped you stand up, his bulge obvious in his trousers as he turned you around to face him, cupping your chin to once again lift your head up to look at him, "go home for the rest of the day, okay? take a warm bath and rest, hm?"

you nodded your head, looking up at him with your vision blurred by tears, rafe wiping the blood off your lower lip, "you did really well. i'm proud of you." he said, bringing his lips down to meet yours in a gentle kiss, his hand cupping your cheek so affectionately it was hard for you to tell if the man holding onto you was really the same man that had just punished you.

when he pulled away, rafe looked down at you with a sweet smile, "i'll come by later, alright?"

"alright." you nodded with a similar smile, leaning into his touch. when rafe pulled away from you, you smoothed down your skirt, slowly making your way to his office door.

maybe he knew, or maybe he didn't, but you'd never tell him that your little accident was anything but that. that they never were accidents.

[theminecraftbee]

Cleo sits next to Scott, her head in her hands, and says—

—“I really thought it’d be different this time.” BigB sighs. He kicks his foot. Ren is, at least, a sympathetic ear. He understands these things, or at least he understands that it’s hard to be alone. “I mean, I know you don’t trust those guys…”

“I don’t,” agrees Ren.

“But they reached out, man. And I thought, well,”—

—“I could always bury the hatchet, you know?” Cleo says. “It’s been what, how many games? How many years? And I can recognize when I’m as much of the problem as someone else.”

“You had a reason to be a problem. I love that you’re a problem,” Scott says supportively. Pearl snorts in the corner.

“I’m good at being a problem!” Cleo says

“I know, you are,” Scott agrees.

“But it’s like—I don’t know. Maybe I was ready to be done being angry! Maybe I…”—

—“…just wanted a change.”

BigB is quiet. He lets the thought sit in the air. Ren, normally a man determined to fill silences, at least understands the value of a dramatic pause; he doesn’t say anything yet.

Martyn, however, has grown a bit more impatient over the sessions. "What kind of change? You two have been weird about each other for years."

BigB is quiet a moment more. "Did you know that—Ren, did you know that you were the first and last person to show me trust?"

"Uh, thank you, dude," Ren says.

"But like, the thing is, people, they stabbed us then, man. And it's just..."—

—"...he didn't have to! That's what gets me! He could have like... said anything to me? I don't ask much! I offered him my hand! I said, sure man. I'm gonna forgive you, just this once. We can try again. And he just—he tried to kill you! Why?"

"I mean, Scott is one of the people with the most lives," Impulse says reasonably. "And he didn't betray you."

"That's not how teams work, Impulse," Cleo says. "You can't just get rid of the teammate you don't like. The team is only as strong..."—

—"...as weak as it's component parts."

Ren and Martyn stare.

"Jesus, BigB," Martyn says.

BigB looks away. "Yeah, um, well. I don't think that's that stupid. It's not about you two, really. And this is a death game, right? I didn't attack her. It's just... I wasn't going to, really. I wasn't..."—

—"...he was going to, that's the thing. He's always going to do... this!"

"Maybe that's what you get for reaching out to a traitor," Scott says lightly.

Impulse looks away. Pearl snorts again. Cleo sighs.

"Look, I have a long memory, but if I let that decide everything I do forever it would eat me. And people have their reasons. Impulse, look Scott in the eyes, he's not even the reason you have that reputation. Pearl, you're a part of the team. That's the thing. People can change. People..."—

—"...can't change, really." BigB shrugs. "She should know better by now."

"Uh, dude, should we know better?" Ren asks.

"Nah. I mean, Martyn's worse than I am," BigB says cheerfully.

"Martyn," Ren says, sounding vaguely disappointed. Martyn crosses his arms.

"What? You're the one who said I had evil in me. If you take in a snake, you can't be mad if it bites you. If you take in a scorpion..."—

—"...you can hope it learns not to sting you. I don't know. Maybe it's just in his nature."

Pearl makes a strange noise. "And what's in my nature?"

Cleo sighs. She steps over and throws an arm around Pearl's shoulder.

"As long as you don't bite me? I'm willing to learn." Pearl leans into Cleo's arm slightly. Cleo can't help but wonder, some days, how much of the way she flinches back again is her fault. BigB isn't the only one that Cleo hopes can change his nature. Otherwise...

"I'm not actually a traitor, despite what everyone claims," Impulse says, apropos of nothing.

"You know, you should pick better friends," Scott says.

"Nah," Cleo says. She doesn't elaborate. She just—

—breathes. BigB just breathes.

"It was never going to work, anyway," he says.

"Sometimes I wonder if everyone broke while I wasn't looking," Ren says quietly, sadly. BigB has no answer for that.

[brayneworms]

no, you hang up! | shota aizawa

kinktober day three: phone sex

word count. 2.2k

content. phone sex, reader and aizawa are coworkers, mutual masturbation, referenced age gap (once and it's minor + doesn't contribute to their relationship dynamic), dirty talk, no genitals for reader mentioned, gender-neutral reader, teasing (reader calls him names but it's all fairly playful), pre-relationship.

♪ agora hills — doja cat

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

You know it's him before you even look.

Your room is blue-dark, cold; the central heating must have turned off hours ago, still on to warm you to sleep even beneath two comforters. The recent winters were no joke—you walked around town at the moment with dry, blistering lips and dull skin and watery eyes. Even now, as you raise your head from the comfort of your sheets to the arid air, gooseflesh breaks over your skin.

Something pulses; it's what woke you in the first place. Some noise, some shift in the quiet. Outside it's still dark, not yet late enough for the light to start turning greyish and buoyant. It takes a muddled, groggy few seconds as the static in your head starts to clear that you realise it's your phone. 

You grope blindly for it; it's only vibrating, but you're a tepid sleeper at the minute, and it's more than enough to rouse you from whatever fitful slumber you'd managed to fall into. You have to be careful not to forget and turn on your side, put pressure on the sling that binds your arm as you reach under the sheets for your phone as it rings, rings, rings out. 

You slap a hand across the plastic case, lift it with a wince at the cold blue light that shines out like fingernails down a chalkboard. But yeah—when you read the name AIZAWA across the top of the screen in informal white capitals, you can't honestly say you're surprised.

You stab the green button on what's probably the eighth or ninth ring. "Yeah?"

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything. Where the line crackles the way the ozone layer does before the first strike of lightning. "...Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," you say again, returning to your back. Your bound arm gives a twinge of protest. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, in that dry tone of his, the one that rarely manages not to sound clipped and bored. "I guess I didn't realise how late it is."

You pull the phone away, glancing for the first time at the time in the right-hand corner. 02.11am. He did have a nasty habit of letting the night slip away from him—and his regular bouts of insomnia mean the lateness of the hour doesn't always impress upon him as it does for most people—but you suspect there may be more to it than that. There's a hesitance, a reluctance in his voice. 

"It's okay," you say finally. "Have to pee anyway."

The static rises as he huffs down the line. "How's the arm?"

"Feels like roadkill," you mumble, which doesn't make a lot of sense. But sue you, you're tired and the painkillers wore off in your sleep. "Why're you calling?"

Another crackle, a soft shift, like an out-of-tune radio adjusting frequency. "No... particular reason."

As the fatigue starts to clear from your heavy brain, you try to picture it. Shouta Aizawa—evidently not patrolling tonight, given the lack of cityscape din in the background of the call. It's quiet; you can maybe hear the low purr of a ceiling fan. Earlier, he'd shifted, and you'd heard the rustling of sheets. So, he's in bed. Lying there. Alone. Calling you.

He's pretty transparent. But to his credit, you don't think he's trying to be conspicuous. It's not incredibly in his nature. And it's not in yours to call him out on it, either, which he knows. It's why he does it.

Does, not like—like this is a regular thing, or anything. There have been one or two what you like to refer to as unrelated incidents over the eight-year course of your working relationship. A kiss at a New Year's party that lingered a moment too long, the time he took you home after a night at the bar with the other U.A. staff and you couldn't be in the staffroom alone with him for about a fortnight afterwards.

"Just missing the sound of my voice?" you ask, trying not to sound too coy. You don't want to make him skittish, and anyway you have a feeling he hates when you try to play up your (in your opinion) minor age difference. 

Another rustle, quieter, shorter. "...Something like that," he murmurs. His voice is soft, despite the timbre of it reaching down to some pit in his chest. 

"So should I talk?" you press. 

"Sure," he replies.

"About what?"

"Anything." He swallows. "Whatever... whatever you'd like to talk about."

You roll your tongue over your lower lip, suck it for a moment whilst you think. "I miss work," you start. Boring, mundane—testing the waters. "Being stuck at home sucks. And all my friends are my coworkers, so you're all at work every day. 'S pretty lonely."

"I see." There's a hint of strain in his voice, one that makes a dim chord strike somewhere low and pitiful inside you. You cross your legs over each other. "You know we'd visit if we had the time."

"Yeah, I know. I bought myself plants to give myself a reason to get out of bed," you say, casting a glance over at them as they rest on your windowsill. Their leaves wink and shiver in the current of cold breeze let in from the crack in your window. "I have to get up twice to water them. And then when I'm up, I think, I might as well get something to eat, exercise. Shower."

The last work is deliberately provocative, like pressing on a ripe bruise to see when it starts to hurt. Your reward is the faintest hitch of Aizawa's breath. 

"I talk to Hizashi every day," you continue, trying to keep your own voice even. The silence on the other end of the phone sounds deafening, your heartbeat starting to get uncomfortably forceful in your chest. "He texts a lot, about silly things. Keeping me up to date on stuff at the school. It's not the same as being there, but it's sweet that he tries." You pause. "I wish I could see everyone, though. Hey—can I see you?"

You let the question hang. Lining up a hunting rifle to a buck's head, letting it decide to stay or flee. Then,

"Hang on." It comes through gruff and short, but it makes your stomach twist all the same. A moment later, your phone hums with a notification. It hangs, a grey banner at the top of your screen. From Aizawa, with a photo attachment.

Your mouth goes dry as you stretch your thumb to tap it. It's a flash photo of a barely-lit room. You can see dark blue sheets and a grey comforter, and two legs in slouchy grey sweats, cocked apart, shoved halfway down his thighs. But in the crux of the photo—

"Jesus," you blurt before you can stop yourself. You hear Aizawa huff a noise on the other end of the phone, could be laughter, could be something else. It’s not like your entirely inexperienced with Aizawa’s cock, but that was a while ago and there’s a big difference between a drunken sticky fumbling in the dark and seeing it properly, in low warm light, heavy and hard with his hand wrapped around it. His fingers, thick and pale, you can’t help but want them on you. Circled around your ankle, maybe, pulling you apart for him with that quiet, unassuming strength of his. 

“Is that a good or bad reaction?” he asks, and the note of strain is thicker than ever. He sounds strangled. “Should I start worrying—about my job position?”

“Probably,” you answer. “But—no. How long’ve you been touching yourself?”

You hear his breath hitch again at the casual crudeness of your words. “How long’ve you been on the phone?”

A hot red flash zips through you. Before your head has given your body permission, you’ve laid the phone down flat on your chest, speakers buzzing through your shirt as you slip a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You go straight for what feels good, finding yourself already embarrassingly ready, shuddering as your fingers brush the most sensitive parts of yourself. 

“You’re such a creep,” you groan, head back against the pillow. Aizawa makes a quick, cut noise in the back of his throat. “One week without staring down my shirt in the staff room and you resort to this?”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, sighing shakily. “I don’t stare.”

He does fucking stare, it’s just quite subtle and it took you a while to notice. 

“Yeah, right.” Your fingers curl and search, press and glide. You’re hot and wet, for him, for the first glimpse of lust since your leave of absence began. “Bet you’d do anything for a taste.”

“...Maybe,” he stammers, breathing hard and quick against the phone. Now you can hear a soft stream of sounds coming through, a shlck-shlck-shlck that makes your blood hot and your brain fuzzy. “Maybe I’ve thought about it. Once or twice.”

“Dirty old man,” you say, half-babbling, and he groans low in his throat. You wish you could see him, God you can picture it—head thrown back, thick dark hair splayed against the rumpled pillows like a funeral shroud, sleep shirt ruched up to show the soft pale plane of his stomach dusted with dark spiralling hairs. You’d follow the pattern down to where the hair was thickest, push your hand through to where he was hard and hot as a brand for you. You didn’t get much time to play with him before, restless and lazy and horny off the cheapest champagnes you could order at the bar; he’d been inside you before too long and back out far too soon. 

“I’m n-not…” Hearing his resolve start to crack and fracture is the hottest thing in the world. Your own fingers work faster, jamming at the spots that make your legs gooey and your stomach start to tauten. “Isn’t my fault you look like that.”

Your giggle is breathless, half a moan. “Took that right out of the old perverts’ handbook,” you mutter. “Don’t break a hip on your way over here.”

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunts. “Damn it—shouldn’t have called—”

“I’m glad you did,” you say. Sweat is starting to collect in your armpits and the back of your neck. “Been so bored. This is the first time I’ve felt anything in weeks.”

His breath is ragged. “What do you feel?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Hang on.” The photo you send is conservative compared to his; just a shot of your hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts. But you hear his stifled whimper, low in his throat, crackling with desperation. 

“God,” he hisses. “You have no idea what I’d do to you.”

“I have—some idea,” you mumble. 

“No, not like before,” he growls. “I was too drunk to do much of anything. What a waste. I’d never let you go if I had you now. I’d make you cum three times before I even thought about fucking you. My mouth, my hands, my thigh, anything.”

You imagine the scratch of his stubble on your inner thigh, or your own legs clamped around the thick muscle of his thigh, and nearly white out. You’re not in control, not of the way your hips cant desperately against your hand or the desperate moan his words pull from you, turning to stifle it into the pillow. 

“I want you inside me so bad,” you find yourself babbling, hot with embarrassment over the desperation in your voice. You sound close to tears. “Jesus—your hands, I’m always thinking about it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He makes a keening, desperate noise, like a starving animal going for food. “Show me.”

You barely hesitate, ripping your shorts and underwear all the way off, and it’s only a few more desperate strokes of your fingers until you feel them flood over, your whole body shuddering and legs twitching. Your chest heaves and you blink up at the ceiling, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. Very awkwardly, you manage balance your phone enough in your slung hand to take a photo, the flash illuminating the mess between your thighs, the gleam of your own spend on your fingers. Before you can let embarrassment get a hold of you prematurely, you send the picture to Aizawa.

The result in instantaneous. He pulls a breath through his teeth. “God—fuck, look at you. So messy. God, I’m—” A choked-off moan, the breathiest noise you’ve ever heard from him as he cums. You lie there, warm all over, your skin singing as you listen to him fall apart on the other side of the phone. The speakers tickle your skin as you scrub a hand down your face.

After, you listen to his harsh panting breath. Then there’s a pocket of silence, the sort neither of you know how to break.

Finally, you cave. “...Feel better?”

“Don’t,” he mumbles. “This was… highly inappropriate.”

“Agreed.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause. “...Is it fine? That I did?”

A smile touches your mouth. “Yeah, it is.”

He huffs. You picture him rubbing at his eyes, drawing the skin inward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Well, then… yes. I do feel better.”

“Get off work early sometime,” you murmur. “I get so bored around here. Could use the company.”

You’re not sure why, but you think he’s smiling. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

taglist: @deltamel (+ask to join!!)

[very-grownup]

Whenever scolding or lecturing posts come across my dash I'm always confused by what seems like the imaginary people they're addressing, but I just spent time this evening with my niece and nephew.

I don't know if I'm the "cool" aunt in their lives, but I'm the aunt who would improvise dance music and bop them around when they were babies. I'm the aunt who wrestled with them and let them climb all over me and plop down and demand my attention. I'm the aunt who watched videos of giant cockroaches with them and let them lead me in games. I'm the aunt who tonight was shown many, many stickers of "Wings of Fire" dragons and asked my opinion on them and a rubber calculator where you can make a big number and then do minus a little number and if you keep pressing the equal sign you can see the big number going down and you can pretend it's the health of an enemy in a videogame. I'm the aunt who sat through so. much. Paw Patrol.

I think you probably have to do time in the Paw Patrol or equivalent mines if you want to be an adult in a child's life that they feel is part of their life, which is more important than being the cool aunt.

I do know I was privileged to have a cool uncle (did you know men-types can also have deep relationships with their younger relatives?). He passed away from cancer last year, tragically young. But he was cool. He was the coolest adult I knew as a child. He had turtles he cared for well enough that they were huge, stately creatures. He would wrestle you in the water and lift you high above his head and splash you down. He would take an interest in what you were doing and find common ground and engage with you about it and listen to you and he was the coolest adult you knew as a child. I was ten or eleven when he married my youngest aunt, so I was approaching teenagerdom which was a dreadful time, but it was when I started to learn about science fiction, mostly through comedy like The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Red Dwarf. But he /had/ The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He had Red Dwarf /novels/. He gave me a copy of The Princess Bride and Ben Elton's Stark just because. He recommended The Martial Chronicles. He watched The X-Files.

I don't think he was trying to be the cool uncle. He was just himself and paid attention to you enough to see who you were and talk to you about the things that made you feel like an adult.

After he died, there were a lot of comments and memories about how cool and involved and loving he was and I hope he knew that. I'd like to think I might be so remembered by my niece and nephew and the other children I've been lucky enough to have in my life.

It's not about being cool, really, but about being engaged with them in the time you spend together (I only saw my cool uncle for a week or two in the summer until I graduated high school) and being an honest version of yourself so they can find the part of you that they think is cool and building on that.

Because, in retrospect? Geologist with turtles who reads science fiction? Not particularly cool. Certainly not universally cool. And I imagine what other young people in his life responded to was different than what I responded to, what cemented him in my mind as a cool adult. Maybe he had his own Paw Patrol he endured to spend time with my younger cousins.

I don't know, I just love my niece and nephew a lot and I want the world they're growing up in to be better and kinder and I feel blessed when my autistic nephew takes my hand to lead me downstairs to play a game with him or, like tonight, asks me if I have Minecraft on my phone because he wants to be able to invite me to his Minecraft server. It's exhausting but still heart-warming how goofy and unselfconscious my niece is in her excitement when I come over and she forgets she's almost a teenager (she's eleven, but she'll be twelve soon, and that's basically thirteen).

...

God the Paw Patrol years were rough.

I know that a lot of you are banking on having little to do with your nephews/neices as children and then becoming their "cool aunt" once they become teenagers, but I think that you will find, upon analysis, that a random middle-aged woman stepping into a whole-ass teenager's life and arbitrarily declaring herself to be a "cool aunt" is, in fact, the least cool thing it's possible to do.

[wonderjanga]

Warfare

You see, Marvel’s mentioned the Wisdom of Solomon before. The JL never really thought much about it. As a result, the JL just thinks Marvel has all these… interesting ideas but just never says anything about them. Though, there are a couple times the ideas are actually voiced. (They don’t know Billy is just parroting whatever Solomon or occasionally another God with tell him)

Like the time Batman and Marvel got stranded on a planet that was stuck in the middle of war. They were promised

Rebel Leader: “Do either of you have any ideas to bring to the table?”

Batman: “No. Marvel?”

Marvel: “Huh? Oh uh… well I could magic a plague into the water near them. You said they’re using it for their water source, right? Then, when they’re weak, we can go around and take them out.” *sounds hesitant*

Batman: “Hmm… That could be a good idea, but what sort of plague are we talking about?”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “What.”

Marvel: “Cholera.”

Batman: “Marvel, that’s fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “Well, if we’re quick, it we can get to them before they die.”

Batman: *stares for a bit, holding back a sigh* “We don’t even know if Cholera will affect their biology the same way it does humans.”

Rebel Leader: “What is this Cholera?”

Batman: “It’s a deadly waterborne disease.”

Rebel Leader: “I see… And you’re unsure whether it will work with our physiology… might I propose a different disease?”

So yes, biological warfare, that’s our first thing. Batman proceeded to spend a lot of time convincing the Rebel Leader not to nearly kill an entire group of people with their version of Cholera.

Then there was the time Bruce and Marvel were working together and got held up in a shootout at a lab.

Marvel: *looking at the various chemicals in the lab* “Gosh, I remember my first exposure to chlorine gas.” *getting nostalgic* (He’s from the 1940s in this one, guys)

Batman: “You’ve been exposed to chlorine gas?”

Marvel: “Yeah, and let me tell you, those dang Nazis were horrified when it didn’t work on me. Don’t worry though, we’re gonna be making mustard gas instead.”

Batman: “Captain, we are not doing that.”

Marvel: “Why? We have all the available ingredients.”

Batman: “Marvel.” *puts a hand on his shoulder* “Mustard gas can be fatal.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

Batman: “Yeah.”

*silence*

Marvel: “My bad.”

*more silence*

Batman: “Is this why you always let others plan?”

Marvel: “Are you gonna look at me weird if I say yes?”

Batman: “Hn.” (Translation: Yes, but it won’t be visible through my cowl)

This incident checks chemical warfare off the list. Bruce is now concerned as to why most of Marvel’s ideas are either nearly fatal or just fatal.

Then there was the time Marvel went undercover with Bruce Wayne, not Batman for whatever reason. They then got attacked by pirates while on a ship trying to gather information about some supervillain.

Bruce and Marvel: *taken cover under a table while the pirates fire cannon balls at them*

Bruce: “Any ideas?” *peaks over the cover only for a cannonball to whiz right past his head*

Marvel: “I think I have one. So here’s what I’m thinking. I take out their mast, steal all their oars, and then push them out to sea and let them drift wherever.

Bruce: “That’s… Intense. Wouldn’t they starve if you just let them drift?”

Marvel: “I guess. If they’re not saved, I mean.”

Bruce: *stares with the most deadpan face* “How about I come up with a plan instead?”

Marvel: “You got it boss.”

And last but not least, the physical warfare.

By the way, Billy doesn’t know Bruce is the Bat. No, no, no, he just thinks the guy is someone Batman wants him to work with. He was a little surprised to see the dude act all brooding like Mr. Batman when he had heard from others that he was a party boy. Oh well, not his business. Meanwhile, Bruce doesn’t know Marvel thinks he’s just interacting with a capable civilian.

That last part was inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s reblog of this post. Thanks for letting me write with your idea :)

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[hxney-lemcn]

General Romantic Headcanons — Anya, Daisuke x gn! reader

tw: none.

wc: 1k (~500 per character)

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Anya

❥Anya is really soft when it comes to the people she cares about. One of the reasons why she wanted to become a nurse was to help others, so it’s no surprise that she’s very caring, always looking out for you. It’s hard to keep friends in her line of work, so she cherishes you extra, finding solace in your company.

❥She feels a bit silly having a crush when she’s this old. Sure, she hasn’t reached middle aged yet, but having a crush over the age of twenty makes her feel a bit foolish. Yet you always seem to make her fall for you even more. The inside jokes, the late night discussions, your constant encouragement and strong willed belief in her makes her heart flutter. You had been by her side after so many of her lows, the constant rejections from med school and her long trips that separated you for years. She’s not sure what she did to deserve you.

❥When Anya has a crush on you she’ll be a bit more bashful yet confident at the same time. It’s a confusing mix. Some moments have her blushing and shying away, while others she’s teasing and complimenting you. If you tell her how pretty you find her or brush her hair behind her ear she’s done for. It’s like her heart won’t stop beating out of her chest and her face is bright red. Anya will hide her face, trying to stay calm. If she finds you shying away for one thing or another? It’s over, she’s like a cat who spotted its prey. She won’t let it go and continue to tease you until you combust. She loves seeing you in such a state, and it may seem out of character, but with you she feels comfortable enough.

❥Honestly, it's a toss of the coin who confesses first. After long enough, she’ll end up confessing during one of your nightly hangouts, going from how much she cares about you to how she wishes you were together. If you’re the one confessing, do it in a more private setting. She’s not the biggest romantic, but the quiet setting would feel more intimate to her, like it's just the two of you in the big, big world. Anya would be so happy that you both finally crossed that boundary, wishing it could’ve been sooner. 

❥When you start dating things won’t change much. Things just get a bit more comforting and homey. Neither of you hesitate with your innocent affection anymore, threading your fingers together without uncertainty or resting your head on the other’s shoulder without care. If anything you both hang out even more, going on small dates to cafes or reading books at home. What does change is how it's even harder to let her go when work calls. How you dread the upcoming year without her smile or laughter, or how frustrated she gets when she loses to you. 

❥But you don’t worry too much. Anya always comes back, and you’ll continue to be by her side when she inevitably applies to another med school. Listen to her rant about what she experienced, her minor grievances with her coworkers. It’ll be all the sweeter to have her back in your arms, watching the stars and pondering where your futures will lead.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Daisuke

❥Like Anya, Daisuke is soft when it comes to those he loves. He’s just a bit more outgoing about it. The type to show someone a picture of you and be like ‘yeah, that’s my best buddy’. Yes, he is internally dying when he has to call you his friend. 

❥Hands down he’s so obvious with how he’s crushing. Daisuke basically becomes your personal butler with how fast he’s willing to stop what he’s doing for you. You’re hungry? Don’t worry, he’ll get you some food. You’re cold? Hold on, he’s got a really fluffy blanket you’ll love. He’ll take any excuse he can get to prove his worth to you (not that you need him too). He gets extra giddy when you both hang out. It’s just so chill, and he gets to spend more time with you, maybe buy you something that’ll remind you of him. 

Yeah…he’s down bad.

❥Finding reasons to love you? It comes naturally to him. It’s like every day he finds another thing that makes him want to squeeze you. Confessing? Hahaha…uhhh he’s having trouble on that front. Daisuke cherishes what you have so much, he finds it terrifying to shift things. He’s so blindsighted by his own feelings, he’s afraid he’s projecting the hints he thinks you’re giving him. So he keeps his feelings to himself, refraining from touching you for too long or saying something that may give him away…yeah he’s not as good at that as he thinks.

❥You’ll have to confess. Daisuke will just continue to beat around the bush, blushing and pretending like he wasn’t head over heels for you. Confess anywhere, Daisuke doesn’t mind. He’ll be too taken aback at the confession to care if people were staring or not. The moment you tell him you like him he’s on cloud nine. 

He nearly forgets to confess back…

❥Once it’s official (and boundaries are placed), Daisuke will be all over you. It’s like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you in one way or another. Loves love loves holding hands with you, extra points if you fidget with his fingers or rings. He not only loves feeling you by his side, but being useful (whether that be by being your guide in crowded spaces or a fidget toy for you to calm your racing mind) is his top need. It’s just so reassuring to know that you love him, need him, and rely on him. 

❥Loves any and all kinds of dates. From exciting ones like theme parks and haunted houses, to the lowkey ones like sleepovers and going to the park. Can barely take his eyes off you if you dress up (this could be just the smallest touch up like putting on perfume/cologne if you normally don’t or doing your hair differently). Can barely take his eyes off you if you don’t dress up tbh…

❥Daisuke finds himself finally looking forward to what his future holds.

[peltk9]

As someone who made a conscious decision to ditch Amazon when my Student Prime membership ran out years ago, this is been my modus operandi: 1) Become okay with the idea of spending a little more money than you would on Amazon. Most other shopping sites don't have free shipping options and their base product price is often a few dollars more than what it is on Amazon. This isn't always the case, but be prepared to spend more money to support places other than Amazon. Also become okay with waiting longer for packages to ship to you--two day shipping isn't a feasible option the smaller a company is.

2) My most reliable online shopping experiences are with hobby sites. There are a lot of online stores that will specialize in a specific hobby like sewing, knitting, art, stationary, archery, dancing, computers, baking, watch repair, photography, etc. My best tip is to find the sub-reddit for that hobby and find out what they suggest for good online stores. I also collect sites from tumblr posts and YouTube hobby creators I watch. I bookmark every site I find into a folder called "Shopping" and check in every once in a while to see if a sale is going on. I have an email that I use for online stores only so I can use the wishlist feature and get notified of their sales events.

3) Second hand sites are my second go-to. There are a lot of things that are just as good second-hand as they are new, and it's often cheaper. These are the main ones I've bookmarked (US-centric):

ShopGoodwill - anything that can be found in a Goodwill (expect higher prices for shipping)

Mercari - a mix of things

threadUp - second hand clothes

Poshmark - second hand clothes

ThriftBooks - second hand books

Ebay - requires patience and filtering, but almost anything can be found for a reasonable price

4) Ebay is the closest thing to all Amazon has to offer. It's not just second-hand from other people or estate-hunters. Legitimate companies sell their (new) products on Ebay, too. Like Amazon, Ebay requires some thinking and common sense to separate scams from actual product listings.

5) Etsy is good for niche things and sometimes second hand things. If I go to Etsy, I expect to pay more than elsewhere because I'm looking for unique, often hand-made things, which are more expensive overall.

6) Like the tweet said, some companies that sell on Amazon also have their own website storefronts. Often, they'll have a first-time buyer discount or a "sign up for our newsletter to get 15% off kind of thing".

7) In the end, sometimes Amazon is the only place to find something. Whether it's the last of the stock of a product the original company discontinued, or the company doesn't exist off Amazon, or the thing is too niche for a hobby shopping site to exist that ships to your country; sometimes, Amazon is a necessary evil. I treat Amazon as a last resort, and exhaust all other options first.

Amazon has a free shipping option for orders over $35, so I'll usually collect a wishlist of things that qualify for the $35 free shipping and order once I've reached the limit. This gives me time to find items elsewhere, while ultimately saving money (free shipping) without paying for Prime.

How to Ditch Amazon

Support your local libraries and the small businesses that are actually making the products you want.  Fuck Jeff Bezos and the systemic, universal worker abuse, gaslighting, and brutality they live off of.

[twisted-broth]

Any of the boys you want do a challenge where (they aren't dating yet) but they are at a fair and they win a bear or a prize and s/o gives them a kiss on the cheek for how many they win and s/o says if they win 10 or more they will give them a kiss on the lips and spend a week together with just them (maybe show like if some did get the kiss and how they would react?) I thought this was cute lol

This has been sitting in my drafts for like a year so I just figured I would post the parts of it that were done.

Leave it to Crowley and Grim to get you into this situation. “Every dorm has to have a booth at the fair, prefect! Maybe you’ll even earn enough money to make some renovations to that shoddy old place!”

Crowley failed to take into consideration how making a carnival attraction costs money to be any good. Any cafe service would need more money and supplies than you could afford, a show would need more than two people, and a game would need prizes.

Grim is not one for bright ideas, but it would seem there was no other solution that wouldn’t cost all your food money for the month. So this is what it came to.

“Knock down all the pins and win a kiss on the cheek from Ramshackle’s prefect! Hit all three targets and he’ll give you a kiss on the lips!!!!”

It was probably in your top five most embarrassing moments of your life as your cat basically prostituted you at the top of his lungs. Surely no one would actually be enticed by a prize like that, right?

Trey

"You always manage to find a way to keep things interesting, don't you? For once I'm glad to be at a school mandated event."

Feels bad. Plays anyway.

No hard feelings, right?

He tells you that you have nothing to worry about, he's really a lousy shot anyway (as if he's not the best spelldrive player on Heartslabyul)

He easily knocks down the first two stacks, but misses the third

Maybe he missed, maybe he found it in his heart to show you mercy

He not-so-subtly implies that he's sure he could find a different way to win the "grand prize"

Despite his big talk, he still has a noticeable blush when you give him a kiss on the cheek

He would also keep an eye on your booth for the rest of the day to make sure not too many people are winning

For your sake, of course

Jade

“It would seem you’ve found yourself in quite the situation there, prefect. Please find it in your heart to forgive me if I take advantage.”

This is the funniest shit Jade has ever seen

How stupid do you honestly have to be to get yourself into this predicament?

Of course he’s playing the game. The scowl on your face when he trades in his tickets to Grim for three baseballs fills him with unbridled delight

His aim is a little wonky and you sigh in relief when his first three balls miss the target

He feigns disappointment before handing over another few tickets to the cat and grabbing the balls again

Of course he was hustling you. He let you think that even for a second you would be safe from this menace. For shame

Each ball is thrown with such force that pins from the first stack fly into the other stacks, easily ensuring that Jade clears the game with ease

He calls it beginners luck. Asshole.

Has the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he leans down to your face to claim his prize

Rook

"Mon amour, what a dastardly situation you've been resigned to! Not to worry sweet dame, I shall save you from the beasts at your heels!"

You knew you were in trouble the minute Rook’s gaze happened to fall on your stall

His eyes narrow and he smirks as he makes his way over to the stall

He's visibly holding back his excitement as he trades his tickets in to Grim

His idea of "saving you" is to hog the game- and the prize- for himself

He hits every stack with effortless accuracy, game after game

The second all three stacks have been knocked down, he prances over to you and leans down for his kiss. You can practically see the flower emojis radiating off his satisfied smile

This will continue until Grim gets fed up with him scaring away customers, or Vil comes to drag him away

You got so used to kissing him that you almost do it again the next time he leans down to talk to you

[gojobbg]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 8

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: AHHH im so sorry i was gone for so long! work and school and i got sick again. my luck lately has been quite poor, but here's the next part!! i dont think its quite well written but i hope you all think its good! thank u again for ur support, kindness, and patience :) (sorry i say thank you so much, cant help myself!)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Wednesday

You should have worn more lotion. 

The unkind cold and threatening winds made your trek to work excruciatingly more difficult. Surely you made it, but had to get blind by the flurries of snow in the process. You take your time in the lobby, stomping aggressively down at the weather mats to remove all the snow and ice from your boots. You shake yourself like a wet dog to get the snow off your coat, too. The lobby men chuckle at you, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

It’s been rough to do so, after all. Considering you got rejected twice by the same man, you needed all the serotonin you could get. You spent hours crying, which only halted when you finally passed out. The heartbreak exhausted you, given how dark your eyes were, and how hollow your chest has felt since then. The worst part about all of it is that despite everything, you still had Nanami’s coffee in mind. 

It floated in your mind to go to the cafe and get him a cup. But you have to remember that he has other assistants who know his coffee order now. You were now one of few who knew it. 

To have your relationship seen as just boss/assistant by the other participant felt like punishment. A large sigh left your lips when you exited the elevator on your floor. Shivers tickled your body as you begrudgingly walked over to your desk. It was warm in the office, enough for you to take solace in. 

You begin to turn on your computer and prepare your desk, before being interrupted by two hands slamming down your desk. You look up to find a panting (and exhausted) Haibara. “Yu?” You whisper worriedly. “Is everything okay?”

“He lost the flashdrive,” Haibara lets out. “The presentation… it’s missing.” 

Your eyes widen, “Nanami? But… how?” Of all people, Nanami was never one to lack in anything, especially in organization. He was always sharp and aware of where all his things were. You never had to concern yourself with assignments getting lost because Nanami is too diligent.

“We– we um, drank last night…?” Haibara reluctantly confesses. “We both got home quite late… he might not have his whole head on.”

Without another word, you swiftly leave your desk and rush over to Nanami’s office, with Haibara following closely behind. On your way towards his office, you see all of Takada’s assistants outside of his office, their expressions full of concern. You make your way through them and knock on his door gently. 

“What?” Nanami’s annoyed tone rang through the door. 

“It’s Y/N,” you reply, ignoring his attitude. 

Quick shifting was sound behind the door before the doorknob began to turn. The door opens to reveal a disheveled Nanami. Despite his usually refined features, his unkempt hair and unbutton shirt was quite distracting. The shadows line his collarbone and the darkness under his eyes add to the intensity in his struggling, hazel eyes. He leaned against the door frame, his eyes slightly lighting up from your presence. There was some sort of relief in his eyes, but it was still drowned out by anxiety. 

“Please, please tell me you have a copy?” Nanami practically begs.  

You feel a lump in your throat from seeing his desperation. Not even you can be dismissive to his plea. “I–I was instructed not to keep an extra copy. It’s confidential, so I didn’t…” 

Nanami let out a quiet ‘fuck,’ retreating slowly back towards his desk. “Don’t worry, I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself because you’re right and I’m simply irresponsible…” He leans back against his desk, defeatedly holding himself up with his hands firmly down on the desk behind him. He looks distantly to the floor, a sight you never thought you’d ever see. 

The confident, sharp Nanami was now at his wits’ end. 

“Do you remember when you last had it?” You ask quietly. 

“I had it in my coat pocket on my way here,” he recalls quietly, “I still had it when I got off the train, so it must be outside around the area.” 

“But with all that snow…” Haibara begins, the defeat clearly on his tongue. 

You let out a sigh, emitting a calm apology before dismissing yourself. Once you were out of sight, you ran towards the elevator, practically beating the button until it arrived to you. You impatiently wait as you descend, your body already feeling the cold from outside. Even maintenance couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched you run out from the lobby, and into the harsh weather. 

It was a bit embarrassing for you. You were always there to fix Nanami’s scarce mistakes, or prevent them. Even after he broke your heart twice, here you are, outside in the freezing cold, without any garments to protect you from it. You could feel your body beginning to go numb from the seconds you were outside. 

Your exposed legs were inches deep in the snow, your frigid hands sifting desperately through the snow. Why? You asked yourself. Why, why, why? You were freezing, the weather was harsh, and this flash drive is as small as a roach. Why were you doing all of this? 

As you shoveled through the snow, you were finally able to feel how you were feeling after facing Nanami again. You were able to keep yourself from crying, but you wanted to cry profusely. Your boss, your crush, was stressed out over a mistake he made, and it didn’t even make you feel better. Unfortunately, your feelings were too weaved into his, and you felt the stress he is feeling. 

It bothered you to see him stressed. So much so, your body moved on its own and now it was in the cold, looking for the solution to Nanami’s problem. You didn’t even stay idle for a moment while in his office. Perhaps, the reason why you were helping him was because since you met Nanami, he has always been someone to work for his team. 

But you know for sure part of it was that you never want to see him like that again.

Taking on projects on his own to keep his other colleagues working in low piles. Working with clients he personally isn’t a fan of to make sure the company grows. Providing breakfast and lunch when important meetings arise to make sure everyone at least eats well before torturous work. He was strict, but never a mean person. And to that end might explain why you still felt the way you did. 

However, 

Your respect for him goes above your feelings. A hard piece of plastic was barely felt between your fingers, but they were able to hold onto it firmly. The small flash drive, covered in a bit of snow, still glowed green when you pushed up to reveal the USB. You promptly make your way back in, the warmth barely penetrating the cold you developed while being outside. 

I’m gonna get sick, you thought to yourself. As you passed through the lobby, you noticed Nanami’s clients getting checked in at the lobby. You hurry to the elevator, pushing aggressively at the close button so they didn’t have a chance to get there at the same time you did. You move your legs in place, attempting to regain some warmth. While you ascended, you purposely pushed the buttons of the floors you passed to delay their arrival. Finally reaching your level, you rush out to go to the other free elevator. As you did, you were met with a concerned Haibara. 

“H-hey!” Haibara calls to you, but you ignore him and shove the flash drive into his hand. But as you did, he noticed that you were frozen and kept his hands around yours. “You… found it? Did you go outside? Without a coat? Y/N, you’re freezing!” 

Oh, how you wished you fell for Haibara instead. You pull away your hand, quickly entering the other elevator and slamming your hands on the buttons. You look up at Haibara, your bottom lip blue and quivering. “Take it to Nanami,” you say roughly, your voice hoarse from the little warmth in your body. “Your clients. They’re downstairs. Hurry up.”

Haibara holds onto your arms, noticing that you could barely keep yourself up, “yeah, fuck the clients. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Please,” you look up at him desperately, tears welling in your eyes. It was already enough that you felt stupid for even looking for the flashdrive in this state. But even Haibara couldn’t push away the hurt and stress in your own eyes. “I’ll be fine… please help Nanami finish this.” 

“Let me at least walk you to your desk–” 

“I got her!” You both look over to see Tae run over, his apron dancing left and right from not being properly tied in the back. He quickly takes hold of you, looking up at Haibara to give him a curt nod in replacement of a proper bow. “Resume your work, Haibara-sama. I can tend to her.” 

Tae held you close enough that you could feel his warmth. It was intoxicating almost, the solace of his heat and the scent of pine needles emanating from his body. The fresh scent of linen coming from his black sweatshirt made you feel a little nostalgic but uneasy. You could still feel the cold taking you over, your entire body shivering. His hands firmly held you without squeezing you tightly. 

Haibara looks down skeptically, but you wave at him. “Please go,” you croak, coughs finally leaving your throat. “I’ll be fine.” You could see that you didn’t quite persuade him, but for the sake of Nanami, he nodded. 

He eyes Tae, a rare serious aura surrounding him, “get her to a doctor if she needs it. I’ll be back as soon as the presentation ends. Please make her something hot, like hot cocoa or soup.” Tae nods, allowing Haibara to run back towards Nanami, who was probably drowning in his own anxiety. 

“‘m sorry to inconvenience you like this, Tae,” you whisper, your body still shaking and twitching from the cold. “But thank you for that.” 

“No worries, please don’t exert yourself,” Tae softly warns. He tightens his hold on you before slowly walking you over to the cafe. Though you didn’t have enough trust to close your eyes, you did have enough to hold his sweater, confident that he won’t let you fall. “Let me help you. After all, you helped me first. Come, the cafe is just around the corner.” 

The relief on Nanami’s face was truly meant to be displayed in a museum. 

He held onto the flashdrive tightly, mentally scolding himself from ever dropping it in the first place. He forces it into the projector, and everything was set up for the clients to come in moments. He noticed that the flash drive was not only still cold, but slightly wet. “Was it outside in the snow?” 

Haibara nods as he fixes up the conference table a bit. It was ornate with drinks, snacks, and notetaking items for their clients to use and enjoy. “The snow is really growing by the inch out there. This winter is brutal.” 

“It truly is unkind out there,” Nanami sighs, his eyes looking through the window. “I hope you grabbed your coat before going out there.” 

Haibara shakes his head, “it wasn’t me who found the flashdrive; it was Y/N. I caught her at the elevator, and she was the one who handed it to me.” 

Nanami slightly perks up at your name, “did she really?” 

“She left straight from your office to go find it,” Haibara says quietly, “but she didn’t even bring a sweater. She was completely frozen when I saw her.” 

This left a pit in Nanami’s stomach. “Why did she not bring a coat? She’s more rational than that.” 

Haibara lets out a sigh, “who’s to say, Kento. Y/N works very hard to do right by you and this company. I think she’d do whatever it takes in order to make sure you and this department shines.” 

“Disregarding her health is not why she’s here,” Nanami huffs strictly. “Where is she?” 

“I left her with the barista you hired,” Haibara informs, “my guess is he took her to the cafe to warm her up.” 

Nanami’s eyes cut over to Haibara, burning through his soul. Despite this, Haibara still didn’t see his eyes. “You left her with a stranger?” 

“A stranger you hired,” Haibara clarifies. “Anyways, Y/N insisted I come help you. I’d probably make her feel worse if I didn’t.” 

There was a rare annoyance that Nanami never felt. You were always conscious of yourself, and others. Nanami always noticed when you would help someone with a large pile of papers, or when you applied bandages to blisters due to your heels. But more times than not, you never shied away from a challenge, and never hesitated to help someone whether they asked or not. 

But now you were far from him, and he couldn’t do anything to help you. He had this stupid presentation to do, rather than be by your side and tend to you. After all, you truly were the reason behind his success. The reason for his reduced stress, and a direct asset to his department. You did so much for him, only to be given a shred of that effort. He was feeling guilty, not only for being unaware of his feelings towards you, but the immense disregard he had for your own feelings and effort in this company. 

You were his dear assistant, and he was breaking you. 

“I’ll be back,” Nanami hums, rushing out of the conference room. Haibara looks back and follows right behind him, surprised by his sudden dash. 

Nanami, the meeting!” Haibara calls out to him, “you can’t do this right now!” 

His response was silence as he reached the corner towards the cafe. As he appears in the opening, his hazel eyes relentlessly looked for you. But when he stumbled upon you, his concern and annoyance skyrocketed. 

You were lying on one of the couches at the cafe, surrounded by a few of the baristas there. They all comforted you, as you lay under a few blankets. But Nanami noticed that below all of that, you were covered by a large, black crewneck. On your head, a beanie as well. And sat on a stool right in front of you with a hot coffee cup was Tae, the barista he hired. Nanami noticed the warmth in his eyes when he looked down at you, with a free hand out to you. Your boss felt a lump in his throat when he saw you take his hand, helping you sit up to take the cup from him. Tae kept his hand on the bottom of the cup while you sipped it cautiously. 

His chest felt like someone was pushing it down, his breath was limited. His heart, at the same time, was punching against it as well, almost as if it was going through a two-front war. He looks down at his hands, adjusting the sleeves at both of his wrists. He needed to reach you– sooner rather than later. And now looked like the perfect opportunity. 

But before he could take another step, the elevator behind him opened, and the entourage of clients he was expecting stood before him, all smiles. Haibara catches up and pats Nanami’s back, forcing him to turn around as they both curtly bow in greeting. A vein protruded Nanami’s temple, and Haibara looked back to see what he was looking at. 

What he saw made him crack a small smile, his energy returning to him as he led the clients and an annoyed Nanami towards the conference room. 

Taglist: [Now Closed]

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