#Every time I see a chaise lounge I’m like

[pucksandpower]

Fixer Upper

Max Verstappen x interior designer!Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen is the most frustrating client you’ve ever dealt with … but maybe he can make it up to you

“How about some pops of color in here?” You suggest brightly, gesturing around the stark white walls of Max Verstappen’s new Monaco penthouse.

The Dutch driver sniffs, glancing up briefly from his phone. “No thanks. I like it plain.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he does. You’ve been working with Max for two weeks now trying to decorate his new home, but so far he’s shot down every single idea you’ve proposed.

As an interior designer based in a principality known for catering to the rich and famous, you’re used to difficult clients, but Max may just take the cake. Still, you’re determined to give him the space he desires … if you can only figure out what that is.

“Alright, plain it is,” you say evenly. “But we should at least add some artwork, don’t you think? Something modern and sleek could look fantastic against these walls.”

Max doesn’t even glance up this time. “No art. Don’t like it.”

You inhale slowly. “Okay, no problem. We’ll keep it artless.” Time to switch gears. You gesture to the expansive bank of windows along one wall. “These floor-to-ceiling windows are incredible, some of the best views in Monaco. We could do some fabulous seating here to take advantage of the natural light. Maybe a chaise lounge or two angled toward the harbor ...”

“Don’t need seating.” Max is focused on his phone, thumbs flying. “I’ll just put my sim rig there.”

Your eye twitches involuntarily. His racing simulator setup — in front of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the most coveted views in the principality? Absolutely not.

“Well,” you begin delicately, “Perhaps we could find another place for your sim, one that doesn’t obstruct the views quite so much. I’m sure we could-”

“No, I want it there,” Max interrupts flatly. “I like seeing the water while I drive.” His attention doesn’t waver from the screen in his hands.

You close your eyes briefly and take a calming breath. Alright. No color, no art, and a sim smack in front of priceless views. So much for design aesthetics. Time for a new tactic.

“You must do a lot of cooking,” you say brightly, turning towards the kitchen. “This is an amazing culinary space. We could do some open shelving with sleek finishes to highlight the quartz countertops.”

Silence. Max just gives a non-committal grunt, still absorbed by his phone.

You soldier on. “Or maybe some nice warm wood cabinetry for contrast? I have some fantastic artisan contacts who could do handmade custom designs.”

“Don’t cook much,” he mutters.

Your smile tightens. “Not to worry, we can keep the kitchen minimal too.” Is there anything, anything at all, you can propose that he won’t immediately shoot down? You’re starting to doubt it.

Switching to the living area, you smooth down your dress and try again. “For the living room, I was thinking we could do built-in bookcases along the back wall there, and maybe expose some of the original brick behind for an industrial chic look ...”

Max glances up from his phone to level an unimpressed look at you. “But we’re inside. Brick would make no sense.”

You close your eyes briefly. Of course not. “My mistake, you’re absolutely right,” you say through gritted teeth. Enough pussyfooting around. Time to be direct.

You plant yourself in front of where Max sits on the couch and place your hands on your hips. “Max, I’m going to be honest. I’m having trouble getting a sense of your style and vision for this space. You’ve rejected all my ideas so far.”

He blinks up at you blandly. “I don’t like any of your ideas. This is my place and I want to do what I want.”

You resist the urge to tear your hair out in frustration. “Of course, and I want you to have exactly what you want. But in order to do that, I need you to communicate with me. Tell me what kind of look and feel you envision for your home. Modern, traditional, minimalist? What colors and textures appeal to you?”

Max just shrugs, his attention already drifting back to his phone. “I don’t know. Just make it nice.”

Oh for god’s sake. You inhale slowly through your nose. “Perhaps you could show me some inspiration photos of interiors you like?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.”

That’s it. You’ve had it with this infuriating man. You know you shouldn’t lose your cool with a client, but you’re at the end of your rope.

“Well, I’m afraid ‘make it nice’ doesn’t give me much to go on,” you snap sarcastically. “I can’t read your mind, Max. So unless you start providing concrete input on what you actually want, I’m resigning from this job.”

You expect anger, or at least surprise at your outburst. But Max just regards you evenly for a moment, then nods. “Okay, fair enough. The truth is ...” He pauses, looking faintly embarrassed. “I just wanted an excuse to spend more time around you.”

You blink, blindsided. “I’m sorry, what?”

A slight flush rises in Max’s cheeks. “I didn’t actually care about the decor that much. I just thought if I kept saying no to all your ideas, you’d have to stay involved with the project longer.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Guess I took the stubborn client thing too far.”

You’re dumbfounded. And, if you’re being honest, a little charmed. “Let me get this straight — you’ve been wasting my time and driving me crazy for two weeks because you … have a crush on me?”

Max winces. “When you put it like that, I sound like an idiot.”

You have to laugh. “A bit, yeah.” But you can’t help but feel a warm flutter in your stomach too. You’ve always thought Max was cute in a boyish way. Knowing he orchestrated this whole thing just to spend time with you is, admittedly, very flattering. And more than a little endearing.

Max rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to be difficult on purpose. I just ...” He trails off with a helpless little shrug.

You take pity on him. Yes, leading you on a wild goose chase of rejected designs was unprofessional. But the hesitant smile he’s giving you now tugs at your heartstrings anyway.

“Well, I appreciate you coming clean,” you say gently. “How about we start fresh? I’d love to actually get your real input now on what you want.”

His smile widens, grey eyes lighting up. “Yeah?”

You can’t help but smile back. “On one condition.”

He nods eagerly. “Name it.”

“You take me to dinner.” You arch an eyebrow. “To make up for the stress you caused me over the past two weeks.”

Max lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Deal.” He shakes his head ruefully. “I really made a mess of this, didn’t I?”

“Little bit, yeah.” You grin to soften the reproach. “Next time just ask me out for a drink. It’s a much more straightforward approach.”

“Duly noted.” He smiles sheepishly.

You move to sit next to him on the couch. “So tell me honestly, what kind of look are you picturing for this place?”

Max considers the blank canvas of a space. “Honestly, I’m open to anything you suggest. I trust your taste — I’ve seen your work before and it’s amazing.” His eyes meet yours. “But I do definitely want my sim rig with a view. That part wasn’t a lie.”

You laugh. “We can make that work.” Your gaze travels over the strong lines of his face, the mussed brown hair, the wry curve of his smile that makes your heart beat faster.

As you begin sketching possible layout options, you make a mental note to clear your schedule for dinner soon. Very soon.

***

“Well, this is … quite a space,” you say diplomatically as the hostess leads you and Max to your table.

You’re immediately assaulted by a riot of clashing colors and patterns as your gaze darts around the trendy restaurant he’s brought you to for dinner. Your trained designer’s eye picks out aesthetic atrocities everywhere you look.

An art deco mirror topped by an incongruous ultra-modern light fixture. Fussy rococo chairs paired with sleek metal tables. And dear god, is that shag carpeting?

“Yes, Le Chat Noir is very popular right now,” Max agrees, seemingly oblivious to the decor travesties surrounding you.

You hold your tongue as the hostess seats you. The haphazard decor choices are an assault on your senses, but you don’t want to seem rude on your first date with Max.

A server appears to take your drink orders. You welcome the distraction, busying yourself with the wine list. But as soon as he departs, Max leans forward, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Alright, I know that look. Out with it — what do you really think?”

You bite your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gestures broadly around. “Of all this.”

You hesitate. “The decor is certainly … interesting.”

Max grins. “I can tell you absolutely hate it.”

You wince. Damn, he’s perceptive. And here you were trying so hard to remain poker-faced.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed laugh. “I was attempting to refrain from judgment, but it appears I failed.”

“No need to apologize.” He settles back in his chair. “Please, critique away. I want to hear your professional opinion.” His eyes dance with humor. “Don’t hold back.”

Well, far be it from you to turn down an invitation like that. As your drinks arrive, you take a fortifying sip of wine before launching in.

“Alright, you asked for it.” You set the glass down firmly. “This space is an absolute disaster from a design perspective. It’s like the interior decorator was blindfolded and threw darts at a wall covered in paint swatches and fabric samples. Nothing goes together at all.”

You point above your table. “That light fixture up there? Ultrasmack modern against 19th century crown molding? Make it make sense.”

Max chuckles. “Quite the mashup.”

You lean forward, on a roll now. “And this carpet!” You gesture in horror to the shag beneath your feet. “This trend needs to retire immediately. It looks like an avocado fucked a bear.”

Max nearly chokes on his drink. “A what now?”

You wave a hand. “You know what I mean. Just tragic.”

Sitting back, you take in the rest of the garish space. “The artwork over there is just hideous. And that tufted velvet on the booths makes me want to scream. Who decided olive green was an accent color that pairs well with anything?”

You turn back to Max, on a tirade now. “Honestly, nothing works. The proportions are bad, the color palette is an atrocity, the mixture of styles is absurd. It’s like the designer threw every conceivable element at the wall to see what would stick. I could have done a better job blindfolded after downing a bottle of tequila.” You finally stop for breath, cheeks flushed.

Max has an enormous grin on his face. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling too. “Sorry for the outburst. Like I said, feel free to tell me to zip it.”

“Are you kidding? I could listen to you shred this place all night.” Max shakes his head, looking delighted. “I’ve never seen you so worked up. It’s adorable.”

You blush, smoothing your hair self-consciously. “Oh hush. I just have … strong opinions when it comes to interior design choices.”

“Clearly.” Max’s eyes positively dance with affection. “I love how passionate you are. And your criticisms are spot on. This place really is horrendously designed.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait, you actually agree? You’re not just humoring me?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not. My knowledge doesn’t come remotely close to yours, but even I can tell everything in here clashes hideously.” He gestures at the table. “I mean, a wooden chair back with a metal seat? Just pick one material!”

You grin, happiness blossoming in your chest. It’s such a treat to have him validate your expert opinions instead of just patronizing them like many dates would. You launch eagerly back into listing all the ways the restaurant decor offends you, with Max chiming in occasional agreement or egging you on for more.

By the time your food arrives, you’ve dissected the lighting, furniture, textiles, and color schemes within an inch of their lives. Max watches you intently the whole time, blatantly enraptured by your critiques. Your wine glass is nearly empty from all the gesticulating.

“Well, I think that covers all the ways this interior design should be illegal,” you conclude, taking a bite of your meal. “Thanks for indulging me. I know I can get carried away analyzing spaces.”

“I could listen to you trash talk bad design forever.” Max can’t seem to rip his eyes away from yours. “I love how opinionated you are. And you look so damn sexy getting all fired up about it.”

A pleasurable shiver runs through you at his heated look. Maybe ripping this restaurant to shreds wasn’t the most conventional date conversation, but it clearly impressed Max. Nothing like a shared hatred of garish decor to bring two people together.

“Well, I’m glad one of us enjoys these tirades,” you laugh. You cock your head coyly. “Maybe I could come over sometime outside of work and critique your place again now that it’s shaping up. I’m sure I can find a few more things to complain about.”

Max’s eyes darken. “I’d like that.” He leans forward with a roguish smile. “Maybe we can get out of here and you can tell me all the ways you’d redesign the bedroom in my current apartment. You know, so we can avoid making those mistakes again while you help decorate my bedroom in the penthouse.”

You nearly choke on your wine, heat flooding your face. And lower regions. Goodness, Max’s flirty side really brings out your inner vixen.

You recover and stroke his ankle lightly with your heel under the table. “I’d be happy to provide any hands-on design consultation you require.”

Max sucks in a sharp breath, eyes blazing. The temperature between you two has risen about fifty degrees in the last few seconds. Suddenly you want nothing more than to leave this horribly designed restaurant and get him alone.

Immediately.

***

“A good mattress is crucial for proper sleep and recovery,” Max declares as you walk into the upscale furniture store together. “We need to test them thoroughly.”

You allow him to lead you to the mattress section, hiding a smile. When Max asked you to come mattress shopping with him for his new bedroom, you’d naively thought it would be a quick errand. But knowing Max, you should have guessed he’d take the task of “testing” mattresses very seriously.

An eager salesperson appears. “Welcome! Are we looking for any mattress in particular today?”

“We want to try them all,” Max announces, eyeing the rows of display beds keenly.

The salesperson falters. “Er, all of them?”

“How else will we know which is best?” Max shrugs as if this is obvious.

You squeeze his arm, charmed by his matter-of-fact logic. The salesperson forces a professional smile.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” He gestures expansively at the floor models. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”

“Excellent.” Max wastes no time striding over to the nearest bed. He sits, then lies back experimentally. “Hmm, decent firmness.” He pats the empty space beside him. “Come try it out.”

You curl up next to him, hiding your smile at the salesperson’s raised eyebrows. When you said you’d help Max pick out a mattress, this wasn’t what you pictured. But you have to admit, lying here with him is fun.

Max frowns. “Too much motion transfer when you move.” He sits up abruptly. “Next!”

You have to smother a laugh as you follow him to the next display. This no-nonsense methodism is peak Max. Systematic and entertainingly stubborn.

At the second bed, Max immediately starfishes spread-eagle. “Well? Get over here and test it with me. It’s the only way we’ll know.” He pats the mattress insistently.

You note the salesperson observing this display with thinly veiled disapproval. But Max just looks so irresistibly eager, you can’t help but indulge him.

You crawl onto the bed and cuddle up to him happily. “Mmm, this one’s nice. Great hugability.” You pretend to grab Max in a koala hold.

He laughs. “Agreed, good hugging potential.” Wrapping his arms around you, he shifts experimentally. “But the bounce is all wrong.” He releases you and sits up. “Next!”

And so it goes for the next hour as you enthusiastically demo mattress after mattress with Max. You try them on your backs, sides, fronts, analyzing the firmness levels and motion transfer. At one point you even test out the edge support — whatever that is — with Max insisting you sit together on the very side of the mattress frame.

“Considerable sag here,” Max murmurs against your ear, his arm firmly around your waist. You have to hide your shiver at his warm breath so close. “Could be problematic.”

The salesperson looks like he’s one demo away from throwing you both out. But Max either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He cheerfully drags you from bed to bed, ticking off pros and cons on his fingers.

“Decent lumbar support, but it sleeps too hot.”

“Great responsiveness, but poor motion isolation.”

You’re having the time of your life. Testing mattresses was benign enough, but the excuse to crawl into bed with Max over and over has you both giddy. Each demo seems to involve increasingly creative configurations of your interlocked bodies as you evaluate firmness and ergonomics.

“I’m just not sure this is a good fit,” Max eventually concludes, frowning up at you from where you straddle his hips. His hands rest casually on your thighs, as if finding yourself atop a handsome man in a public place is perfectly routine mattress research.

You smother a laugh and climb off. “Valid analysis. Though some of the testing scenarios still need more data, I’d say.” You shoot him a coy look.

Max grins. “Agreed. Further testing required.”

The salesperson pointedly avoids looking at you both. “Perhaps you��d like to narrow down your top choices? I’m sure you have plenty of notes by now.” There’s a tautness to his professionalism that suggests you’ve stretched his patience to its limit.

But Max seems oblivious. “We’re not done yet! There are still at least half a dozen models we haven’t tried.” He takes your hand, pulling you toward a plush, pillow-topped display. “Now this one looks perfect for spooning. You little spoon first this time ...”

Mattress testing with Max, you’ve learned, is a delightful mix of structured analysis and shameless flirtation. You can’t remember ever having so much fun shopping. And based on Max’s boyish smile and lingering touches, the feeling is mutual.

“Too much dip in the middle,” Max tuts later, rolling you both gently across yet another mattress surface. “Though the close contact isn’t terrible.” His low voice in your ear makes you shiver.

You grin up at him coyly. “We should do an in-depth pressure point analysis next.”

Max smirks. “Crucial data to collect.”

Eventually, however, even Max’s enthusiasm starts to wane. “I think we have sufficient consumer testing results now,” he decides, pulling you up to sit beside him on the edge of a low platform bed.

You laugh. “That poor salesperson was ready to toss us out an hour ago.”

“Hey, we were conducting necessary R&D!” Max’s grey eyes twinkle. “But I am rather tired now ...”

He lies back, resting his head in your lap. You automatically begin stroking his hair and he sighs, eyes slipping closed. You take the opportunity to admire how sweet he looks, lips slightly parted and lashes fanned on his cheeks. Testing mattresses all afternoon seems to have worn him out.

You lean down to murmur in his ear. “Ready to take this mattress research home to really compare notes?”

One grey eye peeks open. “Mmm, home analysis does sound optimal.” His voice is raspy with fatigue in a way that melts you. “Wake me when it’s time to go?”

You brush a soft kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

He nuzzles into your lap with a contented noise. Watching his breath deepen into sleep, you feel your heart overflow. There are a thousand reasons you adore Max, but these unexpectedly tender moments might top them all.

The salesperson reappears, offering you a pained smile. “So were you able to decide on a mattress today?”

You grin, fingers still carding through Max’s hair. “You know, I think we need to sleep on it a little longer.”

***

“Well, what do you think?” Max gestures with pride around his freshly competed penthouse.

You take it all in — the sleek but cozy furniture, the warm lighting, the pops of color — and smile. “It’s perfect. You have an incredible home now.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, gazing around. “I really couldn’t have done it without you. This place was a disaster before you came along.”

You lean into him happily. It’s been months since you first met Max and began working with him on decorating his new space. It was a battle at times, but you’re immensely proud of the final result.

“I’m honored I could help bring your vision to life,” you say sincerely. Though if you’re honest, the best part of this project was getting to know Max himself. The way his smile makes your heart flutter hasn’t diminished one bit.

Max turns you to face him, his expression soft. “I didn’t just get a beautifully designed home out of this. I got you.”

Your breath catches at the open affection in his eyes. Before you can respond, he dips his head and kisses you tenderly. You melt against him, the feel of his lips erasing any coherent thought.

When he finally draws back, his eyes are darker. “You know, there’s still one part of the place we haven’t officially christened yet.” He cocks his head toward the bedroom.

You bite your lip, pulse already quickening. “Is that so? Well, we should definitely perform a final inspection to confirm everything meets our standards.”

Max grins wolfishly, pulling you toward the bedroom. “Thorough testing is required.”

You laugh as he tugs you down onto the plush king mattress you’d finally agreed on after extensive “research.” The two of you bounce slightly from the momentum, causing you both to dissolve into giggles.

“Well, motion transfer still seems acceptable,” you quip. Max chuckles and silences you with another heated kiss.

You hum approvingly as his hands begin to roam your body. “Mmm, responsiveness is excellent too ...”

Clothes are quickly shed as you reacquaint yourselves with each other’s forms. When you’re finally skin-to-skin, Max sighs in satisfaction.

“I’ve been waiting months to get you in this bed.” His voice is low and gravelly in a way that makes you shiver.

“It was the longest mattress testing phase ever,” you breathe as his lips kiss down your neck.

Max laughs against your shoulder. “Worth it though, right?”

In answer, you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. “Absolutely.”

You take your time exploring each other, hands and mouths worshiping every inch. Until late afternoon sun filters through the curtains, bathing the room in an almost ethereal glow.

When Max finally sinks into you, you moan softly at the exquisite fullness. “Oh yes, this mattress has great ergonomics,” you sigh dreamily.

Max huffs a laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. “I’ll be sure to mention that in my product review.”

You grin and shift your hips experimentally, making him groan. “The responsiveness really is top-notch.”

“We should still test a few more positions though,” Max murmurs. “Just to be thorough.”

You happily comply, indulging in acrobatic mattress testing that leaves you both blissfully satisfied and out of breath. As you lay tangled together afterwards, endorphins still flooding your systems, Max presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Well, I’d say the new bed passes inspection with flying colors,” he declares with sleepy satisfaction.

You laugh and stroke his hair. “Agreed. You chose an excellent mattress.” You snuggle closer. “Though the company in it is what I really enjoy.”

Max tightens his arms around you. “Think you can put up with me and my high-maintenance decor demands a while longer?” His voice holds a vulnerable note beneath the teasing.

Your heart swells and you cup his face. “Max Verstappen, I’ll critique mattresses and furniture with you any day. As long as at the end of it, I get to fall asleep next to you.”

His smile outshines the lowering sun. “Deal.”

***

“You know what I love most about how our place looks now?” Max murmurs, his arms wrapped around you on the couch.

You tear your eyes from the awful reality show you’re watching to glance up at him. “Hmm?”

His gaze sweeps over the living room, a small smile on his lips. “All the little touches that are just so you.”

You follow his look around the penthouse that over the past year has transformed from Max’s bachelor pad to your shared home. It’s still sleek and modern overall, but with warm accents reflecting both your styles.

And yes, you realize, your personal influence shows in the decor now that you live here full time. The mugs hung on hooks in the kitchen, the plush blankets tossed artfully on the chairs, the bowls of sea glass collected from beach walks that adorn the tables.

Your heart swells looking at the traces of yourself woven into Max’s space. “It does feel more like home now, doesn’t it?”

Max nods, dropping a kiss to your hair. “It’s perfect. I love coming back after a race and being surrounded by reminders of you.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace, incredibly touched. “Well, I promise to keep leaving my clutter around to make you feel at home.”

He chuckles. “Please do. It’s my favorite kind of clutter.”

Smiling softly, you think back to when you first started dating Max after working on his penthouse makeover. Who could have guessed that would lead to sharing this life together?

Your gaze lands on a shelf displaying photos of the two of you, and your throat grows tight. There’s you and Max laughing on vacation, kissing right after he won his fourth world championship, curled up with hot chocolate on a ski trip. So many beautiful memories.

“It’s hard to remember what this place even looked like before,” you murmur. And not just the decor — it’s hard to recall your life before Max.

He rubs your shoulder idly, eyes faraway. “I know what you mean. It’s like you’ve always been here.” His voice holds a note of wonder.

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Max’s eyes shine. He bends to kiss you, soft and heartfelt. Your lips curve against his.

When you reluctantly draw back, the television screen catches your eye. You cringe at the fake drama unfolding.

“Ugh, this show is terrible,” you groan. “Can we watch something else?”

Max grins and grabs the remote, flipping through channels. He eventually lands on a home renovation program you both enjoy analyzing and critiquing together. Some things never change.

You settle in eagerly as the show starts, scrutinizing the design choices. Max wraps an arm around you, idly playing with your hair as you watch.

Despite the show’s flaws, being curled up with Max like this fills you with utter contentment. You can’t imagine anything better than coming home to his smile and laugh each day.

During commercials, you fetch snacks from the kitchen, navigating the space with ease. Max trails behind to steal bites, ever drawn to food.

You swat his hand away from the chocolate you’re preparing and laugh. “Get your paws off, those are for sharing!”

Max just tugs you close and kisses the protest from your lips. You happily let him devour the sweetness from your mouth instead, the chocolate forgotten.

Finally you collapse back on the couch together, munching and critiquing the show’s poor tile work. Max throws popcorn for you to catch, his aim as impressive as his racing lines.

Your eyes droop as the evening wears on. The cozy penthouse, tasty snacks, and Max’s warmth — it’s the perfect recipe for relaxation.

When your head nods against Max’s shoulder for the third time, he chuckles and clicks the tv off. “Alright sleepyhead, time for bed.”

You make a half-hearted noise of protest but let him pull you up. Max keeps an arm securely around you as he leads the way to the bedroom, knowing you’re prone to stumbling when tired. It makes you feel so cared for.

He even helps you change into your nightgown, his hands impossibly gentle. As you finally crawl under the blankets, you let out a massive yawn.

“Night Maxie,” you mumble, already mostly asleep. He gathers you close and presses a kiss to your hair.

“Sweet dreams, liefje.” His voice is impossibly soft. You float away cradled in his warmth and the knowledge you’re home.

The next morning, you wake slowly to sunlight streaming in the windows and the smell of coffee. Stretching languorously, you take a moment just to soak it in.

Muffled sounds drift in from the kitchen signaling Max is already up and at ‘em. You smile sleepily. The man has the energy of a hyper puppy.

Before you can muster the will to leave bed, Max appears holding two mugs. “Morning schatje,” he greets with a smile. “Thought you might need some caffeine.”

You beam and make grabby hands until he passes you a mug. The rich aroma instantly perks you up.

Max slides in next to you, sipping his own coffee. His hair is adorably mussed and you gently smooth it down before cupping his face and bringing him in for a long, thorough good morning kiss.

When you finally separate, Max looks pleasingly dazed. “Well, that’s certainly one way to wake up.”

You grin cheekily and go back to your coffee. Max wraps an arm around you and you lean into his solid warmth, trading occasional lazy kisses between sips.

Sun streams over your entwined forms as you bask in contented silence. Eventually you stretch and make your way to the bathroom to start the day, dropping a kiss to Max’s hair as you pass.

You smile seeing your hairbrush by the sink, pink toothbrush next to Max’s blue one. Such small signs of your merged lives, but they mean the world.

Refreshed, you return to Max sprawled on the bed with his phone. He immediately opens his arms in clear demand for more cuddles. Laughing, you collapse into them happily.

Nuzzling into his chest, you sigh. “I know I was practically unconscious last night, but just wanted to say again how special it is having pieces of us both around the place now.”

Max’s arms tighten around you. “You being here makes it a home, not just an apartment.” His voice catches slightly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze, your own suddenly misty. No words can encapsulate what it means to build a life and home with this incredible man.

So you tell him silently instead, with a kiss overflowing with love and promise: I’ll stay by your side as long as I’m welcome.

Judging by Max’s arm anchoring you fiercely to him, that will be a good long while. You melt into his embrace, spirits soaring.

No fancy penthouse or perfect decor could compare to what you’ve found with Max — a home rooted in love, laughter, and devotion.

One look at his tender smile and you know he feels it too. This is everything.

So you’ll happily leave your mugs around the sink and blankets on the chairs, weaving threads of yourself into his space. With each passing day, it matters less whose belongings lie where.

Because home isn’t things — it’s the man gazing at you like you’re his whole world. And you know as long as you’re together, any place will feel just right.

[luxuryghouls]

praying for you hoes taste in music

[fleur-bbyy]

I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE

playlist

⭒pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem! reader.

⭒wc: 4.8k

⭒warnings: SEX (MINORS DNI), continuation of the porn!au, characters are aged up to 21+, reader is not of a certain skin color, use of names like ‘bunny,’ daddy kink, spanking with belt, live camming, mentions of; onlyfans, pegging, plugs, fingering (f! receiving), cunnilingus, slight breath play, small part of m! receiving oral, degrading, if I forgot anything I will update this later on!

⭒author’s note: y’all the amount of times I had to change the fake usernames to not accidentally tag someone is crazy. will scream, cry, and throw up if I still somehow managed to.

part one.

“you still wanna go through with it?”

“fuck yeah. show that fucker what he’s missing with us.”

it’d been a few months since you and katsuki had professionally filmed together for the first time. watching the opportunity for a decent cash flow get even bigger after more and more sick bastards wanted to see the two of you together. becoming a little more than professional acquaintances as you filmed together more and more.

it felt like the two of you could only keep growing until that douchebag that calls himself a director publicly shit on both of your names. calling the two of you ‘unprofessional’ and a slew of other names, even going as far to say he could’ve ‘done it without the both of you’ whilst he basked in the glory of his first successful porno. your ranks and ratings didn’t drop that much, but it was enough to piss the two of you off.

so now here the pair of you are, about to prove to that dickhead director that you didn’t need him, he needed you.

“it’s just been a while since i’ve cammed live. I feel like i’m back at the beginning again.”

“i bet. we’ve all come a long way though.” he stood up from where he was sat at the laptop perched upon your desk, angled towards the chaise lounge in your room. everything was set and ready with a timer counting down from five minutes. for some reason you were nervous about camming again.

maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t done so in so long.

or maybe it was that you didn’t know what the hulking blond standing over you had in store.

“we still have four and a half minutes left,” he rough hand stroked your soft cheek, “wanna let me get a little taste before you start, bunny?” his free hand cupped your cunt covered with white lace.

“nuh-uh. don’t spoil yourself now or you’ll have nothing left in you in a few.” you pushed him off and walked over to where the laptop was set up to check the countdown once more. making sure to shimmy your hips as you walked to show off your cute ass to him.

he already felt quite feral just looking at you. body clad in skimpy, white lingerie with cute little bunny ears on your head and a cotton tail attached the the back of your thong. the thigh-high socks squeezed the fat of your thighs so perfectly his cock was already straining against his jeans.

“have it your way, princess, but remember who’s in charge today. no shitty scripts to follow, I can do whatever the fuck I want.” you didn’t know whether you should feel more aroused or terrified at the thought. you’ve seen his videos from when he was amateur. unscripted, he was ruthless. fucking whoever was with him in the most insane, body-contorting positions, having them drool all over themselves. you weren’t ashamed to admit that you had touched yourself many times before to the sound of the filth that he spoke into the mic.

“it’s almost time, bunny. c’mere and sit with me.” he beckoned you over to the lounge with a wiggle of his index finger. he was shirtless with his chest lightly oiled. you eyed the way his pecs and stomach glistened under the light every time he shifted. he switched out his jeans and boxers to just a pair of grey sweats with nothing underneath. you loved the way his trail of wispy, blond hairs started just below his naval and disappeared below the waistband.

he had you sitting with your back to his chest. he held you tightly, already copping a feel on your chest. kneading and pinching the fat of your breasts. he had your legs placed over his spread ones, making you completely open for the camera. your little thong barely covered a thing and was getting eaten by your lips. he used his other hand to slide down your body and gently rub your clit over the cloth.

you almost forgot what you were about to be doing until you heard the familiar pinging sound from money being sent in. this little cam show was pretty well advertised on both of your socials and even by some of your friends in the industry, so it was really not surprise that people were already sending tips in. you soon heard bakugo pipe up. his voice moderately loud so the microphone could pick it up.

“awh, bunny, hear all those horny bastards that already are spendin’ shit on you? we’ve barely done anything yet” you quickly nodded your head, wiggling your hips to try and get his hand to move faster.

“where are your fuckin’ manners?” he took the hand that was kneading your tits and brought it up to your neck, fastening his thick fingers around and lightly squeezing. you let out a small ‘thank you’ which you thought wouldn’t be enough. thankfully, bakugo had mercy right now.

he kept toying with your cunt, continuously growing wetter and wetter. your arousal now seeping through your thong and spreading onto your plush thighs. also dripping down onto bakugo, leaving a wet patch on his pants.

“already makin’ such a mess. you want it bad, don’t you?” he lightly slapped your already sensitive clit, sending jolts of electricity down your spine and do your core.

“yes. so bad.” you felt like a virgin that couldn’t make a complete sentence and your cheeks started to burn. it was kind of hard to feel embarrassed when you’re in your industry, but the way he toyed with you flipped a switch inside.

“yes what?” he stopped touching you and roughly pinched your nipples, eliciting and piercing whine from you.

“yes daddy.” his cock twitched beneath you at the sound of your voice.

“good fuckin’ girl. why don’t you turn around and show them the pretty little ass of yours?” he unhooked your legs from his and brought them together so you could stand. you slowly got up, making sure to not lose your footing since your legs already felt like jelly. you heard the pinging start up again when you turned around and bent over slightly, wiggling your hips back and forth causing your ass to shake.

“come sit back down on me. daddy’s gonna play with you too, yeah?” you straddled his still-spread legs and his hands instantly found place on the fat of your ass. kneading, pulling, and squeezing every inch. you could feel his hard-on pressing right against your clit and you dared to start grinding down on him. because of that action, you were met with a harsh slap to your ass.

“who the fuck said you could grind on me? needy fuckin’ slut.” he roughly slapped your ass again and tips started to roll in at the sight of the bright red hand prints now adorning your backside.

“oh fuck, think these bastards are gettin’ off to the sight of you gettin’ punished, huh? who wants to see some more?” he was wearing the charming smirk on his face as he soothed the burning, red spots with his hands. rubbing circles on you and tilting his head to kiss and nip at your neck. the pinging sound that rolled in again signified that people did want to see more.

“alright, little bunny, all fours f’me.” you rolled off of him as he stood up, the obvious tent in his pants making your mouth water. he sauntered his way behind the lounge as you got in position. you could see out of the corner of your eye that he had picked up the belt he was wearing half an hour ago, striking the sides of the belt together to make a loud slapping sound as he approached you once more.

you felt his hands run over the spot where your lower back curved as the fabric of the lounge dipped down behind you. he caressed your smooth skin for a few moments more before he spoke up again.

“you’re gonna take ten of these yeah?” he leaned down and gripped the sides of your chin, turning your head to look towards him and the camera. “and you’re gonna count, lose your place and we start over. don’t fuck up and you get a reward. got that?” you furiously nodded your head and he cocked a warning brow at you. he let go of the death grip he had on your chin and lightly patted your cheek two or three times. you heard the leather of his belt slap against itself one more time before it was striking you.

your legs and cunt were both quivering as he delivered each blow to your sensitive skin. every strike was met with more pinging sounds as money was sent you way. your ass was covered in red spots and sore to the touch. he wasn’t entirely a monster, though, rubbing each area he hit with the palm of his hand after you struck you. despite the challenge, you didn’t lose your place and even thanked him afterwards. after the tenth was delivered, he pressed his soft lips to the spots most red and placed feather like kisses on you.

“so good f’me. so fuckin’ good f’me. daddy’ll give you what you want.” and with that he pushed your panties to the side and plunged two of his thick fingers in your wet heat. rapid fire fingering your aching pussy as he used his free hand to continue soothing the hot spots left on your ass from his belt.

the sight of your cute tears leaving mascara tracks down your pretty face in the screen of the laptop was enough to make him want to bust in his pants. the moans and whimpers that left your parted lips sounded so sweet, delicious even. and the feeling of your slick running down his middle and index finger was enough to make him lean down to lick your juices from the source as he replaced his fingers with his long tongue. his fingers found purchase again on your swollen clit, aching to be touched and he tongue-fucked you.

his movements were skillful. rubbing circles on your clit in a way the stimulated your nerves in just the right way. he worked his tongue oh so perfectly inside you, causing you to writhe under he touch. his free hand fisting at the fat of your ass.

he could tell that you were getting close by your moans increasing in volume and the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around his tongue. the pinging sound had slowed, pissing him off a bit.

“you wanna see this slut cum? pay the fuck up. we’re not doin’ this shit for free.” you whined when he pulled away from you, getting whatever the female equivalent of blue balls was. you dropped your top half down to the lounge, just leaving your ass in the air. you wiggled it a bit for the camera and for the blond staring at you through the laptop screen.

“shit, 15,000¥? these motherfuckers really are desperate. 20,000¥ and i’ll make this slutty bunny squirt.” he lightly ghosted his fingers over your pussy before deciding he wanted your panties that were still pushed to the side off. the strength of the explosive blond before you made you gush another bout of wetness as he tore them at the hips and pulled them off. even though you were desperate, you quietly whines at the loss. you really liked this lingerie set.

“oi, heard that shit. quit your bratty bitchin’ or you won’t cum until I do.” at that, he looked to the laptop and saw that someone had sent in the amount he requested and smirked.

“make sure to say ‘thank you.’” he dived back in your pussy, one hand on your clit, two fingers back in your cunt, and using his tongue to drink up any of your dripping slick. it wasn’t long before you felt that familiar pressure in your stomach and your hole started to twitch. shit, you were right there.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck thank you.. fuck.” your speech was slurred and words were jumbled together as he finger-fucked you through your orgasm. he growled at the way your cunt gushed for him and all over him, drinking up as much as he could.

“shit, that’s my good fuckin’ girl. stand up f’me and show them your drenched pussy.” you did as he said, already feeling so fucked out to disobey. he held you by your hips as you stood, steadying your balance. using one of his big hands to spread your cheeks apart to show off your fucked hole, groaning at your reflection in the camera.

“d’you bastards miss when she was a cam slut? because i sure fuckin’ do.” he rubbed the side of your hip and ass as he pressed little kisses to your skin. it wasn’t long before the chat was beginning him to take his dick out and for you to take your bra off.

“awww. they want you to get naked too.” you teased, ruffling his blond hair.

“‘m sure they just want my cock out because that means i’m closer to destroying your insides.” he teased right back at you, softly smacking your backside.

you felt gracious about him giving you a little breather. you loved your work, loved making people feel good, but you hated how everything was go, go, go once the camera started rolling. sometimes having to just stay in bed the next day so the poor spot between your legs could take a break. when you felt ready, you tapped his shoulder and gave him a quick nod when he looked up.

you straddled his lap once more and pawed at his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. you just wanted him to stuff you full and you were willing to act out to get it.

“needy little whore arentcha? not fuckin’ you yet. on your knees.” he patted your face once more and got up with you to get you closer to the camera. only his lower half was in view, but your face and still-covered chest was on full display. you were visibly excited when he tugged his sweatpants down enough to free his rock hard dick. taking it into his hand and pumping it a few times before slapping your cheek with it.

“be a good bunny and open wide f’me.” as soon as you did so, he was shoving his cock in your mouth. fucking your face for true audience you’d garnered. you thought all you’d be getting was a rough face-fucking until he pushed his length all the way in. the tip of your nose was touching his groomed, blond hairs that grew from his pelvis. tears once again started to stream down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe through your nose.

“you want this bitch to breathe? 5,000¥. simple enough? ‘m lowballin’ because the slut seems desperate already.” he punctuated his last few syllables by lightly thrusting back and forth in your mouth. it still wasn’t enough for you to get a deep breath, but enough for you to not pass out.

as he looked at the screen, a specific ping of a donation caught his attention.

105,000¥ - fuck her now.

he pulled out and leaned down to where his face was in view. he gave you a moment to sputter and catch your breath before he was gripping you by the jaw to look at the camera.

“see how much they wanna pay for that sloppy cunt? whad’dya think?”

“mmmm, 20,000¥ more. my pussy’s worth it.”

“you fuckin’ heard her, pay up, bastards. or i’ll just fuck her off camera.” he finished his last word with another slap to your ass. his rough hand still had you by the jaw as he showed off your messy face. makeup smeared and mascara stains running down your hot cheeks. you smiled into the camera when you saw the notification come up that someone had sent the remaining amount of money.

“thank you, baby. bet you wish it was you here and not him. you’d treat me nice, right?” bakugo’s gaze bore into the side of your head as he listened to you flirt with whoever threw money your way. anything word you spoke that sounded remotely suggestive was like a buzzword for more tips to roll in. “mmm you want him to take my bra off? you’d better ask him nicely.”

he fixated his gaze off of you and onto the comments rolling in in the monitor. another 10,000¥ rolling in with the nice request that he strip you some more.

“you bastards are so fuckin’ desperate. bet you’re all touchin’ yourselves right now. waiting for her tits to be out before you bust.” he was standing behind you, unhooking the clasps on your bra and letting it drop to the floor. you were fully exposed for the camera now. the only thing remaining from your costume lingerie were your sheer thigh-highs and the bunny ears atop your head.

he reached around you tweak your hard nipples and play with the fat of your breasts, eliciting little moans from you.

“so fuckin’ pretty. she’s a pretty, pretty girl isn’t she?” his hand traveled down to your pussy and he ran a finger through the slit to assess if he needed to prep you or not. you were practically still dripping from earlier, slick running out of your needy cunt and spreading onto the insides of your thighs.

“time to make their money’s worth, bunny. ride my fuckin’ cock.” he sat back down onto the chaise lounge and beckoned you over with the curl of his index finger. the sight of him comfortably sprawled out with his sweatpants just lazily pulled down enough for his cock to be out made the ache between your legs throb even more.

“d’ya bitches wanna see her ass or tits bounce?” he kept you from sitting, rubbing up and down the side of your hips as his eyes focused in on the chat. responses were mixed with people who wanted to see either. a few comments sprinkled in about yours or his looks.

“looks like they can’t decide, we’ll do both.” he pulled you towards him and you straddled his lap in regular cowgirl. he rubbed the tip of his angry, red cock up and down your soaked slit. the look in his eyes was enough to make you gush another wave of arousal as he slowly eased in you. the stretch of him was welcomed by your warm walls and he bottomed out rather quickly from how horny you were. his tip lightly brushed your cervix, marking you squirm above him. he grabbed your hips and you kept an agonizingly slow pace.

“if you want him to split me open, i’m gonna need a little more from you, babies.” you looked over your shoulder and winked. your reflection in the screen was pretty, beautiful even. one of his hands was lazily placed on your hip and the other placed behind his head. the sight of him slowly disappearing and appearing again was a spectacular sight to see. the way his heavy balls lightly slapped your ass was heavenly and the taut muscles flexed on his spread thighs was probably enough to make someone cream in their pants.

the pinging had begun once again and you increased your pace each time a donation came through. he eventually was gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he began to thrust into you, hard and fast. your moans were already pornographically loud when you were at a slow pace, but now they filled the room with the sound of skin slapping skin.

“shit bunny, this cunt is so fuckin’ good. i can’t wait for you to make a mess on this dick.” you clenched down on him every time he spoke the filth that had gotten you off so many times before. your legs were beginning to tremble and your pussy was twitching in a way that told him you were close, right there even.

“fuck yes. cum on my cock.. ride that shit. show them how much of a dirty fuckin’ slut you are f’me.” his words coupled with his rough thrusts to punctuate the syllables sent you over the edge. your stomach felt white-hot as you creamed on him. he removed the hand from behind his head to spread your pussy lips and watch the glistening arousal flood his dick. the ring of your cum gathered on the base. that and your tits knocking together in his face made him slow himself to keep him from cumming too.

“hope y’got another one in ya. turn the fuck around and sit again.” you quickly got up and whined at the loss. katsuki growled at the sight of your hole already gaping for him.

you let out another whine of pleasure as you sat back on his cock again. your knees and shins were placed on both sides of his thighs and his arms were wrapped around the front of you to play with your tits as he started thrusting again.

he was rougher this time, removing one of his hands from your chest to move back down to your hip to keep you close to him. his feet were firmly planted in the carpet below you to keep up his pace without fault.

“play with your tits, sweets. show them how horny you are for daddy.”

“shit.. i love when daddy fills me up… fuck fuck fuck.” you brought your hands up to your chest to play with yourself and he brought his now-free hand to toy with your swollen clit. you loudly whimpered at the sensitivity when he was touching and fucking you at the same time.

“i feel you clenchin’ my shit. already gonna cum again? you really are a desperate slut for the camera.” he started slamming his hips into yours harder and you began to bounce at a pace that met his thrusts. he felt impossibly deep inside of you as your pussy squelched and gushed around him. he was now focused on your reflection in the screen. his eyes moved back and forth from the monitor to the real you. he loved being able to see your expressions whilst also being able to watch the way your peachy ass rippled and bounce as you met his rough thrusts.

“tell me.. fuck.. tell me how bad you want it.”

“daddy please I want it to badly. I need to cum and I need to be filled with yours.”

“oh, slutty bunny wants me to breed ‘er, that’s it, yeah?” you whimpered and nodded your head as he began to thrust even harder and deeper. hitting that special spot inside you that made your whole body feel like it was on fire. the crescendo of your moans and your pussy once again tightening on him told him you were almost over the edge, he was glad because he didn’t think he’d last much longer with the sight to behold in front of him.

after a few more rough thrusts and his cock dragging against your g-spot, you were once again coating the man in your release. squirting once again as he continued to ride you through your orgasm. your juices slid down his muscular thighs and onto the fabric below the both of you. you heard his growls get louder as he used your body to chase his own high. practically losing himself at the sight the clear liquid spewing from you.

“fuck bunny, y’gonna let me cum in you? fuck i’m gonna fill you up.”

a little ‘please’ was all you could get from your lips as your spent brain wasn’t thinking too clearly. he gripped your sore hips one last good time before he was spilling the contents from his balls into your overused hole.

“‘m cummin’.. fuck baby, god you feel so fuckin’ good when i’m flooding this pussy.” your body shivered as his words and the shallow thrusts he continued to pump into you. you felt impossibly empty when he slowed and lifted you off of him. that feeling soon being subdued by his thick, calloused finger tips collecting the cum that had leaked out and pushing it back into your cunt.

“know you’re fucked out, but bend over ‘n show them how pretty that pussy looks filled with my cum.” although tired, you gladly obeyed his request. standing up on wobbly legs to turn around and bend over like you’d done earlier, holding onto the edge of the lounge for stabilization.

“mmm, bet you guys wish this was yours stuffed in there, yeah?” you giggled and waved your ass back and forth as the pinging increased for a final time. katsuki grabbing your face and showing the audience how debauched and fucked out he had made you. you finished off the stream with a flirty ‘goodbye babies’ and a seductive wink before covering the camera with your hand and ending the stream.

you both watched the screen go black and light up again as the total revenue flashed across the screen. both of your eyes widened as you saw the number. you both expected into six fugures, you didn’t expect to be that well into six figures. it was more money made in a single stream than the two of you would made from a few pornos. the two of you decided the split the money equally as it made the most sense and was only fair.

the screen blackened again, this time the transcript of the comments lit up the screen. you decided to sit and read whilst the blond got up to redress.

“hey kats, they want me to peg you!” you say in front of the laptop, still naked as the day you were born minus the thigh-highs, and read through the comments. a lot of them complimenting the pair of you or offering you guys money for sex. sometimes you came across comments that made you audibly laugh, this being one of those moments.

“fat chance. most that’s been in my ass is a plug.”

“I could change that.” you wiggled a brow at him and he dramatically rolled his eyes. he stood in the corner of your room and you watched him tug a white compression shirt on.

“adventurous thing, arentcha?”

“adventurous is my middle name.”

“yeah, okay dumbass.” it was your turn to rolls your eyes as you went to your twitter to tweet about the success of the stream, definitely showing up the director that dared trash yours and bakugo’s names. after tweeting, you decided to scroll your feed a bit to see if anyone had said anything yet. if the money you guys make didn’t show the success of the stream, the slew of people tweeting about it sure did.

@better-luxe-next-time: made more in one stream with @.officialdynamight than that slimeball has made in his whole career <3

@.officialdynamight: wanna see my POV with @better-luxe-next-time? unlock the videos on my onlyfans @.dynamight.

@.alien.queen.pinky: wettest i’ve ever been from watching a stream. 3some? @better-luxe-next-time @.officialdynamight

@bigredriot: I couldn’t tell who I wanted more 😫

@chargeboltt: she could step on me and i’d say thank you!

@chakoraka i’d kill an elderly woman to be sandwiched between them.

@sticky-sero: not even gay but i’d suck his ween ngl

you smiled at the tweets your fellow stars had posted. it some sick, weird way it warmed your heart that they all had your backs and watched the stream to help you prove a point. you even noticed some of them donating their own money. the smile that grew on your face slowly drooped again once you saw another tweet posted 7 minutes ago from dynamight himself.

@.officialdynamight: 50 retweets and we’ll stream weekly. @better-luxe-next-time

“seriously, katsuki? 50 retweets?”

“i’ll take any excuse to get inside you. got the sweetest cunt i’ve ever fucked.” you took the bunny ears off and slid your stockings off your legs as he handed you his t-shirt. it fell right at your mid-thigh and swallowed your torso whole. “and trust me, i’ve fucked a lot.”

“me too, we’re in the same business, y’know,” you let out a light giggle at his exaggerated eye roll, “but yeah, best dick i’ve ever had.”

“so we can agree, one retweet?”

“sure, kats, one retweet.” his vermillion eyes darkened and his lips contorted into a cheshire cat-like smile as he opened his twitter app and turned the screen to face you. the tweet already have over 100 retweets and it’d only been up for 10 minutes.

“looks like you might wanna start getting comfy with me, bunny.”

part one.

[bbyseok]

this time, i’m thinking about lifeguard!bakugou. i’m pretty sure i’ve also seen a post or two about him, but lemme get my brainrot out cuz he’s driving me insane..

lifeguard bakugou doesn’t give onlookers a show they don’t deserve, but people will take what they can get with his classic black tank tops and those bright red swim trunks that hang loosely on his hips.

and really, he’s only wearing the red trunks to follow the uniform rules and look the part of being an actual lifeguard. he’s taken up the job over the summer for whatever reason.. and everyone eats it up in the end.

whether it’s at the beach or a pool, he’s on one of those tall, white lifeguard chairs designated for people like him on duty obviously. he’s got his legs spread out, his right knee swinging inward every down and then with his form reclined back as he surveys the water and the area.

there are some days he’s got a towel draped over his neck and shoulders for him to wipe his sweat away, or a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose to hide his carmine eyes from the world.

it’s sight to see most definitely. and you can confirm—as you’re one of the many people who come to the water solely to look at him. okay, well- that’s partially true. you come with your friends often to actually enjoy a bit of swimming—so what if you know exactly when bakugou’s shift starts and ends?

anyways, it’s not like you’d actually initiate anything from your attraction. you’ve seen the way he’s already turned down multiple flirting attempts from the more bolder people willing to shoot their shot—it wasn’t pretty.

“i’m the fuckin’ lifeguard who’s supposed to watch your asses and you’re givin’ me a reason to drown you,” he had snapped at some particular person who thought that they had a chance. “scram.”

the lifeguard team only tolerates his blunt behavior because he’s actually pretty damn good at the job when he needs to be, and let’s be honest—he attracts a lot of people.

it’s another day of lounging by the water with your friends, relaxing on one of those typical white beach chaise chairs. you spend your time alternating between chatting and reading a spare book you had brought—paired with sneaking glimpses at bakugou, of course.

but something’s different about today. ‘cause you swear he keeps looking at you too.

you don’t wanna get your hopes up too high; perhaps your daydreaming’s getting a little too out of hand or something, but it’s a little too difficult to ignore his burning stare.

perhaps there’s something on your face? is something wrong with your swimsuit? it’s nothing too raunchy or revealing—it’s something you normally wear for these kinds of outings. or maybe he had heard you say something?

before you know it, his shift is ending soon. it’s actually so bad how you’ve got it memorized. he gets replaced with this redhead that’s definitely way more friendlier than him—kirishima, you think is his name, and you and your friends usually linger around the beginning of his shift before leaving.

“psst,” one of your friends nudges your shoulder, sitting up from the chair. “bakugou’s totally looking at you. like—he’s staring in your direction.”

you blink and sit up as well. okay so, you’re not imagining things. “what-? really?” you don’t dare cast your gaze to the lifeguard, refusing to make eye contact. “but- but why would he?”

“i dunno. maybe he-”

you finally glance over and catch sight of the the blonde heading down from his towering seat, and he tucks his rescue tube under his arm. your eyes follow him and his movements as he walks and—oh shit. he’s walking towards you.

your eyes can’t help but widen as he finally reaches your chair and tilts his head down at you, blazing eyes scrutinizing and narrowed. you’re pretty sure you almost drop your jaw on the floor. he’s even more stunning up close.

“oi,” he says gruffly, glaring down at you in some sort of expectance. “quit your gawking at me. you do that way too fuckin’ much.”

oh god, did he really come over to you just to say that? “oh- oh,” you stammer out, “i’m so sorry- i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i just-” you want to drown out of embarrassment, so it’s a good thing that the water’s right there so you’ll just-

“oh, shut your yappin’,” bakugou dismisses you quickly with a roll of his eyes, and you blink up at him, still a bit embarrassed that he had called you out. there’s a pause that lasts for two seconds before he says, “i’m not gonna be workin’ this shift anymore.”

and now you’re blinking up at him in utter confusion because what? why’s he telling you this? did you make him so uncomfortable to the point that he’s letting you know that he’s altering his work hours? “i don’t understand, i-”

“if you still wanna gawk at me, i’m switching shifts with the dude with the red shitty hair who usually works around this time.” the blonde clears his throat and turns his head away, letting you process his words.

wait. wait. he’s letting you know he’s changing his lifeguard shift with kirishima beforehand because he wants you to. he wants you to be there. he wants to see you there. “o-oh.”

bakugou meets your gaze again. a raspy chuckle falls from his lips then, and you let the image of his small smirk settle into your head as he offers it. “you better be there, pretty.”

(you learn later on that the days he was wearing those tinted sunglasses, he was gawking at you too.)

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Trine

Anselm Vogelweide X Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Trine Masterlist • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: Blue needs to make a deal with Anselm, Anselm has other things on his mind.

Part 2/Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm sorry.

Warnings: overuse of italics, oral sex (m receiving), hand job, Blue kinda going into sub space, I have not proof read this (I’m so sorry I just can’t look at it anymore), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 3793

________________________________

Blue shifts a little nervously in his chair. He wasn’t used to this, being the one that wasn’t in control, wasn’t holding all the cards.

He didn’t like it.

But there wasn’t any way around it. 

Anselm owned the police, owned the government, and if Blue wanted to expand the club and make certain annoyances go away, then he had to get into bed with Anselm. Figuratively, of course. 

Blue hadn’t expected to actually meet with the man in person, surely he was far too busy for that. And while Blue didn’t doubt the personal sway he had in his own fair sized pond, he was aware enough to know Anselm was a big fish in a very big ocean. 

Which was why this meeting, and the suddenness of it, had caught him off guard a little.

“And obviously, that percent of the cut would be very highly in your favour.” Blue stumbled a little over his words, his normal silver tongue rusted over. 

Anselm sat on the opposite side of the desk, his fingers elegantly placed over his chin as he listened. He was, irritatingly, unreadable. Though the smallest smile did pull at the corner of his lips. 

Blue hoped that was a good sign. 

The other thing, person, that was throwing him off his game was you.

When he’d been shown into the impressively large office, more space in this one room than most people had in their whole homes, he had noticed you instantly. Reclining on the red chaise lounge to his left. 

You had given him a small smile and that had been enough to make his throat bob and blood quickly rush downwards. He had shaken his head and tried to ignore you, sneaking small sideways glances every so often. 

Anselm hadn’t introduced you, but he looked at you every now and then. Only moving his eyes in a silent question to which you either nodded or shook your head. 

It was unnerving to say the least. 

Your eyes stayed fixed on Blue, admiring him as if he was a sculpture in a gallery or some sumptuous banquet, not a businessman trying to make a deal.  

Anselm had been staring at him for a good fifty seconds now without speaking, without replying. 

Blue swallowed and risked another small glance at you. 

“And what makes you think that percentage is of interest to me, Mr Jones?” 

Anselm’s voice, low and velvet smooth, cutting through the air like a dagger. 

“I, ah, it’s very generous for you, and,” Blue tried to make sure to choose his words carefully. “And, of course you would be able to have full use of my club and it’s services at any time-”

Anselm chuckled, not unkindly, and leaned back in his seat. “What makes you think I have need of your club's services?” 

“Well,” suddenly his tie felt a little too tight, “there are many things my club has to offer, alcohol, gambling, my girls-”

“Are you implying,” he moved his hand from his face to rest against the desk, “that my wife,” he glances at you, “doesn’t satisfy me?”

You chuckle. 

Blood visibly drains from Blue’s face. “No, I, that’s not,” oh shit, oh fuck, ohshitshitshitshitshit, “I obviously didn’t mean any offense, I,” his wife, his wife, you’re his fucking wife, he’d been sneaking looks at one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the world’s wife. “Of course, meant that you might be needing, wanting to entertain business associates and-”

“Stop teasing him.” You say to Anselm, a wide grin on your face. “Can’t you see the poor thing’s going to pass out from fright?” 

While normally Blue would take a little more than umbrage at being called a ‘poor thing’, in this instance he was very thankful for it. 

Anselm visibly relaxed, holding his hand ups. “I have to apologise for my tendency to wind others up.” 

“It’s no problem,” Blue swallows. “Nothing to apologise for.” 

Anselm smiles. “So, you want my help so that your business can expand, yes?”

Blue nods. 

“What I want to know is, what will you offer me in exchange?” 

Blue pauses, the question throws him for a loop, he’d just spent the better part of the last forty minutes explaining all the things he was offering Anselm. Every single thing that he could possibly think of to make the deal and sweeten it too. 

He gripped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and squeezing to stop the slight shake that threatened to breakthrough. 

“Like I said,” Blue pulls his best customer service smile onto his face, “there are many things this deal has to offer that would benefit you, the cut of profits alone-”

“I’m not interested in money, Blue.” 

Blue frowns, a look of confusion crossing his face. A deep sense of dread begins to build in his stomach, why did Anselm even want this meeting in the first place? Surely he knew what was on the table, he wasn’t an idiot, he-

You place your hands on Blue’s shoulders and he visibly jumps, having not realised or heard you get up and walk behind him. The action brings a smile to your face. 

You lean down ever so slightly, brushing your chest against the back of his neck. “Anselm’s interested in you.”

Blue freezes, his brain going over your words and checking for errors, making sure he really did hear what he thought he had. 

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” You ask, leaning close and whispering against his ear. “My husband being interested in you?” 

Blue shivers as your proximity, the smell of your perfume intoxicating. “I… um, well, I mean…” He swallows, surely you mean as a business partner, yes, of course, that was it. “I’m faltered, I try to run my club to the best of my-”

“No, no, no,” you whisper, biting back a smile and lightly tracing your hands over his shoulders. “Interested in you.”

“Oh…” Blue paused, the smallest flush dusting his cheeks. “I… I imagine it’s not a big deal,  I don’t think, I mean, well, I’ve never…”

“You’ve never… what, Blue?” You whisper, your voice even softer than before as you slowly kiss his neck, just under his ear. 

Blue swallows again, the audible gulp echoing in the silence, his breathing hard. 

You skim your hands along his chest and start to loosen his tie as Anselm watches with interest. 

Blue blinks heavily. “I… what, what are you doing?” He makes no move to halt your actions, if anything he leans slightly into it. 

“Do you want me to stop?” You mutter against his skin, in between kisses.

His dick twitches, growing harder with every brush of your lips. 

His heartbeat echoes in his temples and shakes his head. “No, don’t stop.” His voice sounds wrecked already, weak and wanting. The anxious energy from the meeting, the adrenaline, quickly mixed with arousal. 

“Good.” 

You glance up at your husband, he smiles watching you both with rapt attention, amused at how quickly Blue seems to be falling apart.  

He shifts in his seat, moving back towards you and your mouth and breathing heavily. 

You suck lightly on his pulse point and he lets out a soft moan. He doesn’t notice you continuing to undo his shirt buttons as you scrap your teeth over his skin. 

“Don’t any of your girls take care of you?” Anselm asks, amusement clear in his voice. 

It takes Blue a good few seconds longer than it should for him to register that he’s being spoken to, and then a few more seconds after than to formulate a response. 

“They… ah, they do, they,” he swallows and gasps as you drag your teeth over his skin. “Not like this… never have any of the girls… been like this.” 

There was something about it, something heady and thrilling that made him almost lightheaded. That he wasn’t taking, he was being taken. 

Anselm chuckles softly. 

Blue lets his eyes fall closed as he leans his head back, giving you more access. It was like he could melt away, just let everything go and just be. “It’s…” He swallows again, struggling to even formulate the words in his mind to begin with. “It’s… different.” 

You sink your teeth into his neck, hard enough to bruise, and then suck a love bite against his jugular. 

Blue moans loudly, wantonly and instinctively reaches back with his hand to grab at you, any part of you. He squeezes your leg, a whispered, “please,” falling out of his lips without him even realising. 

“She’s very good with her mouth… and her hands.” Anselm growls, his eyes dark and blown wide with lust. 

You smile against Blue’s skin, biting him harder, the action just on the border of being too much and somehow not enough. 

“Oh, oh god…” Blue mutters, keening into your touch as you slide your hands under his now completely open shirt and across his chest. 

You lightly pinch his right nipple, scratching over it with the tip of your nail and Blue gaps, his breath catching in his throat at the sensation. 

You repeat the action and his hips buck upwards automatically, another soft moan escaping his lips. 

There’s no way he could possibly hide his erection straining against the fabric of his trousers, begging to be let free. 

“You like my wife’s hands and mouth then?” Anselm asks matter of factly, his voice low and rich. 

Blue manages to open his eyes, to focus on something other than you for more than a second, “yes,” he whispers at the exact moment you bite down on his skin again. “Oh god, that, please,” his eyes close, scrunching up tightly as his stomach muscles twitch under your hands. 

He shouldn’t be letting you do this, letting you touch him and tease him and completely wreck him. He’d blush at the thought of someone doing this to him in private, let alone in front of an audience. But all he wants to do, all he can bring himself to do is just lean back into your touches and caresses and let the pleasure grow warm in his belly. 

You sink your left hand lower and lower, grazing along his chest and stomach until the tips of your fingers skim the edge of his trousers. Your touch light and teasing. 

“I, oh please,” he swallows, his throat bobbing under your tongue, “yes, please,” he squeezes your leg, needing something solid to ground himself. “I-”

“That mouth of yours is so pretty.” You mutter into Blue’s ear, your voice soft and sweet. “Why don’t we put it to better use?” 

Blue’s lost for a moment, still mesmerised by your lips on his skin. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, trying to give you better access. 

It’s only when your lips still, your right hand sliding up to his jaw to hold him in place, that slowly your words start to trickle into his brain. 

“I…” He bites his lip, a small frown of confusion blossoming across his face. 

“Come on,” you slowly coax him out of the chair and to his knees as Anselm stands gracefully and walks around his desk to stop directly in front of Blue. 

Blue follows your directions, distracted by the little kisses you plant over his cheek and temple. 

It’s the click of Anselm’s shoes that bring him back to his surroundings. He glances up, catching the other man’s eyes and swallows nervously. His pulse thunders under your hands and lips. 

Anselm looks down at Blue and smiles, admiring how ruined he already looks, his skin flushed, hair unkept and his neck littered with bruises that your lips and teeth left. 

Heat rises to Blue’s face, he’s captivated by Anselm’s gaze, hot and needy, like liquid gold burning into him. It’s almost enough to distract from the sizable and obvious bulge in the older man’s trousers, that is now at perfect eye level with Blue.

A strange mix of panic and anticipation twists in his chest and Blue looks down. Surely, if-

“”Uh, uh, uh,” you tut and tilt Blue’s face back up to Anselm, keeping a firm hold of his jaw while your other hand teases along his trouser’s fly. 

He looks up at Anselm, forced to once again make eye contact. Shame boils along his veins, humiliation at being here, in this position like some common whore and not even trying to fight it. 

The urge to just give in, to revel in it is so strong. He wants to- No, he’s doing this for his club, his staff, his girls, his customers, if this is what it takes to expand then so be it. He’d get into bed with Anselm, literally. 

You press your chest into Blue’s back, forcing him forward ever so slightly as you reach up and leisurely unzip Anselm’s trousers. 

He watches you and Blue, his head tilted to the side as if he was reading some amusing anecdote in the morning paper. 

Painstakingly slowly, you unbuckle his belt and take out his cock. Anselm sighs as your warm hand touches him and finally frees him from the confines of his trousers. 

You run your hand over his length a few times, pumping him up and down and rubbing your thumb over the head in a way you know he likes. 

Blue watches, hypnotised, his dick twitches and aches with every touch he sees you make. He’d never been this close to another man’s… He shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shouldn’t be getting off to this.

You kiss Blue’s neck again, soft and teasing, amused at how enraptured he is with the sight before him. 

A small moan escapes Blue’s lips, it’s quiet, but undeniable. His eyes go wide instantly, and he stiffens as embarrassment overtakes him. 

“Good boy,” you whisper against his ear. “You like it don’t you?” 

Blue stays quiet. 

“Hmmm?” You pinch his chin lightly with your free hand.

And slowly Blue nods.

Anselm gets out a shaky sigh and you grin.

“We’ll make you feel so good, I promise.” You whisper again, though Blue isn’t completely sure who you're talking to. 

You place another kiss against Blue’s neck and slide your hand on his chin down to grip his jaw with just enough pressure to border on painful. 

“Just enjoy it.” You mutter into Blue’s ear and guide him towards Anselm’s weeping cock. 

He lets you move him, your chest still flush against his back, using your weight as an extra guiding movement. 

Blue pauses, faltering for a second as he gets close, nearly able to touch Anselm if he stuck out his tongue. 

It’s obviously what you want him to do, what you both want him to do, but panic still flares in his mind, he’s never, not with a guy. And it’s so big, there no way he’d be able to fit it all in his mouth and-

“Shh, it’s okay,” you soothe as Blue lets out a little nervous whimper. You tap against his lips with your forefinger, pushing down gently so that he slowly parts them. “There we go.” 

Blue breathes out shakily as you press him closer, guiding him forward. How did his girls even do this? Blue tries to recall past memories, maybe if he'd paid closer attention and not been so caught up in the pleasure of their mouths he’d have a little more to fall back on now. Not that he ever realised that he’d need to rely on that information. 

Heat rises to his cheeks as he pauses, letting his mind overfill with racing thoughts. But it doesn’t last long. 

Anselm takes hold of the back of his head as you guide Blue, pulling at his chin as he takes Anselm’s cock into his mouth. 

“Good boy.” You whisper. 

Anselm lets out a sigh as he swallows around him and Blue tries to force his full length into his mouth. He coughs, chokes and splutters and even though Anselm groans he pushes Blue back slightly. 

Blue looks up at him, tears in the corner of his eyes from coughing. There’s a panic there, a fear of being disappointing. He opens his mouth to apologise but Anselm speaks first. 

“Don’t want you to suffocate on it.” The older man teases.

You chuckle. “Good enthusiasm.”

Blue bites his lip and swallows, your praise goes straight to his dick. 

“Let’s try slower, hmm? Don’t take as much. Why don’t you lick it all over?” You run your finger over your husband’s cock, from the base to the tip, showing Blue where to put his tongue. 

He nods, the movement small and almost shy. 

You guide him back to Anselm, pressing lightly on the back of his neck and whispering praises as he darts out his tongue. 

“There you go,” you breathe as Blue licks him slowly, broad flat strokes that run up the length of his cock. 

He flicks his tongue over the head, remembering a blow job he’d received on the couch in his own office and Anselm groans low in his chest. 

The precome is salty, but pleasant and he realises, surprisingly, that he sort of likes it.

“You’re doing so good Blue.” You kiss below his ear, your own voice needy as heat builds between your legs. 

Blue lets out a soft moan at the praise and sucks the tip into his mouth. He slowly bobs his head up and down, eyes closed, trying to get a little deeper, take a little more, each time. 

Anselm’s hand goes back to Blue’s head, pulling lightly at his hair as he guides him. 

“So good Blue, keeping going, that’s it.” You slide your own hands down to Blue’s waist and unbuckle his trousers. 

Blue’s breathing hitches, he almost stops his movements but Anselm gently presses him back down, slowly guiding his cock in and out of his eager mouth. 

You trail the edge of your nails down Blue’s dick teasingly and he twitches against your touch, hard and hot, as he moans around Anselm’s length. 

“You’re doing so good,” you whisper as you take Blue’s cock in your hand and start to pump him in time with the bob’s of his head. “I know he’s big, you’re doing so well.” 

Blue moans again, a strange lightness builds in his chest with every positive word. His jaw aches, salvia is running down his chin and every now and then he takes Anselm just a little too deeply and has to pull back and try again. But it feels so good, so right, to have you both there, touching him and using him, and- oh!

He moans deeply, bucking his hips into your hands as you twist your wrist and start to move faster, changing your teasing strokes into full blown movements. 

He swallows around Anselm, his muffled cries of pleasure vibrating around his dick deliciously.

Anselm groans, thrusting a little harder into Blue’s mouth and growling. 

“Oh, he’s gonna come all down your pretty throat. You gonna be good and swallow all of it aren’t you?” 

Blue lets out a muffled cry, yes, yes he wants that, wants this so badly. 

You stroke him harder, pressing your chest flush against his back and feeling how his thighs shake, his muscles twitch under every movement. 

Pleasure drowns him, overwhelms the pain in his jaw, the ache in his knees. All he can feel is Anselm hot in his mouth and your hand on his dick, pulling him closer and closer and-

Anselm moans loudly, throating his head back, one hand gripping the desk behind him as he thrusts deep. He holds Blue tightly against him as he cums down his throat. 

Blue moans, trying his best to swallow and not choke. It’s easier said than done and some of Anselm’s cum slips past his lips and trails down his chin. 

You take hold of Blue’s neck, pulling him back as Anselm lets go and leans back against his desk, breathing hard. 

“Well done, you did such a good job.” You bite his neck, sucking hard as you hold him against you and pick up your pace. 

Blue cries out, moaning beautifully, as you stroke him faster and faster, his hips shaking, every muscle in his body tense.

“Oh god,” it’s too much, everything’s too much, he’s going to burst and fall apart at the seams and- he sobs as he cums, thrusting up into your hand and spilling himself all over the polished wooden floor. 

It seems to go on and on, the pleasure flaying his every nerve, as he cums harder than he ever has in his whole life. 

He falls back against your chest, boneless, and would have surely ended up in a heap on the floor if you hadn’t been supporting him. He breathes hard, skin flushed and sweaty.

You lightly kiss his temple. 

Blue’s mind is blissfully quiet, so caught up in the afterglow it was impossible to even think. 

Anselm smiles down at him as he tucks himself back into his trousers. He side steps the cum on the floor and leans down, licking his own spend from Blue’s chin before kissing his lips. 

Blue lets out a contented sigh as Anselm’s beard tickles his chin. 

“Such a good boy,” Anselm mutters, his low voice rumbling through Blue. 

“He is, isn’t he?” You smile. 

Both you and Anselm hold Blue for a few minutes, kissing and caressingly gently, whispering soft praises as you massaged his skin. 

You then both helped him to stand and dress as Blue wobbled a little like a baby deer taking his first steps. 

Blue watched you both, a little stunned and still blissed out as you straightened his tie. 

You kiss his left cheek, while Anselm kisses his right. 

“Well, Mr Jones, I’d say that was a very productive meeting. You’ll have my full support.” Anselm smiles and shakes his hand, his tone calm and professional, as if they had just both played a round of golf and not done… that. 

Blue nods, his mind still not caught up with him. 

“My assistant outside will show you out and we’ll be intouch.” Anselm walks Blue to the door, opening it for him and seeing him out. 

Everything still seems a little hazy, dreamlike almost. Blue turns to say something, even though he’s not sure what it is. 

Through the closing gap in the door he sees Anselm kiss you deeply and lead you back to the chaise lounge, pushing you down and hooking your legs over his hips while you hold him tightly. 

For a moment he catches your eyes and you smile, biting your lip. And then the door shuts and you both are gone. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[bbygirlpascal]

Distraction (Pedro Pascal x Fem Reader)

18+ ONLY: Please don't interact with my posts if you are under 18.

This one is kind of short, but I hope you like!

Summary: you and Pedro are at a party and you run into one of your exes.

“I’m gonna head to the men’s room real quick, I’ll be back in a second,” Pedro said as he kissed the top of your head and made his way into the back of the house. It was summer and you were at a party at somebodies house. A friend of a friend of one of Pedro’s friends or something. The place was practically as big as the state so it was easy enough to sit and relax and not have to worry about putting on your best smile and saying hi to everyone.

You laid back in the lounge chair, letting the sun sink into your skin and warm you up.

“Hey, (Y/N),” you turned around, “Long time no see.”

Your breath hitched. You looked up as your ex, from almost 6 months ago now, was standing in front of you with an unsettling smile spread across his face.

“I’m sorry I need to go,” is all you could muster up the courage to say. You made you way out of your chair but were stopped short by a hand gripping your arm.

“I see you have a new boyfriend now huh?” he said, you gulped trying to wriggle your way out of his grip. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“Yeah, I do. Why do you care?” you said to him.

He scoffed, “I just think it’s funny how you told me you weren’t going to date anyone for awhile and now here you are with that old man.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, you tried to wriggle from his grip but he just held on tighter. “It’s been 6 months Tommy. Get the fuck over it and let me go.”

“Nah, I think it’d be funny to have Pedro see how riled up you still get around me. Remember how crazy we were when we were together?” he tantalized you. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind getting to know what you were like back then.”

You felt your cheeks getting red and anger rose through your entire body, it caught you off guard that he was even here. You felt a hand snake around your waist as Pedro cleared his throat.

“Want to let me know what’s going on?” Pedro said with his jaw clenched, eyes burning on Tommy. Tommy looked at him, you could tell he grew a bit more nervous now. But, he was always stubborn, always wanted a rise out of people, so he still didn’t let go of you. “I think you can get your hand off of her now, hm?” Pedro said to him with a slight nod of his head. He finally let go of you as you stormed into the sitting area in the house.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me princessa. What happened?” Pedro asked crouching down so he was face to face with you.

“It’s so fucking stupid, he just always has to ruin everything,” you fumbled with the strap of your bathing suit bottoms. “I was afraid that he would do something to me. He kept making gross comments.”

“Yeah, I heard them. It took all my strength to not bash his fucking head in,” Pedro sighed and clenched his hands into fists. “I’m sorry mi amor. I have an idea on something that’ll take your mind off of this,” he said as he grabbed you by the hand and led you into the bathroom.

He closed the door and laid you down on the small chaise lounge in the middle of the room (yeah, it’s that kind of bathroom). His hands explored your body, caressing each and every part. You laid back admiring him, how attentive he was to you. His eyes looked at you as he lifted your leg up, resting your foot on his shoulder. He kissed the top of your foot and worked his way down your leg, kneading and squeezing your thighs with his hands until he was met with your core. He planted small kisses along your inner thigh before planting one on your pussy. He tugged on the strings of your bikini bottoms and let them loose, ripping them out from underneath you.

Pedro took in his view before he flattened his tongue against your pussy, making you sharply inhale and grip onto his hair. He started working his tongue along your slit, inserting it into your entrance, his nose tickling your clit. You tugged on the strings of your top to rid yourself of the fabric, you tossed it onto the floor alongside your bottoms. Pedro slid his hand up to caress your breast, pinching and squeezing on your already hard nipple. His tongue was swirling on your clit, sucking on it and making you cry out for him.

“I wanna ride you,” you said to him and a devilish smile spread across his face. He laid down on his back as you straddled either side of him. Once his pants were off, his cock was resting on his stomach, hard as ever. You started to grind your pussy along his cock, not entering it into you yet, just rubbing it along your folds. Your wetness against his cock was euphoric, Pedro let out a groan as he brought his hands up and squeezed your tits. You grabbed his cock and lined it up to your entrance and slowly sat on it. The length of his cock already feeling so deep inside of you, it was almost painful. You started to move your hips, rolling them around. He grabbed your waist and watched you intently as you went to work on his cock. Grinding your hips on him, and leaning back on your hands to get more leverage.

He wet his fingers and started circling his thumb on your clit. You let out a loud moan, the feeling of his fingers on your clit and his cock so deep inside of you made you see stars. You started to bounce on his cock, feeling it slam against your walls. You swore you heard a knock on the door, but Pedro didn’t turn to look so you ignored it.

“Ride my dick baby. Yeah just like that,” Pedro said, shifting his attention to your tits. You tilted your head back, the pleasure taking over you. Your moans were loud and obscene but you didn’t care. Pedro sat up and started sucking on your nipples, wrapping his hand around your waist and digging his nails into your back. You felt that familiar feeling in your pussy, as your moans grew even louder. “You gonna cum on my cock princess?” he growled in your ear. He grabbed a hold of your waist and thrusted himself into you even deeper, you gripped onto his shoulders as your climax washed over you. He continued thrusting into you until your orgasm was complete. You climbed off of him and got onto your knees. He finished off in your mouth, his head rolling back as his cum coated your tongue and messily dripped down onto your tits. He put his thumb into your mouth as you swallowed, looking at you like you were his entire fucking world, cause you were.

You both cleaned up and tried to make yourselves look presentable, and not like you had just had sex minutes ago. You both walked out of the bathroom and saw Tommy standing outside, waiting to use the restroom. You could tell by the scowl on his face that he heard everything.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Drunk

Fandom: Castlevania

Characters: Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes/Alucard

Relationships: Adrian x reader

Note: I suck at titles

You walked through the dark hallway in hopes of finding your room. Even after months spent in Castlevania, you still couldn’t navigate through endless corridors even to your own space. You were confident you had walked through this particular hall three times now. Just when you were about to turn left, you heard a faint noise. You keened your ears to decipher the sound and concluded it must be someone's voice. There was only one person other than you who lived in the castle. You pushed the ornate doors to one of the drawing rooms ajar and found Adrian reclining in one of the lounge chairs.

He looked like he was posing for a painting, but then again, he always did. You knew Adrian was something more than a human but these small things which it showed, such as being in a state of constant elegance and poise, no matter the situation, still amazed you. He was lying on the comforter with his torso slightly turned to the back of the chair. One of his legs was stretched over the edge while the other one was bent at the knee. His right arm was hanging off the armrest while the other was holding an empty wineglass precariously perched between elegant fingers. How he didn’t splatter the red liquid on the pristine white shirt, which was unbuttoned to reveal almost the entirety of his chest, was a mystery to you. His head was buried in several pillows and golden tresses fell loosely down the chaise and around his face. He had a faraway look in his eyes and was mumbling something incoherently. When you stepped closer and had a chance to decipher his mumblings, you realized he wasn’t talking to himself, he was singing. Poorly.

“…and the fish’s at the sea…they sway by me…” or whatever gibberish you were able to discern. Probably some tavern song he learned from Trevor. That moment he noticed you standing there, golden eyes squinting at you.

“Oh…hello-” A small hiccup found its way past his lips.

You were trying your best not to laugh but your mouth still twisted into a smile as you watched him cover his mouth in embarrassment.

“Pardon me. I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He sat up, or rather, tried to sit up as he swung his legs over the sofa. You attempted to help him, pressing your arm at his back. “Are you alright?” You tentatively asked him. You didn’t know what his life was like before you came in. He wasn’t willing to share many details about his past, but from the small pieces of information, you concluded he was living a very sad, lonely life. That sometimes resulted in evenings spent drinking away his sorrows.

He shooed your hands away. “Nothing is wrong. I’m a vampire, so I am particularly able to hic keep my countenance in place.”

At that time you were fully grinning at his efforts to remain decent in his drunken stupor. Of course. You thought to yourself while you watched him fix his collar as if to add modesty to the already gaping hole in his shirt. There, you could see the pink sliver of scar that ran across his entire torso, marring the otherwise flawless pale skin. What sort of fierce battle the powerful dhampir face to mark him in such way. Every time you caught sight of that scar, your heart clenched painfully at the thought of Adrian in pain. He snapped you out of your thoughts with his drunken ramblings.

hic “You astound me, did you know that?” He said out of the blue and you were staring at him in surprise. He continued, “You are hic …most incredible person I’ve ever met in my life.” He looked you in the face a desperate look in his eyes as if he needed you to understand his statement more than he needed his next breath. “I mean that I mean it,” he softly whispered. “You are unlike anyone that I’ve ever met in my life, he put his hand on your cheek, studying your features.

“I…expose myself… to you.” You looked at his opened shirt in panic. The last thing you need is to have the dhampir deep in his cups to start undressing in front of you.

Adrian noticed your frightened expression and realized he was misunderstood. With laughter, he added, “no, not like that. I mean emotionally,” he grabbed one of your hands and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. It seems alcohol also made him sentimental. “I bare my soul and you don’t run away. I‘m a vampire lord’s son, THE vampire lord’s son…and you’re not afraid of me…and we can go on walks…and talk…and…and…I’ve just never met anyone like you…” his words dissipated into silence.

hic

Oh, Adrian.

All this time you had no idea he harbored such thoughts in his mind. You had a feeling he was being courteous to you by letting you stay in his castle, but not overly caring for your presence. If you knew what these brief encounters you two shared meant to him…

“I’m rambling a little bit,” Adrian bowed his head in shame and dropped his hand from your cheek to cover his face with it.

“I’m ashamed that you’re seeing me…like this,” he gestured to his disheveled appearance.

You patted his arm with placating smile, “It’s alright Adrian, sometimes we all have our bad days.” Then, you draped one of his arms over your shoulders and took hold of his waist.

Some light stumbling, a few knocked candelabras, and plenty of hauling on your part later, you made it to his bed-chamber. Where was the floating when you need one? You let out a huff as you threw Adrian’s limp body on the bed and almost fell on top of him in the process. The close physical proximity the two of you shared when walking into his room was already enough to paint your cheeks a rosy hue. You threw a blanket over him and prepared to leave when you felt a hand grabbing your wrist. The dhampir was looking soberer now. Still holding your arm, he brought you closer to bed.

He propped himself on his elbows and looked into your eyes with more clarity than before, “I likely won’t remember any of this in the morning…but…,” he paused for a moment as if gathering the courage to finish the sentence.

“I…can I…kiss you? Just one time…”

You were taken aback by his words once more. He practically confessed to you earlier, and the thought of touching those soft, plush lips sounded tempting. You didn’t realize that you’d been inching closer to his face until you felt his wine-laced breath on your lips and by then, you were too lost in his eyes to pull away.

He tasted like the sweetest of vines. Soft and supple, his mouth danced hesitantly over yours. You were sure that no vinery in the world has vine more rare and luxurious than the one you’re tasting on his tongue. You pulled away and whispered to him “goodnight Adrian.”

He mumbled goodnight to you as well and fell asleep mid-sentence.

You chuckled to yourself, caressing his cheek. *Creatures of the night, what symphony they make…*you pondered as you listened to his soft snores.

[swampstew]

Captain_CumShot - Chapter 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Take a seat on the chaise lounge, plug your electronic device in so you can enjoy this multi-chapter, full blown smut story. The Captain is the snack and sadly, I have nothing to offer to soothe the yearning. As always, links to Wattpad and AO3 at the bottom. Enjoy, from your favorite loyal, cabin hoe♥

Summary: You treated yourself to a tier upgrade😘

Minors DNI you will be blocked - for adult audiences only.

Admin: Thanks for upgrading your subscription to Tier III! The Captain will want to thank you personally ~ drop your next available hour slot and we’ll set it up.

You: 10 PM

Admin: Talk to you soon ~

10:00 PM

Captain: Hey doll. I’ve seen your likes and comments around here for a while and I’m chuffed that you finally upgraded. What changed?

You: Truthfully, I challenged myself to save up so I can really treat myself when I felt I needed it. Especially after the last year and four months at work.

Captain:…

Captain: You waited ONE YEAR and FOUR MONTHS before you felt like you needed a break?

Captain: I’m flattered you’ve chosen me as your reward but gat damn girl. You need to treat yourself more often.

Captain: What the hell do you do for a job??

You: I’m an accountant at a small but valued firm, so we’re kind of just always busy! Especially at tax time which is ALMOST over. So I spoiled myself a few days early.

Captain: Congratulations ~ Do you work in a stuffy office with a buncha dorks?

You: Well I wouldn’t say dorks and it’s not a closet! I work in an office building with maybe less than 50 other people. I have a corner office so yay for small wins!

Captain: Aye that’s the least they can do fer’ya!

Captain: Do they make you dress business professional like you’re gonna meet the president every day or is it a normal place that lets you dress like a human being?

You: Haha, nothing so refined. Business casual for the most part, Fridays we can wear jeans, and sometimes during the seasons they’ll do a morale boosting themed clothes week thing.

Captain: 🤔

Captain: Does anyone enjoy that?

You: Some do, some don’t. The bosses buy a big lunch spread though so it’s not all bad.

Captain: Tell me, are the morale boosting bits mandatory?

You: You’re not required to dress up. They don’t technically say you have to be at the luncheon but they do have someone sweep the desks to make sure no one is still working. I think they legitimately think they’re providing a “break” for us but like, a paid lunch hour would be a thousand times better.

Captain: Bet.

Captain: You ever skipped it all together? Just said fuck it and hid on the roof to scroll on your phone and eat lunch?

You: Sometimes my car! We have a secure parking garage and its air conditioned so it’s quiet and not boiling hot.

Captain: Hooray for small victories.

Captain: Have you ever gotten uncomfortably turned on enough that you’ve escaped to your car to get relief?

You: 😳

You: Maybe once or twice. I’m always afraid of getting caught.

Captain: I’d make sure we wouldn’t.

Captain: See I personally fucking hate it when instead of just paying people more, employers make their people do a whole dog and pony show. Leave people alone!

Captain: This is literally a crime.

Captain: If you’d let me, I’d come and save you from those stupid lunches.

You: 🤔

You: I wouldn’t hate that!

You: Not sure you could pull it off though, you would garner a lot of attention just from standing, you’re just that attractive 👉👈🥺

Captain: Relax, I’m nothing if not professional. Want to hear my grand scheme that I cooked up, just now?

You: Oh go right ahead!

Captain: I’d start by doing research into your company and get the lunch reservation details of these luncheons. I would then pose as an employee dropping off the food order/doing set up and while everyone is gathering, I would linger a little, totally incognito, and slip out to find your office if you haven’t already entered the room.

Captain: Should I continue? I’m really proud of this scheme actually.                           

You: Please, I wonder how you plan to get away scot-free and not get me fired!

Captain: You’d not only get fired – you’d get off, repeatedly and it would be a seasonal thing cause I’d never get caught. I think it would be a professional bonus because then you’ll be so satisfied at work, you might even get a promotion or pay raise or some shit😏

You: This I gotta hear

Captain: Where was I?

Captain: Just kidding

Captain: I would then smuggle you to the parking garage under the guise that you’re my ‘job equipment’ or whatever, and then, I’d take you to your car. Ideally, I can convince you to get in the van I rented as part of my infiltration disguise so I can actually sit and stand without breaking my neck. The windows are blacked out, I keep anchors and blocks on the wheels to keep it stable, and then I rock your fucking world.

Captain: Still with me?

You: I am

Captain: You’re probably thinking, ‘but if you’re as beastly as I think you are, won’t I be screaming my brains out?’

You: I was!

Captain: As a professional content creator – amongst other trades – I know a thing or two about sound proofing. There’s always a gag if you’re into that.

You: I could be persuaded…

Captain: I have a lot of things I’d like to persuade you to do in there.

Captain: Do you normally participate in the themed clothes or do you keep it professional?

You: I don’t usually, not really my thing.

Captain: I see.

Captain: Back to my scheme ~

Captain: After I’ve successfully fooled everyone and have you in my clutches, I’d take you to my van where you can have a lunch break actually worth attending.

Captain: I would first take off my disguise and reveal that it was me all along! After you get over your initial surprise, I’d ask you what you’re hungry for.

You: Oh I get options?

Captain: Hell yeah doll. Your choices can range anywhere from a quick snack to a mega meal.

You: Do the options change too?

Captain: I don’t believe in constraints. Unless they’re kink-related.

Captain: I think since you’re the kind of doll that doesn’t splurge too much on ‘erself, I’d start you off with a ‘left no crumbs.’

Captain: What that entails is me, sitting you all pretty like on a seat cushion, starting ngwith something soft and sweet. Kisses up the arm, on the neck, slow, building up anticipation. I’d tease you over your clothes, petting your kitten until I feel your wetness through the fabric.

Captain: Pepper your body with kisses and bites to keep you on edge. When I have you down to just your undergarments, I’d sit you in my lap. Spread your thighs open. Start rubbing your pussy until you’re leaking all over my hand. I’ll let you have a quick orgasm, a small and sweet one. But don’t think we’re done.

Captain: I might take my pants off to feel you a bit better. Push you down on my hard-on as I wrap an arm around your waist to keep you still. I’ll use my free hand to play with your pussy again. Rubbing you, flicking you, lightly smacking you, rubbing your clit, finger fucking you. Rub my big dick against your trembling body to make you even more sensitive.

Captain: Since you only have an hour, I’ll make sure you look presentable before you go back to the office. Where you can spend the rest of the day sitting in the mess I’m going to leave. How does that make you feel?

You: I’m…speechless, in a good way…Shit that’s really hot. It makes me feel devious, a bit dirty, like I really want to do it.

Captain: Damn and I haven’t even finished telling you what’s included in your lunch?

You: 🤐

You: Please forgive me

Captain: I could never stay mad at you doll.

Captain: As I was saying ~

Captain: I can’t let you leave your break without feeling fully satisfied.

Captain: Before you go, I’d spend some time with you against the van wall. If you’re into it, I can use rope to help keep you standing. I encourage it, you’re gonna need it.

You: I’m into it, I’m into it 🤤

Captain: Heh. Freak.

Captain: I’d keep you still and propped up, putting your blouse on, keeping my lipstick stains and bites hidden underneath. I’d pull your panties and bottoms over your ankles, slide your soaked underwear up your thighs…

Captain: And give you dessert.

You: What am I having??!

Captain: Me.

Captain: I’d pull your panties up your thighs but not put them on entirely. Leaving them maybe a few inches from your twitching pussy. Then I’d finally let you see my cock.

Captain: Do you want to touch it?

You: Yesss🥺please let me touch.

Captain: Don’t worry you’ll be feeling it.

Captain: I’ll prod my cock against your clit, slide it up and down your puffy lips, maybe push in a little bit.

Captain: After I get it nice and wet with you, I’d stand in front of you and fuck your body. I won’t go in in, I’ll slide in between your desperate lips, make you clench over my cock with your needy pussy, I’ll hit your delicious ass cheeks, pull back out and rub against your clit until you’re crying.

You: Oh my fucking god.

Captain: I’m not done.

Captain: While I do this, I’ll rub my thumb down on your clit, and I won’t stop until you’ve cum over my cock, frustrated yet relieved.

Captain: But don’t be disappointed just yet because the next part is my favorite part.

Captain: As you’re coming down from your orgasm, I’ll finish myself off. Jerking myself in front of you and finishing right on your cunt.

You: 🥵

Captain: Yeah.

Captain: I’d milk my length to cover you, watching it drip from your vulva and trembling lips down to your underwear and thighs. Whatever falls further down I’d wipe with my thumb and make you lick it off.

Captain: Then I’ll pull your panties up nice and high, make sure they sit on your hips just right, don’t want any of me to spill out. For good measure, I might even rub your underwear against you some just to smear it in you some more.

Captain: I love cum play.

Captain: I’ll pull up your bottoms, wipe your tears, and send you away with a kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass.

Captain: How does that sound doll?

You: I would fucking die!!! I want this so bad fuck why would you DO THAT TO ME?!?🥵🤤 FUCK! You’re so hot, all I want is to touch you and be touched by you😩

Captain: Are you touching yourself?

You: If I said yes?🥺

Captain: I’d say me too. Check out the photo gallery later, you’ll see the load I blew for ya😘

Captain: Glad to add you to my harem of Cabin Hoes. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m gonna grow fond of you.

Captain: G’night doll. Thanks for subscribing😘

<end chat>

Leave a vote/kudos/like to tip OR hit bookmark/add to reading list/reblog to subscribe.

[visionofvoid]

Messy Bed Sheets - PG10 Part Three

Summary: “what really happened in australia?.”

Warnings: sad and moody pierre, sad oc, bestie yuki, reunion!!!

Pairings: pierre gasly x oc

Word count: 1600

PART ONE PART TWO

“I made a mistake.”

Pierre’s voice sounded so frightened over the phone, though Serena assumed that he was still shaken from the crash. He didn’t speak any further, just letting the four words linger in the air. To Serena, it almost sounded as if the crash made him want to continue the arrangement the two had, in total disregard for her feelings for him. As much as she wanted to, she knew she had to be strong and refuse his advances, no matter how much she craved to be wanted and validated. This arrangement should have never left Australian soil. 

“I saw you crash, Pierre.” Serena finally found her words, recalling the crash she watched with her family on the television before he called her. “It was terrifying, are you alright?” She wanted to alleviate from his first initial words, take the attention away from Pierre calling the arrangement off in the first place the night prior. 

“All I could think about was you-”

“Pierre, I’m glad you’re okay. But I really must be going.” Serena really needed to look out for herself, she needed to set boundaries. Again, nothing said for a few seconds so she hung up. She felt heavy with guilt, she felt saddened, she felt like she wanted to get into bed and cry and never see the light of day again. 

Pierre stared at the screen of his phone as the call screen turned into blackness. He never should have let her leave his room that night, he should have really spoken to her about his feelings, made everything clear. But it was obvious to him now that she wanted no part in that, and he wasn’t too sure how to proceed. 

Days turned into weeks, which wasn’t the most unusual thing for the two. Pierre and Serena would usually go a couple of weeks without seeing each other physically, but they used to text every couple of days, check in on one another and see how they were going with either studying and assessments or with training and racing. But there was no contact between the two. Pierre knew how Serena would get with assignments and wanted nothing more than to send words of encouragement, offer to still read some of her papers if she needed a pair of fresh eyes to go over it and Serena wanted nothing more than to just see how Pierre was going, how he felt after the crash. 

The weeks then turned into months and before she knew it Serena was sitting in a gown, a gorgeous dress underneath with a pair of heels she knew she would regret wearing in a few hours and a hideous cap on her head. She was graduating today and was absolutely over the moon. The past few months were incredibly hard. She tried to get over Pierre but it just never seemed to happen, he consumed her every thought. She didn’t know how she managed to but she got there in the end, fuelled all of her emotions into her findings, research and essays. 

Pierre was a wreck for the most part and no one understood why. After his crash, he spent most of his days in the gym, training as hard as he could to ensure a crash couldn’t happen again, going over tens of different tactics at each race, racing as hard as he could. He wasn’t at the best of his game but he was itching to get there. His friendship with Yuki had become strained as he spent every waking hour living and breathing his sport, but it eventually became too much. 

“What really happened in Australia?” Yuki had finally found Pierre alone and unpacking his belongings in the hotel room. They had just arrived in Northamptonshire for the British Grand Prix, a few days before the weekend was scheduled to begin. Pierre looked up, seeing Yuki standing in the doorway waiting for an invitation to come in to which he simply gestured to a chaise lounge. It was time to come clean, it was time to rekindle his friendship with Yuki. 

“I met a girl.” Pierre mumbled, refusing to look at Yuki and instead focused on refolding a shirt of his on the bed. “It was just meant to be a one night stand sort of thing but I still had her number and social media, so we kept in touch.” Yuki said nothing to encourage Pierre to keep talking, which seemed to work. “I’d fly her out, we had an arrangement, we had rules. And I broke one of the rules.”

“What was it? Don’t fall in love?” Yuki jokes, trying to lighten up the conversation slightly but instead whispered a quick apology when he noticed Pierre’s stoic facial expression. 

“I called it off, the night before the race in Spain.”

“The night before the big crash.” Yuki thought out loud, Pierre only nodding in response. 

“I’m sorry, I should have said something but I was afraid, I was nervous and- I don’t know. I’m sorry, Yuki.” Yuki shook his head, a slight smile on his face. At least they were on good terms right now. “I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do anything.” This seemed to bring a curious eyebrow raise on the Japanese racer’s face. 

“Anything?” Yuki questioned, Pierre only nodding in response. “Great, because you’ll have to get dressed in something nice. I have flowers in my room ready for you to take and there’s a car picking you up in an hour.” 

“What? What are you going on about?”

“It’s Serena’s graduation day.” Yuki mentioned it as if it was common knowledge. He chuckled at Pierre’s facial expression so gave a brief explanation. “You always come out with random fun facts to do with history, archeology, you used to smile at your phone when you thought no one was listening, you don’t follow many people on instagram. Serena, an archaeologist to be, lives and studies in Oxford, was in Australia at the same time as you, so it wasn't hard to figure it out.” Pierre was surprised by Yuki’s sleuthing but was rather impressed. “Plus, I got into contact with her brothers. They were quite easy to convince, I could have been anyone! Get dressed, you smell.”

Serena couldn’t see where her family sat but was sure they were all there to support her. She was so nervous, having to walk in heels in front of hundreds of people. She hoped she wouldn’t fall over. Slowly, they were making their way through the names of all the graduates and they were nearing the last names beginning with R. The students were slowly moving up, one by one walking on stage to shake the hands of the headmaster and other notable people and get their piece of paper that was worth more than the car they owned. 

She was next, nervously rocking back and forth on her heels before the student before her had their pictures taken and was off the stage. 

“Serena Riperton. Archaeology and Anthropology.” Serena took a deep breath in, waiting a moment and exhaled before she began walking up the steps to the stage. She wore a bright smile on her face, nodding and shaking the hands of the people on stage before getting to her headmaster. She shook his hand, beaming up at him and then posed for a picture, smiling at the camera with the paper in her hand. The paper she spent three years studying, working, travelling and slaving over. All the sleepless nights she had, all the tears she cried, it all led up to this very moment. She walked off the stage, an applause was all she could hear as she made her way back to her seat. 

Serena sat through the last bunch of people before they all applauded with each other to celebrate their achievements, caps flying in the air and then everyone broke off to find their friends and family. It was mayhem, people posing for pictures, being spun in the air by their partners, cheering with their children. Serena smiled at some of her friends she had in class as she made her way outside, in search of her parents and brothers, and whoever else wished to come. 

“Isn’t he famous? What’s he doing here?”

“He’s French, isn’t he?”

“I didn’t think he had siblings.” 

Serena raised an eyebrow at the conversations she was hearing, pushing through the crowds before being engulfed in hugs. She giggled as she spun around, her brothers squashing her. She couldn’t care about them messing up her hair, about her dress and gown getting wrinkles or how rowdy they were being, she was just grateful they were there, that they were present. 

“I was really hoping you would trip.” Michael, the youngest sibling spoke, looking down at his sister’s heels. 

“Would have been funny for my legacy, I think.” Serena joked back, her mother taking candid shots of her four children. “Hey, where’s dad?” Serena questioned, noticing her father wasn’t with the small group. She felt disappointed for a moment before another bearhug from behind. 

“Was just collecting your graduation present from me, chicken!” Serena rolled her eyes at her father’s use of a pet name. Michael coughed from beside her, giving a playful glare to her father. “Alright, alright. It was Michael and Adrian’s idea but I had to go get him.” Serena was confused now. She never anticipated that she would be getting a gift, nor that two out of three brothers would even have decent ideas for a gift. 

“Him?”

[witchersmistress]

From the Ground Up

Hello my darlings! i have a monster update for ya'll, its mostly going to be Harpers pov as august didnt have much to say.

Triggerwarning: Sex, slight stalking, breaking and entering

Word count: 5.1 K

The last week in August feels like a countdown, the days ticking down to when it’s over between Mr. D and me. We both know everything shifted when I left, and maybe it did again when I came back. I’m more awake now, too awake to be his doll. I try to still my hammering heart when I think about going back to school, but I hold onto the determination, one of the only feelings I can manage.

The day before I plan to return to school, Mr. D is quiet all through dinner and our visit to the garden. He cuts a huge sunflower blossom and lays it on my chest where I’m reclined on the chaise lounge. Then he sits down beside my legs, his back to me. Crickets chirp in the golden field below. The air is heavy and dense, that late August heat that lays thick on the day like a weighted blanket, threatening to smother you even after the sun has sluggishly drifted below the horizon. I pick up the flower, stroking the soft petals between my finger and thumb. “Thank you,” I say. “Is this a sun to brighten my first day of school tomorrow?” “You know why they’re called that?” “Because they look like suns?” “Because they follow the sun,” he says, pointing up at the half dozen tall stalks towering over us. They’re all facing west, where the sun just disappeared. “Every day?” “Every day.” “What if it’s cloudy?” “Even when it’s cloudy, when they can’t see what matters, they never waver in their path.” Is he talking about the Walkers, about revenge? 

He turns to me, pulling his knee up beside me, and watches my face like he expects a response. “Maybe they should,” I say, because I know what revenge does to a family, what it costs those who seek it and those in their path. “Things change.” “At night, at their darkest point, when the sun is furthest from them, they turn back to the east,” he says. “They wait for the sun to come back. They know it will.” I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I search his eyes. He’s not talking about revenge. He’s talking about living again. “Are you my sunflower?” I ask, my words barely more than a whisper. “Or am I yours?” He takes my free hand in his, lacing his elegant fingers through mine. “You’re a sunflower, but you’re not mine,” he says. “I’m not anyone’s sun anymore.” “You could be,” I say, my throat tight. He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “No, Harper. You don’t belong here. You never did. We both know that.” My eyes blur over, and I have to blink a few times. I don’t want to let go of his hand, to leave this cocoon with only brass knuckles for protection. I crave the oblivion, the weightlessness of life in his pristine world. “I can’t thank you enough for… Everything.” “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just promise me one thing.” I tense, ready for the demands. I know what he wants, but I don’t want to be part of that world anymore. I have no fight left, not even for the boys who destroyed me. “I can’t.” He squeezes my hand. “Find your sun, Harper. 

That’s all I want for you.” A tear spills down my cheek, and I reach for his face, my fingers faltering before I make contact. “Can I?” He stiffens, but he doesn’t move. I carefully untie the silk ribbons that hold the silver mask in place and lift it off. My breath catches, but I force myself not to drop my gaze, not to look away. His skin is tight, red, and angry, over half his forehead and down one side of his face, the side with the unseeing eye. His eyebrow and lashes are gone, his eye slightly skewed and smaller than the other. My fingers shake as I reach up and touch the edge of the mark. “Some people like playing with fire,” I whisper, remembering Colt’s words. He doesn’t look at me, but I know it’s over. He wouldn’t have shown me if he thought I’d come back. I should say something, tell him it’s not so bad, but I don’t want to lie to him. “Maybe we all do,” he says quietly. “I’m no use to you anymore,” I whisper. “August doesn’t care about me. I’m dead to him.” “Do you think you could stay one more night?” he asks, the ache of his vulnerability making my chest contract painfully. “Just let me hold you one more time.” I nod, my eyes burning. He slides onto the chaise with me, fitting his body along mine. He doesn’t put the mask back on, and he faces me, but he closes his eyes, as if he can’t bear to see my face now that I’ve seen him. I turn toward him in the chair. I run my fingertips over his unmarked cheek and then his scarred one. 

Finally I lean in and brush my lips over each eyelid. The contrast brings tears back to my lashes. “Thank you for saving my life,” I whisper. The corner of his mouth tugs up the slightest bit. “Ditto.” I let out a quiet laugh through the tears. “I didn’t do anything.” “You never know.” Sometimes you do, though. 

 For months, Mr. D woke me up to fuck every morning. Since returning to him, he hasn’t touched me. Not that way. On the first day I planned to return to Georgia  State, I woke to the sun streaming in the wall of windows. We came down after dark last night, and he lay me in bed between his high thread count sheets. He didn’t take pictures. We didn’t talk. He just turned off the light without replacing his mask. This morning, he’s still asleep, his terrible, scarred face even more heartbreaking in the light of day. I get up and shower, since I didn’t get a chance last night. When I come out of the bathroom, he’s sitting up in bed, his mask over his face again. “One more time, for old time’s sake?” he asks, patting the bed beside him and giving me a tentative smile. It’s different, though. We’re real people now, not marionettes.

 He hasn’t fucked me in weeks, since I told him I wouldn’t be his whore. “Can I get my sponsorship back?” I ask. It’s too late for me anyway. I’m already a whore. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says with a little smile, like he’s thinking about the same thing, like he wants to assure me it’s not a trade for sex. I’ve been considering this since I started making up the work, debating whether I’m strong enough. I’ve finally decided. I’m not strong enough. I’m broken enough. If I could bear the brutality of the Walker twins and their friends for one night when I was whole, I can bear to see them every day now that nothing matters. I might have freaked out when I saw August, but that’s because I loved him once.

 He won’t be at Georgia State, though. If I do this, I will never have to see any of them again in my life when it’s over. If this is what I have to do to leave this place and never look back, start over somewhere far away, where no one knows my name or my body, I will. I once felt a kinship with Mabel Darling, but now I truly understand. Now I know what would make a person change their name and disappear like a ghost, cutting ties with even their family. Some rottenness is too severe to fix, and the only way to live is to cut it all away, like a gangrenous limb. And I’m just numb enough to cut away mine. I climb onto the bed and sit back on my feet. “Take off the mask,” I tell Mr. D. He hesitates, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Then he reaches back and unties it, dropping it onto the nightstand before reaching for me. He pulls me into his lap, then grabs the lube in his top drawer. I caught his wrist. “Do it right,” I say, sliding off him and pulling him back down on the bed. He draws the covers over us and scoots close, until our bare bodies are pressed together. I try not to think about all the things we said to each other in those messages, so many months of messages. It doesn’t seem real that he can be the same person. He’s not what I pictured at all. But maybe no one is. He presses his lips to mine for the first and last time, cupping my cheek in his hand, saying goodbye. The ache in each slow kiss twists tight inside my chest until I’m sure my ribs will crack. He slides his other hand between my thighs and touches me, and when I’m ready, he rolls onto me and pushes inside. “Good girl,” he says, his lips skimming mine. “So fucking good.” I close my eyes. “Mr. D,” I whisper, as if to make it more real. He lets out a little laugh of breath. “You don’t have to call me that when I’m inside you,” he says. “It makes me imagine you’re picturing my dad.” I nod, and he moves slowly on top of me, sliding in and out, watching me like he’s waiting for something. I felt nothing for him all these months, but now I can’t help it. Since seeing August shook me awake, made me feel something again, I’ve been coming back to life despite myself. I wanted to stay numb forever, but every day my mangled soul twitches a bit more than the day before. I look up at Mr. D, and I try to remember what I should feel when a man is inside me, but I can’t. I don’t love him. I know that. All I feel is sadness. 

Tears slid down my cheeks, wetting my hair. “Is it my face?” he murmurs. “I can put the mask back on.” I shake my head, trying to stop the tears, to stop my lip from trembling and my throat from squeezing so painfully tight it brings more tears. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. I shake my head again. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I hold him close and give him what he wants, not sex but closeness, however empty it is. I wish I could fix all the brokenness in him, that he could fix me, and that we could be that for each other. But we’re just not. When he’s done, he showers, and I go to the kitchen and make eggs and toast. Everything in his kitchen is clean and shiny and expensive. No chipped plates or mismatched knives. I think about how angry my mother will be when I tell her I’ve walked away from this. She’ll tell me it’s every girl’s fantasy—every girl like me. That I’ll never do better. And maybe she’s right. Mr. D comes out wearing his mask, charcoal grey dress pants, and a blue button-up shirt that matches his mismatched eyes. We eat in silence, but it’s different, the air heavy instead of relaxed. “I want to go back to Georgia State,” I say.

 He makes a noncommittal sound and forks through his eggs. “Thanks for cooking.” “How old are you?” I ask, pulling back to study him—his sharp chin freshly shaven, his lips that never touched me until today. It’s hard to tell with the mask, but I know he’s younger than I pictured. He’s the furthest thing from a gross old guy jerking off in his trailer and offering me the moon. Or even a gross old rich guy jerking off at his computer while I told him about sucking dick. “27” Damn. He’s only been out of college for a few years. He seems so much older, at least in his mid-thirties. “I’ve caught up on everything I missed last year,” I say, trying to keep the nerves from taking me over at the thought of setting foot in the same school as the football team. “Maybe you can go in and talk to them about my sponsorship?” “That again.” He shakes his head and takes the plates to the sink. “I think I’ve earned it.” “You know I never leave this place,” he says without looking at me, turning on the water to rinse the plates. “You left to get me every time I came over this summer,” I point out, crossing my arms, some little seed of stubbornness sprouting inside me, sinking its roots into the ground. “And when I lived here, I heard you leave at least a dozen times in the evenings.” “I won't get out of my truck.” “I’d rather have that than all the clothes and shoes and jewelry.” He doesn’t say  anything. I want to be angry, but I can’t summon that much emotion. So I turn and go to his room. While he washes up, I get the designer bag he bought to keep my new phone and keys in, and I put on the red-soled shoes he slid on my feet one day. He’s spent so much, I feel guilty asking for more. But that’s the only gift I’ve ever wanted. I didn’t ask for fancy things. I return to the island that separates the kitchen and main room of the loft. “I’m leaving the things you brought me here. I’ll bring back the shoes and clothes I’m wearing.” “I don’t need them,” he says, coming around the end of the island. “I have a phone. I’m not into women’s clothes, and even if I were, I couldn’t wear your size.” “I don’t feel right taking them. You’ve done so much.” “Then let me do this,” he says, his familiar, entitled hands falling to my hips. “Let me at least pretend I did something good for you these last five months.” “Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. I search his eyes, my gaze moving from his blind, unseeing eye to the one that’s so sharp and alive, but just as guarded as the mask makes him.

 Is it unfair to ask for my sponsorship back? He’s done more than buy me things. Things I can never repay him for. But all he’ll remember is that I accused him of treating me like a whore after accepting every gift he gave. I can’t ask for more. He runs his finger down the chain of the necklace, looping it through the bottom, where the ballerina charm hangs. “Don’t take this off, okay? I like knowing that wherever you are, you’re wearing it. That I’m with you.” “I should get to school.” He hands me his truck keys and steps back, his lips tightening. “I’ll be down in a minute.” I watch him disappear into the bedroom, and heaviness settles in my belly. He wouldn’t even fight the Walkers after what they did to him and his family, even when I gave him all the ammunition he needed to take them down. There’s no chance he’s going to fight for me. I’m going to have to remember how to fight for myself. So, I take the keys, ready to face the admin at Georgia State on my own. Taking a deep breath, I pull open the door. Colt Darling is standing on the other side.

“Colt?” I say, as if making sure this is real, that he’s the same person he was before. “Harper?” He looks me up and down the same way. I guess I’m not the same girl he knew, either. My body has changed in ways he can see, but he doesn’t know the rest of me has changed, too. At least, I don’t think he does. “What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing back over my shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Colt asks, his voice sharp. “Why are you dressed like that?” I recover from my surprise quickly. Mr. D is a Darling, and Colt is a Darling, so it’s hardly a shock. Colt, however, seems a bit more shaken. His eyes narrow, and I take in his face. 

I haven’t seen him since last year, when the Walkers beat him almost to death. He looks nearly the same, but everything is just a bit off, which is all the more disconcerting. It’s like looking at a life-sized doll version of Colt. His nose is just a little straighter, his jaw a little squarer, his teeth a little whiter. I’m not sure how to answer him, and before I can even try, he grabs me and drags me back into the apartment. “Preston!” he bellows, his voice booming through the sleek loft. Preston Darling. “Preston,” I whisper to myself, saying his name for the first time, trying it on. It fits. I’m less surprised than I was to find Colt here. I’ve had no indication that they’re still close, the way they were when they ran this town. For all I know, Colt’s the one on the receiving end of the videos, though. In truth, I don’t know much about Mr. D beyond what I can see. I’ve never really tried to figure out who my rescuer is. It didn’t matter. Maybe I always knew, I just didn’t think about it. Or maybe I only knew this morning, when he told me he was nineteen, but I hadn’t had a chance to think about it. I try to fit the name and what I know about it into my conception of Mr. D. I guess I don’t have to call him that anymore, just as he stopped being the Phantom when he became Mr. D. He was I needed him to be each step of the way, until I needed something else. He’s no longer a man behind a mask or a shadow behind a keyboard. Now he’s more real than ever, a man with a scarred face and a name and wounds that aren’t for me to know. The Phantom—Mr. D—Preston—steps out of the bedroom. “This is your girlfriend?” Colt demands, fury snapping his words through the space between them. “This is who you’re moving on with? Are you fucking suicidal?” Preston shrugs and strolls over to lean on the island, seemingly unaffected by Colt’s fury. “Could you really blame me, cuz?” I glance from one of them to the other, sensing the rage shimmering in the air between them like a mirage. 

For the first time in months, my curiosity is piqued. I stopped trying to figure people out, stopped even caring. Nothing mattered. I don’t know if this matters. But I’m interested, if only in a detached way, in where it leads. Colt stands there breathing hard, glaring at his cousin. “I don’t blame you, I blame them,” he says. “I blame them for everything, and you should too. When are you going to stop—this? Whatever this is. Self-destruction, suicidal tendencies, punishing yourself?” When I said he saved me, he said ditto. But I didn’t save him. I endangered him. Preston smirks, stretching out his arm and beginning to slowly roll up one sleeve. I’m captivated by his every movement, his every word. This man came inside me every Tuesday and Thursday night, every Wednesday and Friday morning, for months, and I never gave a single fuck. Now, it’s as if my brain is going into overdrive to compensate. He’s not the same man who sat on the barstools beside me and served me steak and asparagus, the one who dressed and undressed me like a ritual, the one who never took off his mask and was therefore a blank cutout of a person to me. He’s the Phantom, a man with a mask and a safe place for my body to rest while my soul is gone. He’s Mr. D, a man with a keyboard and a sick mind, digging for secrets and hoarding them like a dragon. He’s Preston Darling, a man whose house I destroyed, whose bed I destroyed when August made me cum so hard I drenched the mattress, whose leather jacket I stole.

 He’s alive and utterly fascinating. He has a family. A name. A face. He smirks and rages. Maybe, he even laughs. I want to devour his soul, dissect his brain, and study it under a microscope. “Trust me when I say that fucking Harper is the furthest thing from a punishment,” he says when he’s finished rolling his sleeve with painstaking care. “You know August claimed her,” Colt says, his voice low and fierce. Preston’s tone hardens. “He threw her away.” For a minute, there’s no sound, nothing but the inaudible crackle of tension in the air. “It doesn’t matter,” Colt says. “When they claim someone, it’s forever. There’s no way out.” “He said I was dead to him,” I say. I want to believe August’s done, that he’ll never speak to me again, that he’ll look right through me like I’m a ghost. But after he saw me outside my house, I’m not sure I believe that, no matter how hard I try. He followed me here, which means he wants something. If the torture isn’t over, what then? I’m not a Darling, a girl who can afford to check herself into a swanky resort-style mental facility to hide or blow out of town and legally change her name. 

There’s nowhere to hide for a girl like me. “You think I don’t know how they operate?” Preston asks, ignoring me. Colt glares. “He’ll take more than your eye if he finds out you messed with her.” His eye that never sees. It clicks into place then. It’s not blind. It’s prosthetic. “I didn’t mess with her,” Preston says, jerking his other sleeve straight. “I fucked her. Four times a week for months, and every day before that. I came inside her every delicious little hole, and I fucking loved it. What have you done this summer?” “You know what I did,” Colt growls, his hands balling into fists. Preston starts rolling that sleeve, his movements jerky and sharp now. “You gave them exactly what they wanted. You bent over. You play nice, but for what? They’ll kill us all, anyway.” “Not if you play along.” Preston scoffs. “How many nights did you spend in the hospital, getting how many surgeries, because of those assholes? How much time did you lose? Maybe it would’ve been worth it if you’d been lying there knowing what their girl’s cunt feels like  from the inside, with nothing between you but cum. That they could never undo what you got to do to her.” “You’re going to get yourself killed,” Colt says quietly. “I can’t watch you do this shit anymore.” “And what would you have me do?” Preston asks. “Get on my knees and suck their dicks like you? I’d rather fucking die.” “Those aren’t the only options.” “Aren’t they?” Preston finishes his sleeve and measures that they both stop at the thickest part of his forearm, golden tan with golden hairs glistening on them.

 “You could leave,” Colt says. “No fucking way,” Preston says, yanking the mask off his face and throwing it down on the counter. “This is our town, not theirs. Enough people in this family have run like dogs.” Colt sighs. “How long are you going to hold onto that delusion? Devlin didn’t run, and he’s not coming back to save us all. If he was coming back, he would have done it by now. He’s fucking dead. Accept it.” “Bullshit,” Preston snaps. “No one takes millions of dollars from their trust fund right before they commit suicide.” I perk up automatically because this is something I didn’t know. “He didn’t commit suicide,” Colt says, rubbing his forehead with his thumb, like this conversation gives him a headache. From the weariness in his voice, I get the feeling they’ve had this fight before, so many times they both know all their lines. “It was an accident. A tragic, shitty accident with bad timing. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, no matter how many guys you pay off to keep quiet. 

You’re not letting them live a happy life. You’re wasting our money.” “I didn’t pay them off,” Preston says evenly. “I’m not the only one who thinks they’re alive.” “You control the money,” Colt says. “And enough with the conspiracy theories already. Yeah, out of the hundreds of people in our family, three of you think he’s alive. That doesn’t make it true. That makes y’all delusional.” “He said goodbye to us,” Preston says, looking incredulously at his cousin. “Dolly saw him, goddamn it. How can you honestly believe he’s dead?” “Because it doesn’t fucking matter,” Colt says, throwing up his hands. “Whether he’s dead or not, it doesn’t change anything. He’s not here. We’re here.” “And I’m not leaving,” Preston says. “They may have beaten us, but we’re not dead yet. We can still fight, if you’d stop being such a pussy.” “And you’re planning to fight them… How? By putting trackers on their cars and following them around? Fucking their girlfriends in secret? Or do you have some new plan you think is brilliant, but in the end, will amount to nothing more than a spiteful little prank?” Preston works his jaw back and forth. “I would have fucked their sister, but Devlin took off with her. So that leaves their girlfriends. Isn’t that what they did to us? It’s called revenge, cousin. Look it up sometime.” “Which of the things you’ve done is going to bring our family back?” They glare at each other for a second before Colt answers his own question. “None of them, that’s what. They’re not playing the same game we did, and they never were. It’s over, Preston. Accept that before it costs you your life.” Preston straightens, staring down his cousin until I stand from where I sank onto the arm of the grey sectional. “As enlightening as this has been,” I say. “I have to get to school.” They both ignore me. “If petty-ass revenges are all I get, I’ll fucking take ‘em,” Preston says. “I’ll take everything I can from them at every opportunity, whether they know it or not. I’ll know. And I’ll never stop.”

 I picture him sitting up here on his fancy computer, reading my salacious tales, collecting them into a file he will never use. He has so much on the Walkers, but he can’t do anything with it. He can’t go to the cops because they’re in the Walkers’ pockets. He won’t show his face in town, so he can’t get anyone else to follow or join him. He was never going to help me. He just has to feel like he hasn’t given up. I can respect that. The man’s got his pride, if nothing else. “I really do need to go,” I say again. “Take my truck,” Preston says, barely glancing at me. “Bring it back this time. And don’t leave it running in the garage.” I take the keys and head for the door. Somehow, it still surprises me when he does shit like this, like it’s nothing to let me borrow his fancy truck or pay my rent for six months. The last thing I hear before closing the door is Colt answering something Preston said with, “Fuck you. You don’t get to bring my sister into this. Your sister is still here.” So, I guess it wasn’t all for nothing. I saved Magnolia last spring, even if I couldn’t save myself.

 August’s POV

 I watch her from her windows, the shadow of this broken girl. The girl i loved, the girl I’ll always want, the same girl i let my brothers tear to shreds in that swamp and i just left her there, broken and crying, screaming and begging me to stop them, in truth i wanted to but the monster in me disagreed. He saw her as a plaything to dispose of once he was done.

So why was it that I found myself outside her windows every night watching her shadow and silhouette dance in the light of her home till she had long since fallen asleep after her nightly ritual. Why did I let myself in her home to watch her sleep, her breathing soft and shallow. 

The rational part of me tells me that this is wrong and that I should let her go, but the monster in me is unwilling to do so. He changed his mind after he saw her alive.. She wasnt that fiery version of herself that she used to be but she will be one day, i'll make sure of it.

Stamping the butt of my cigarette into the cold wet earth beneath my polished shoe, I watched her sit on the couch with a book in her hand, and that chubby tiger cat she curled  in her lap. I watched her, reading and scratching the cat's head, resting her head on her hand, she flipped the pages of her book, slowly dozing but waking herself each time. Till the final time when her head dropped, and the book fell from her lap. The cat sprinted away with the thud of the book on the floor. 

With a soft chuckle, I made my way to her front door and opened it slowly. Walking into the living room, to see her sleeping. The cat hissed at me from her spot on the stairs, I growled back and she ran up the stairs. I prowled into the living room watching her chest rise and fall at a steady pace. I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and placed a soft kiss on her temple. She shudders softly, before murmuring in her sleep. “August” I paused and held my breath waiting to see if she would wake and she didn't. Grabbing her ankles I untucked them from underneath her and stretched her out on the couch. Pulling her down gently and placing a pillow behind her head. I picked her book up off the ground and placed it on the coffee table and. I sat across from her and watched her sleep. 

She was so peaceful. Guilt gnawed at my heart, with the thought the only time she has peace now is when she is sleeping. I stood from my spot and ran a knuckle down the side of her face before walking around the house and turning off all the lights except one in the kitchen. I sank back into darkness, hunkering down in my chair. Just waiting and watching for the other monsters that may come next.

[skyliv]

i am BONKERS. WACKY EVEN. this is shorter than my usual works but i did it in the span of maybe less than an hour

like i said in an earlier post. i’m hyped for agatha but liv love never dies, unfortunately. SO HERES ANOTHER ADDITION TO MY FANTASY AU YAYY!

Olivia’s journal was more like a grimoire than anything: thick pages bound with dark leather and worn as if it were dropped into the sea. The seal princess stood over it, hands gently held at its sides. The lab was eerily quiet, morning light bathing the stone floor in all hues of sky blues and sea foam greens.

Slate blue eyes flick over the date, before passing strange scribbles of equations to finally start the novel of an entry. Almost two years ago, when they first properly met.

“The princess came in today,” It started, words written in sharp, heavy strokes indicative of stress. “The king’s court held a meeting regarding her future with the kingdom’s diplomacy, specifically under the case of a suitor. The entire council were dead set on her betrothal. I wasn’t at the court, the poor thing barged into the laboratory, about to crumble into tears.”

Lucielle’s face tenses into a small frown, no matter how much she apologized she felt petrified for acting so childish. She’s about to continue her lamenting, before continuing to read.

“But she was too scared to slam the door, twenty three and more timid than a common beast. ‘They’re trying to sell me!’ She whined, collapsing right into my favorite chaise lounge before rattling on and on about the insufferable men she met. That was the longest I had went standing at the back of that seat and not collapsing into it myself! I never really got to look at her before then, maybe some passing glances. I never truly noticed how fuzzy she looked.”

Lucielle absentmindedly rubbed a hand on the back of her neck, claws dipping through her curls as she felt the soft fur down her spine. The alchemist wasn’t exactly wrong.

“I almost zoned out once she got to listing everything wrong with the princes, until she actually referred to me.”

The princess paused. “‘I’m sorry, I just came in to request a potion’ She was nearly passed out in her dramatic anguish. She said she needed help to ‘calm down.’ I just hate that I couldn’t say no.”

The writing trailed off before a decorated line slices through the page, harboring the start of a strange recipe. A mixture of steeped iris ground with coral, a strange concoction with a result of an almost glittery tea. Of course, Olivia liked to keep her secrets, but stashing spell recipes in a journal was much more underwhelming than a cursed encyclopedia or a sealed away tome. Nonetheless, she kept reading- She wanted to know what Olivia thought.

“She said it was ‘pretty’, she didn’t even pry to see the ingredients, she just sat up in my seat and fixed up her dress. So, I sat at the edge and, to her dismay, tried to talk her through the spell. But she insisted she’d be fine. It worked fast, with her inhuman status she was much more susceptible to the effect of any magic. {To test further.} I had to catch the teacup before her heavy hands dropped it.”

Lucielle clung to every word, seeing this from new eyes, from those white rimmed glasses, was the most interesting thing she’s experienced in weeks. The potion assisted with rest, that’s the description she remembered. It was a common concoction, sold to the most restless humans and the most cunning of stage hypnotists, any form of the liquid would be equally potent.

“I still remember how her eyes fluttered, how the fur at her collar stood on end, even if I was much more worried about saving the cup and saucer at the time. She almost fell limp, I believe I felt my heart stop in that moment, as if I had killed her. But, alas, she just melted into my lounge with a dog-like whine. I couldn’t move, I was so shocked, I think I was scared. Scared that I hurt her, scared of seeing her majesty in an almost drunken stupor from just a few sips. And it was quiet, it was so quiet without her worried ramblings I thought I’d go mad. I just sat, and stared- Not out of some carnal desire like I feared, but rather an odd sense of curiosity. I have no doubt I will never forget this encounter, especially not when I tried to stand. She reached out for me, like a drowning man at sea, her hand weak but still holding all the grace of an angel’s. I was too caught up in my anxious stupor I could barely catch her words. ‘You’re nice.’ That was it. That was all she wanted to tell me before she fell asleep in my lab…”

The last bit of writing on the page is smaller, like it was added as an afterthought, like something Olivia would rather die than forget.

“I draped her sealskin over her as she rested. What is this woman doing to me.”

Lucielle felt her lips part, her mind reeling. She still felt like a burden for that day, but this was a lot, she could never say she read it. She feels hot, embarrassed, terrible that a simple spell had reduced her to a drowsy mess. But her thoughts are cut off by the sound of footsteps outside of the lab, and she decides to make a swift exit for the balcony stairs.

All that she left was the small, flat test of a sand dollar, nestled between the pages.

[periprose]

Florence - Chapter Five

At the dinner party later that evening, Harry makes an interesting job offer that you can't quite refuse, and you and Peter drunkenly deduce what's happened with the New York Fashion Week show and the models that have been antagonizing MJ, while also coming far too close for it to be an accident.

Fluff, further confessions of feelings, plot threads that probably won't be solved until I make a sequel to this fic, lustful moments (grinding)

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The dinner party is kind of wild.

There are hired semi-nude dancers, all glittery and gold, dancing on a small stage set in front of the backyard garden, and there are several chefs preparing every food you could possibly think of- pasta served in your own personal cheese wheel, little hors d'oeuvres, kebabs, sushi, some sort of glass noodle concoction that looks more like clear wires than something you’re supposed to eat- and throughout it all, Harry keeps giving everyone more drinks.

He’s still kind of cold towards Peter- you can tell since he greets you and gives Peter a firm nod instead- and he clearly likes your outfit. A sweetheart neckline, halter-top jumpsuit in a deep teal, that’s backless and has floral detailing and flared pants. 

“Nice jumpsuit, Howlett.” He yells over the din of the music of the band in the background, and you nod, feeling kind of hot with all the people around. “Here’s a whiskey sour, just how you like it.”

“Thanks. How are you?” You yell back, taking the drink, and Harry seems ambivalent until Peter strolls away, admiring the scenery. 

“Better. Still a little wary of how things are going.” Harry looks towards Peter and then back at you. “Sorry you had to get caught up in that- uh, argument- earlier, Lettie.”

“If it makes you feel better, it made me and Peter closer?” You watch Harry snort at that and then grin. “No, I know. Not the point. Just… talk to him when you have time, okay?”

“If he actually wants to talk, then sure.” Harry shrugs, and you wonder what that means, if Peter was the type to ghost him as well. You suppose you have that in common. “Have you changed your mind about the job?”

“Huh?” You think for a moment and then remember Harry’s offer about Oscorp’s position. “Oh god, Harry. I don’t know if I can stomach it.”

“C’mon… you said my dad has a certain reputation.” Harry whispers. “I think if anyone can come up against him, it would be you.”

“But…” You think over Harry’s words, and how they contrast to what he said before. “Come up against him? Like, what, running a coup?”

“Maybe.” Harry is mysteriously ambiguous about the whole thing. “Look, Howlett, I’m only telling you this because I trust you. Dad’s not doing so well anymore, and I know for a fact that he would like you.”

“And I would antagonize him, why?”

“Dad’s kind of an asshole. I want to see him have to think a little- I was thinking about what you were saying before- and I want him to actually be there for the little guy. Do more than be a selfish, opportunistic bastard, before he dies. If he likes you, he’ll listen.” Harry scoffs at that. “I know it’s a lot to ask for, especially because you probably don’t want to risk your career- so I could pull a few strings and give you a job somewhere else if it’s not going well at Oscorp, and you’ll still get to put it on your resume.”

Harry is right. It’s a lot to ask for, and your mind kind of runs over everything he’s saying. A big part of you is rather compelled- you do kind of want to know what it’s like to be a vigilante coder, and you have always, always wanted to make the world a slightly better place than it is- and the other part of you is overwhelmed. 

"Alright, Harry. I’m gonna take a couple days to think it over- and I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.” You wave at him and make your way towards a chaise lounge in the path, and sit down, but as you do, two other people sit next to you.

“You must be Howlett.” A tall Asian woman with sharp eyeliner, extending into a long wing that is far more avant-garde than normal, shakes your hand. “Love how you go by one name, too. I’m Elektra.”

You realize with a bit of lag that this was one of the people MJ told you she was suspicious of. Elektra, Wanda, and Bucky. The last guy doesn’t seem to be anywhere in your sight.

You take a large gulp of your drink for some courage. You nearly cough it back up- Harry has definitely put the strongest whiskey possible in your cup.

“Hi. It’s great to meet you!” You start, and she gives you a smile that doesn’t seem to reach her eyes- you feel unnerved by that, and you can’t really read her. “MJ always said you were gorgeous- she didn’t lie.”

“Did she ever say anything about me?” The other woman huffs. She’s got a vaguely Eastern-European accent that you cannot pin down. “I’m Wanda, by the way.”

Her hair is a dark brown, but other than that- she and Elektra are dressed in matching crimson latex suits, although their cuts are different and well suited to their bodies. They seem to really be on the same wave length.

“Um. I think so?” You shake your head, unsure of how to respond. “She’s always very complementary towards everyone.”

“Even those two idiots over there?” Elektra points to the redhead woman with a bob cut, and another woman with a high ponytail- they’re currently dancing with each other. “Ah, of course MJ likes them. They’re all Dior anyways.”

You don’t know enough about fashion houses to clarify anything so you just stay silent, continuing to sip at your drink. You finally notice that Peter is off to the side, being held hostage by a dark, brunette, scowling man, who’s got a bit of beard and steely blue eyes that easily intimidate him, and you wonder which one of these three is the culprit.

Wanda gives Elektra a stern look. “They’re really not that bad if you get to know them, Elektra. It’s not their fault you always keep to yourself- and Barnes.”

She stands up dramatically as Elektra sputters in place, and because you seem to be the only sympathetic person there, she confides in you.

“Wanda has always been soft. She doesn’t get that me and Barnes- you have to do what you have to do to get ahead, right?” Elektra takes a gulp of her champagne, and you seriously wonder if she’s basically just implicated herself.

She wanders off to dance with a glittery gold woman- you realize with some mild surprise that it’s all body paint, so the dancer is completely naked, and you wonder if all of them are- and Peter and Bucky come your way. Peter has a strained smile- he does not like this guy.

“Howlett. Hey.” Peter sits next to you, but so does Bucky, and you move closer to Peter because apparently Bucky Barnes has no sense of personal space. His hand is skirting where your thigh and hip is, and based on Peter’s grim expression, he hates it. You’re only allowing it because he seems drunk, and you do not want a fight to break out if you tell him no.

“Bucky here was just telling me about the world of modelling.” Peter clarifies, and that’s all it takes for Bucky to start ranting in great detail about how his stupid fucking assistant forgot his custom made hair mousse and how his hair looked flat and not shiny enough during his latest show.

“That sounds horrible.” Peter remarks, half-mockingly, and he takes a sip of his cocktail. Apparently his fifth one of the night, if you’re keeping track of all the different glasses and colors of the drinks that Peter has been holding throughout the last hour. He must be trying to get wasted.

“Yeah, it really, really was. You can’t buy good help these days.” Bucky affirms with not a hint of irony, and the fact that he doesn’t know that you and Peter are in an entirely different tax bracket doesn’t escape you. You literally know people who work for the one percent, CEOs like Norman Osborn, and the poors like you get tossed aside as soon as you’re deemed disposable.

It just reaffirms that you do want to listen to Harry- you could do great things at Oscorp.

Bucky Barnes is abhorrent and you want out of here. You don’t know how MJ puts up with him- but you remember she said she’s only really close with Natalia and Kitty Pryde, so perhaps inviting this guy was just for her networking optics. 

“God, you’re pretty.” Bucky suddenly claims as he turns towards you, getting progressively drunker and obviously not filtering his thoughts, and you can tell this must be a line that he uses on many, many women, just based on the confidence that’s oozing out of him. “If there was a spot available on the Dior lineup, I’d put you on there for sure- well actually, there might be, if you prove you can model. Whaddya say? Wanna head back up to mine?”

You feel Peter’s fist clench and you firmly grasp his wrist before he can stand up and do something stupid, along the lines of the fight at the New York Airport, and Peter’s fist loosens, before he grabs your hand, holding it tightly. Maybe a little possessively.

You ignore thoughts about that being hot. 

“I’m not really interested in being a model right now, but do you have an email or something I could contact if I ever get the urge?” You sweetly tell Bucky, in your most sincere, professional, networking tone, and he seems a little thrown off by that since he was flirting so heavily. He takes a look at you and Peter’s intertwined hands, and how Peter is peering at him from just beyond the glass he keeps sipping, and seems to put something together.

“Uh, yeah. Here-” Bucky reaches for a pen inside his blazer’s pocket and signs your wrist with his email address in a tender motion that you did not ask for. Bucky whispers something into your ear that try as Peter might, sounds entirely unintelligible to him.

“Hey, doll. I know the drill- I’ll be waiting in my room, just come up when you’re free of the ball and chain.” His mouth is practically on your ear as he says this, and your face is burning with a mix of confusion, drunkenness, and annoyance that Peter could ever be a ball and chain.

Finally, Bucky leaves, and you immediately pull Peter closer to you even though he’s right next to you. Things are kind of hazy in your mind right now, but something has clearly been illuminated for you.

“What a fucking pervert that guy was, right?” Peter scoffs, and you giggle. “Who the hell asks a girl to fuck like seconds after meeting? I guess models, but still: ew.”

“Jealous, Peter Parker?” You lean in kind of close, and Peter doesn’t pull away- he likes that your face is practically brushing his own. “I was worried you were going to beat him up, too.”

“As if. He’s still going to be at the wedding.” Peter shrugs, tipping his glass back and finishing off his drink. 

“And that’s the only reason you stopped yourself?” You look at him. “Too bad. I wanted to see some wedding drama.”

“Hey. You know the precedent I set before, Howlett. I’d totally be all dramatic and soap opera-y for you.” Peter grins boyishly, and you feel your heart warm at that. “I just figure after the TSA dude and Harry, it’s probably best to just… think first. Act later. Don’t want to start a bad trend if I’m serious about you. Plus you can handle yourself, it’s just my dumb feelings.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d become mature.” You cross your arms, and Peter lightly punches your side. “Okay, I’m sorry! But you’re right. This whole wedding has too much going on, even without fights. On the bright side, I figured something out.”

Peter is staring up at the night sky, and you shake him by the collar. “Hello? Peter?”

“H-Huh?” He’s kind of lost in this fire that’s in your eyes now. He likes it, to the point where he’s not sure what you’re talking about. When did he get so drunk? His mind isn’t really latching onto anything but your face.

“Okay. I’ll explain upstairs because people could be listening here-” You look from side-to-side and Peter’s only following your gaze because you just seem so striking at this moment. “And because I think something about outside is distracting you.”

“Not true, Howlett. Something right in front of me is distracting.” Peter immediately shoots back at you, and you blink before smiling up at him, shoving his chest lightly. Very gently. Somehow it only brings him closer as he resists your pushing, as if Peter is some kind of immovable object that cannot stay away.

Peter stares at your bare back as you lead him away, into the Villa, upstairs to his bedroom, and he can’t control his indecent thoughts this time. 

/

“Okay- are you listening, Peter?” You start, and he nods, wiggling into the massive pillows that adorn his bed. He turns dramatically and fixes his gaze on you, and your face turns mildly red- you type on the robust laptop that Peter obviously brought for work, still feeling his stare. “Here. We can start tracing back who sent the email that removed MJ from New York Fashion Week- she sent me the original that has an ‘anonymous’ signature.”

“Wait, wait.” Peter suddenly shakes himself a little out of it, feeling considerably less wasted as he focuses on this. “How do you know that it’s Buckboy’s email, for sure?”

“I have an educated guess.” You snort at his portmanteau of fuckboy and Bucky. “Elektra said something about Wanda not understanding how to get ahead, but that Bucky did, and Bucky said that there’s a spot opening up on the Dior model lineup, which is enough evidence for him, right?”

“Oh, and that’s why you got his email.” Peter realizes. “Damn, I’m slow on the uptake. But nice one, Howlett.”

“It’s okay. Drinking and detective work don’t really go hand-in-hand- I’m surprised I figured out this much.” You type in Bucky’s email address: jamesbuchananbarnes@gmail.com. “What are the chances he has some separate hooking-up email address and a professional one?”

“It’s 2023, Howlett. People don’t use email to hook up.” Peter snorts. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I guess this makes it clear that I don’t do hook ups.” You sniff, and Peter immediately takes on a mischievous smile.

“I can change that-” He starts but you immediately smother his face into the pillow. “I’m kidding! Of course an idiot like that would use the same email for everything.”

The software you’re using to trace back the IP address of the initial email is going to take a while. Dior forwarded it from an anonymous source to MJ, and she then forwarded it to you, which means there are like three or four layers of data to scan through and peel back. 

“We got time to kill. What’s up?” You ask, and Peter frowns.

“Don’t you think it’s sad that MJ has to be buddy-buddy with people like this?” He sounds deep in thought. 

“MJ also likes Natalia Romanov and Kitty Pryde… and that Wanda chick doesn’t seem in on this, so maybe it’s not so bad.” You try, and Peter nods. “We all have to deal with people we don’t like.”

“I guess that’s true. But still- sometimes I wish it was as simple as it was back in high school. When it was the four of us. I never realized there would be a time when it wasn’t like that anymore, and now I feel bad that I didn’t treasure it enough.” Peter sounds wistful as he stares up at the deep yellow canopy over your bed. “Isn’t it crazy how everyone’s lives are changing? Big milestones are happening. Gwen and Miles, MJ and Harry, first weddings, then probably career stuff, then houses and babies… I wish I hadn’t been so stupid back then.”

“Huh?” You interrupt Peter’s drunken rambles about the stages of life. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve just bit the bullet and just asked you out. As soon as I had an inkling of a feeling for you.” Peter sounds genuinely distraught now, while you wonder when it all started for him. “I mean, I always thought- you’re my best friend, so it would be wrong- but I really, really think I was repressing my feelings because it feels way clearer in hindsight, y’know? Like I was just too scared. But if I had just figured it out back then, I would’ve had you at my side sooner. Imagine being as stupid as me and spending the last ten years completely oblivious to your own feelings, Howlett.”

“Peter-”

“And another thing!” He gets a sudden burst of energy and sits up next to you, stumbling a little. “I spent all of college missing you. It was bad, Howlett, I don’t think I even properly had a girlfriend. But I didn’t- I couldn’t figure out how to bridge that gap between us when you were drifting away already and it seemed like you didn’t want to be friends anymore, and I pretty much thought that I only missed you as a friend because I wasn’t around you, so I couldn’t figure out that I love you, and holy hell I need you to promise that you won’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” You can’t look at him, because you know that Peter has just laid his bare heart out to you, and he’s said that he loves you, but it’s too much for your little drunk mind to understand. The best you can do is say that you’ll never leave him. 

“Good.” Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He seems to have no qualms about telling the truth like this, even though it’s really all that drunken courage racing around in his bloodstream. “I wish I had said something back then so we would just be together now.”

“Who says we aren’t?” You kid, pointing out the lack of distance between you two. 

“No, not just next to each other like this, like- together together. Like instead of MJ and Harry’s wedding, it would be ours.” Peter falls silent after that, and you take it in, wondering what it would actually be like to be Peter Parker’s wife. 

You know how it would go already. Because you spent a good portion of high school fantasizing about this. Peter and you would probably have a flexible cycle of work being freelance and all, and he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you, and you know he would probably be the type to meal prep a ton and be really type A about what you feed your kids, who would be named Logan JR. and Mayday. Probably. 

You bite back a laugh. “Aw, Peter. It’s okay. Things turn out how they’re supposed to, right? Think about how much we’ll have to look forward to. When we’re not drunk and back home.”

Peter likes the sound of that, and he cutely leans his face into the crook of your neck, his giant mass of hair brushing your cheek and jaw. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. Or that I made you suffer.” Peter whispers, and you’re really only focusing on how his lips are brushing against the tender skin around your collarbone. 

“Yes, Peter, you were the bane of my existence.” You say drily, ignoring the flush of heat spreading from your neck through your body, and Peter’s laptop suddenly pings back some results. “But it’s okay. I’m cool with it now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it built character for me.”

“Okay. Okay. Cool.” Peter looks up, leaning his head against your shoulder, and his arm snakes around your waist. 

“Okay… the IP address isn’t encrypted anymore, and… the email is Bucky’s.” You look at Peter in mild surprise. “Why do you think he got MJ booted off the show?” 

“Obviously so he could be in it instead, right?” Peter thinks it over for a moment. “No, that doesn’t make sense- why would a male model fill in for MJ?” 

“You’re right, that doesn’t make sense.” You bite your lip, and click an attached file on the original email, trying to find out more. “Wait, remember how the email said that MJ was fraudulently using model-in-training funds?”

“Yeah. Definitely not true.” Peter shakes his head. “MJ never even brought up Harry in any of her recorded interviews, her auditions, or any of her actual files when I looked, so there’s nothing fraudulent about it.”

“Oh my god, Peter- look at this.” You turn the laptop screen closer to him. “This is clearly an edited, drawn over PDF file- the numbers don’t actually match the line of the rest of the words. This can’t be MJ’s balance sheet, can it?”

“Only one way to find out.” Peter takes the laptop from you, and with a bit of tech wizardry- he believes he’s undid the edits. “Ahhhh, Howlett. You little genius. No wonder MJ didn’t pick up on this- the fake numbers on that sheet must’ve matched her bank account.”

When you search for the original bank account number, just using your own bank app to make a fake e-transfer, the name attached to it is Elektra’s.

“Wait, so Elektra was the one who was using Dior’s funds?” You look at Peter, totally confused, and it suddenly seems to dawn on him. 

“Ye-e-es…Elektra is that tall Asian chick, right?” Peter scratches his face, and pulls up a video of one of MJ’s early model-in-training videos. “That’s her? Behind MJ?”

“Yup.” You nod. “I guess she and Bucky were working together on this… or maybe she was the mastermind who wanted to take MJ’s spot.”

“Well, she’s not in any of the later videos…” Peter examines the unedited PDF again, and makes a guess. “Is it a stretch to say she was using Dior’s funds and got kicked out for fraud? Hopefully unceremoniously? Probably trying to frame MJ?”

“I would assume that’s the case.” You agree. “But this doesn’t make sense, Peter. Why would Dior believe her?”

There’s a beat of silence, as you peer at the screen, and suddenly you come to an understanding.

“Oh my god. Peter!” You leap onto his lap, too elated and not sober enough to stop yourself, and he immediately catches you, his hands wrapping around your waist to steady you as you eagerly wrap your arms around his neck. He adores the sensation of the bare skin of your back against his palms, but you don’t seem to notice his touch. “Don’t you get it, dummy? None of this is real!”

Peter takes a second, because he’s hyper focused on your presence on his lap, and he’s still just drunk enough to not be able to stop pulling you close, even if you’re looking at him insistently to understand the situation. 

Peter is still pretty smart, though, and he figures it out.

“Oh. This isn’t really Dior’s email at all.” He genuinely looks shocked as he reads the email address over your shoulder- diorNYFW@gmail.com. It’s definitely not official, but he can’t blame MJ for not checking the email address when she’s been so busy with the wedding. It’s clearly the fault of those two master manipulators who hardly deserve to be at this event.

“A dummy account- probably to make it seem official? So MJ’s… still in the show.”

As Peter revels in this knowledge, you nod, coming even closer to him as you want to explain more and more, and he can’t stop you. “I’m going to say Bucky had something to do with Elektra’s connections in the industry because apparently he’s been there a lot longer, so they just took their story and made it seem plausible that MJ had done the same thing, maybe they thought she just wouldn’t fight it?-”

You suddenly shudder to a stop, because Peter’s hands are roaming, and he’s snickering at your reaction. “What’s wrong, Howlett?”

“I- Uh-” You feel Peter’s forehead brush your own, and his mouth is hovering over yours. Hot breath is making it difficult to not just lean in and kiss him, and you’re not sure how long you stay like this, with your eyes closed, half drunk on alcohol and emotions, your nose brushing his. You feel something hard between Peter’s legs, and he lazily- but with some aggression- splits your thighs more open so you’re right on top of it. He groans in satisfaction, and you so want to do this, you just don’t want it to be during this drunken time where you can’t remember it later and when you have extremely vital information to share to MJ that could really make or break her life, depending.

“We should tell MJ. C’mon, let’s go back outside.” You pull away from him, regrettably, and get off his lap. 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Okay, tease. We’re gonna have to wait for the flag to go down from full mast.”

You bury your face in your hands and Peter laughs, and then kisses your cheek.

[iwaoiness]

Where he belongs

One of the things Iwaizumi loves most is hugging Oikawa. He likes how Tooru's body fits so well in his arms, how their hands find their place, how their hearts beat over each other, how his bangs tickle him, how Tooru's voice sounds softer and shy and sweet near his ear. And he also likes the way Oikawa hugs him back, how he wraps his arms around him and pulls him close against his body and snuggles in like a kitten.

Hugging Oikawa is synonymous for home and security and love. It's something that brings Iwaizumi calm when his nerves are eating him up inside, that relieves his stress when the day has been a real shit, that fills him with tenderness when he wants cuddles, that recharges him completely when he come home exhausted, like now.

"I'm home" He mutters as he walks through the door, locking it with the heel of his foot as he drops the keys on the front cabinet.

"Welcome home, Iwa-chan!" He hears his reply from the living room and smiles despite the tiredness building up in his eyelids.

He changes his shoes at the genkan, leaves his backpack on the step and walks into their home. He finds Oikawa stretched out on the couch's chaise lounge, with his Mac balanced on his thighs, wearing his ridiculous neon yellow socks with UFO prints and a frog headband tucking his bangs back. His big round eyes sparkle behind the crystals of his glasses when sees Iwaizumi and he gives him a wide, toothy smile, closing the laptop before leaving it on the decorative little table next to the sofa.

"Your dark circles under your eyes are worse, Iwa-chan. You really don't want to try the caffeinated eye contour I bought? This is the last chance the great Oikawa-san gives you." He says with amusement, opening his arms to invite Iwa-chan into a recharging hug.

"I’m honoured by the privilege you grant me, great Oikawa-san" Hajime plays along, shuffling his feet to the couch, "but no thanks, I have my own method" and with a final smile, he plops down on Oikawa unceremoniously, delighting when the other squeals and protests with a you're so brute, Hajime!

But Tooru's arms soon wrap around him in a hug that smells like grapefruit. Hajime wraps his arms around his torso in return, and he feels himself breathing for the first time since he began his 48-hour ward at the hospital, his body immediately melting and cuddling into the warm, old sweatshirt Oikawa is wearing (which was actually Iwaizumi’s and miraculously retains the Godzilla silhouette print in the top corner).

"How was your shift? Did you get any sleep this time?" Tooru's voice sounds soft and delicate, one of his hands settles on Iwaizumi’s hair and begins to stroke it tenderly.

"Mmh" He hums in response, closing his eyes.

"Is that a yes or no, Hajime?" his laughter reverberates against his ear and he smiles lazily.

"Mmh" He repeats, just to tease. "I missed you" He adds, low, just because he wants to.

"If hospital shifts make you more affectionate, you can work every night" Tooru jokes, a shy tinge coating his voice, and Iwaizumi snorts with fun, enjoying Oikawa's fast heartbeat.

"Are you sure? Because I remember on my first guard you missed me so much too that you came with the excuse of giving me dinner."

"How ungrateful, Iwa-chan, I really did bring you dinner!"

"It was five o'clock in the morning."

"I brought you breakfast!" He corrects with a pout in his voice and Iwaizumi continues to tease him just a little bit more, with Oikawa's hand still stroking his hair with parsimony and affection and their legs entangled on the couch.

Here, Hajime thinks, levitating between sleep and consciousness, warm against the body of the person he loves most in the world, here is where I want to be.

...

u can find this and other fics on my ao3 🌻

[pickalilywrites]

Petra shopping for her wedding dress! Her mom is dead so maybe some of her friends go with her? <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

a love like this

Rivetra. Canon Divergence. 2265 words. Read on Ao3!

Petra isn’t used to wearing gowns. Wedding gowns are no exception. The light, silky fabric feels foreign on her skin. The last time she had worn a dress of any sort was when she was a child, and even then, her dress was made from thick, sturdy cotton. As an adult, she opts for trousers and a simple blouse. It doesn’t differ very much from her typical military uniform. It isn’t very pretty, but becoming a soldier had given her a preference for clothing that was easy to move around in over clothes that made her look more feminine. She stands in front of the mirror of the dressing room now, turning this way and that to see the way skirt swirls around her, and she finds she doesn’t hate it, but she’s not sure how the dress looks on her either. She doesn’t remember the last time she had thought about the way she looked.  

She looks down at her gown and smooths the silk fabric beneath her fingers. The silk is cool against her skin. The dress has been cut and sewn to accentuate her waist, and the ivory skirt falls and pools around her feet. The train stretches behind her, and she must pull it along every time she takes a step. It’s probably not extravagant compared to the gowns that the nobility wears, but it’s far more extravagant than anything she’s ever worn. Hesitantly, she takes a step outside of the dressing room and tries not to flush with embarrassment when her friends begin to whoop and cheer at the sight of her.  

“Step out further, Petra! Let’s see how beautiful you look!” Hanji calls. Their loud voice carries easily in the small bridal shop. It makes Petra even more self conscious when she notices a young bride and her mother look over in curiosity. 

“I’m not sure this is the one for me,” Petra mumbles. She has the urge to run back into the dressing room and tear the wedding dress off, but she forces herself to step out in front of her friends anyway. She does want to look nice for her wedding even if it means having to try out a dozen gowns to find the perfect one. She splays out her hands half-heartedly and does a little twirl before facing her friends once more. “It is … shiny?”  

Rico stands up and walks up to take a better look. She strokes her chin as she looks Petra up and down, taking in every detail of the gown. “I like the pearl buttons on the back. It’s a very pretty detail, and the collar isn’t that bad.”  

“But is it good?” Petra asks with a frown. 

“It’s okay,” Anka says. She has also got up from her seat to take a closer look at the gown Petra has on. She has the same scrutinizing look that Rico has on her face. Her brows are furrowed as she tries to find the right words. Her hand waves about, but Petra isn’t sure what exactly Anka is gesturing about. “I’m not sure how I feel about the skirt. It’s pretty, but it sort of just falls from the waist. It doesn’t give you very much shape, and you have such a good figure.”  

“I suppose you’re right,” Petra sighs. She takes the skirt and flaps it about helplessly. She hopes she doesn’t have to try on too many dresses. She’s tired after putting on this one, and this is one of the simpler gowns. Other gowns are far more involved with all the lace and buttons.  

“I think you look divine, Petra,” Hanji hums. They’re the only one still seated, sprawling on the chaise lounge now that there’s more room. They give Petra a huge grin. “Of course, I would say that even if you came out in a potato sack. Don’t worry too much, Pet. You’ll be gorgeous in whatever gown you end up choosing.”  

“Thanks,” Petra sighs. She's not sure if those words are helpful or not.  

Her friends have found this dress underwhelming, and Petra isn’t too fond of how it looks on her either, so she changes into a different gown. It’s a dress that Anka and Rico had picked out for her. The dress is a bit more snug around the waist, but she’s able to squeeze in.  

The skirt isn’t nearly as long as the last one. It only falls to her ankles, but Petra feels far more comfortable wearing a short skirt without a long, trailing train. The material is even lighter than the silk dress, a weightless chiffon. When she twirls, the skirt seems to float around her. She’s a little more confident walking out of the dressing room this time around, although her friends’ expressions say they aren’t completely satisfied.  

“What’s wrong with this one?” Petra asks. She’s not used to the way the sleeves puff out and end in the middle of her forearm. It seems like such an awkward length for sleeves, but it didn’t look bad when she had seen herself in the mirror.  

“The skirt is nice,” Anka murmurs. She waves a finger around and Petra twirls. Anka nods her head, satisfied, but her mouth is still set in a frown. “Something’s not quite right, though.”  

Rico nods in agreement. She walks over to Petra and runs her hands over Petra’s shoulders. She frowns when she feels the shoulder pads underneath. Petra hadn’t quite noticed them. They weren’t as pronounced as they sometimes are in other dresses she’s seen. Rico’s eyes settle on the collar of the dress, a high neckline that the other dress lacked, and frowns. “It’s a little matronly, don’t you think?”  

Petra’s not sure about matronly, but it is uncomfortable. She frowns as she tugs at the collar around her neck. Even with the light material, the collar feels restrictive. “It’s not my favorite.”  

“You’ll find your dress soon enough, Pet,” Hanji says, not at all discouraged. They don’t offer much in the way of critique, but their cheerful presence is comforting in the bridal boutique. “It would be absolutely criminal if they didn’t make something just for you.”  

“Thanks,” Petra murmurs, although she would settle for having a dress that was just fine and not perfectly tailored for her. 

Petra tries on dozens of other dresses, although it feels like hundreds to her. Had it not been for her friends, she probably would have picked any old dress and regretted it the day of her wedding. Rico and Anka have perceptive eyes and are able to pick out any details that Petra might not have noticed by herself: odd bunching of the skirt, the length of the skirt, the hem of the sleeves. She’s not usually self-conscious, but somehow everything surrounding the wedding has been making her second guess herself or impulsively picking the first thing that shows up in front of her if only to get it over with.  

Petra sighs and smiles tiredly at the mirror. This dress looks flattering on her, she thinks as she twirls around and watches the skirt flutter around her. It’s simpler than some of the other gowns she’s tried on but not so plain that Anka would disapprove. It has a lace shawl for a collar that hangs off her shoulders and dips below her clavicle with a higher shear collar underneath. The sleeves are sheer as well and have long lace cuffs that trail beneath her fingertips. The bodice is sewn to fit tightly against her waist, accentuating her waistline. Attached to the skirt is a bustle that trails behind her and leaves a modest train. Hesitantly, she steps out from beneath the curtain to present this new dress to her friends.  

When Hanji sees Petra step out, the grin on their face grows even wider. They lean forward, their elbows resting on their knees. “Petra, I think you’ve found the one,” they announce.  

“Do you really think so?” Petra asks. She spins in a circle, feeling quite pleased with herself. When she stops, she looks over at Anka and Rico who have been harsher critics about all the dresses Petra has worn before, but their expressions are different now. Anka has a content expression on her face, but Rico is a little more difficult to read.  

“This design is simple, but the lace does elevate it into something more elegant,” Rico murmurs as she continues to examine the dress. She picks up the chiffon train and fluffs it out, an approving hum from her lips as the train floats to the ground.  

Anka leans over and picks up the edge of Petra’s sleeve, rubbing the lace between her fingers as she scrutinizes the pattern. “This floral lacing is darling on this dress and on you especially, Petra,” she says as Hanji nods in agreement from the couch.  

“Pretty buttons, too,” Rico says. She runs a finger across the face of a button on the back of the dress and Petra yelps. “Very simple cloth buttons, so they won’t get caught up on anything when you’re getting dressed and undressed.”  

“Won’t Levi be happy to hear that?” Hanji asks teasingly, and Petra can feel her cheeks begin to burn. Hanji stands up from the couch, their hands clasped together excitedly. “We’ll pay for it, of course. Don’t let us hear a word of you paying for it yourself, Petra.”  

“I set aside money for it, though,” Petra says, although she doesn’t try to fight Hanji too much on it. She’s never been able to win against Hanji whenever the scientist so stubbornly set their mind on something. Maybe she can put the money towards an extra dessert item for the reception dinner.  

She can hear her friends gushing about the dress even as she undresses in the dressing room. It brings a smile to her lips when she hears them talk excitedly about her wedding. She’s spoken about the wedding with Levi too, but it’s different being able to share this kind of news with her friends. As she leaves the bridal boutique with her friends, she thanks the shopkeepers for keeping the dress for her until the day of the wedding and repeatedly tells them how pleased she is with the dress that was selected.  

Petra leaves the bridal shop feeling a lot lighter than she felt walking in. She thought that she would feel awful after purchasing her dress, a nagging feeling eating away at the back of her mind telling her the dress she chose was too ornate, too old-fashioned, too gaudy. Strangely, she has no qualms at all about her final choice. Having her friends present to give their feedback makes her feel more reassured in her choice.  

“Isn’t that Miss Ral’s husband-to-be over on the other side of the street?” Hanji asks. They jokingly lean over and squint, but Levi is easily seen across the street even without craning their neck. As the friends approach, Hanji sighs and says, “Well, we should get going. I’m sure the groom doesn’t want to be away from his bride too long. He couldn’t even wait for us to finish dress shopping.”  

“Don’t tease him,” Petra laughs, but she smiles as she bids her friends goodbye. She half-walks, half-runs over to where Levi is and pretends not to notice when his lips begin to curve upward in a smile. She slips her hand easily into his and the two begin to walk down the street.  

“Did you find a dress you liked?” Levi asks.  

“I did. It helped that Hanji and the others came along,” Petra says. She looks at him ruefully. “Are you sure you don’t want to get a suit for yourself? I’m fine with your military uniform, but I do have money leftover because Hanji insisted on paying for the dress.”  

“I could slip it into their research fund unless you have a better idea,” Levi suggests.  

Petra squeezes his hand and walks even closer to him. “I think that’s a great idea. I think they’ll really appreciate it a lot, much more than an extra dessert.”  

“It wasn’t … difficult today?” Levi asks, and Petra is about to ask what he means until she sees a little girl running past them and into the arms of her mother.  

She doesn’t feel the same unease seeing the child and her mother that she had when she had seen other women and their mothers in the bridal boutique earlier today. Buying a wedding dress seems such a pivotal moment in Petra’s life, and she doesn’t have a maternal figure to share it with. Her mother passed away when Petra was young; she doesn’t remember the last time her mother was in her life. It was something that used to bother her as a child and had continued to follow her even as she grew. It had faded from her memory when she entered the military where milestones were few and rarely celebrated. It’s not so much as sadness that she feels now but just a curiosity about how different her life would be if her mother had lived to see her get married. She doesn’t feel the void that she thought she would. Her life feels whole as it is. There is nothing that can replace the love of a mother, Petra is sure, but there is also nothing that can replace the love she has received from her friends or the man walking beside her.  

“It was perfect,” Petra assures Levi before reaching over to press a kiss against his cheek.  

[yang2sfishkeeper]

ateez as vampires (hyung line)

side note: this is not a sexy-blood dripping down chin interpretation (as much as I wish it was) might do the maknae line if i dont forget this acc exists

HONGJOONG:

The kind that has tried every lasting occupation known to man. He was probably an oil paint portrait artist whenever those were a thing, a philosopher and then a nursery daycare teacher all in the span of fifty years. Any form of vampirism takes a backseat to his colourful portfolio, and I firmly believe he is currently a haute couture designer for vintage pieces; and only drinks the blood of people who refuse to ethically source their leather and furs. The image of him living in some apartment in Paris smoking a cigarette (that has a hole in it because of his fangs) is perfect to me.

SEONGHWA:

The brooding, edward cullen type. I’m talking; hand perpetually covering ¾ of his face, avoiding sunlight at all costs, falls in love with some pale girl kind of edward cullen. He has to move every ten years because all the women feel like cougars when they go after him despite him being at least double their age. He lives in some dusty cob-webbed mansion in the forest during the weekends but his real house is a small flat and he’s best friends with his elder neighbour who he has dinner with sometimes. Wears contacts to cover his eye colour but it's not strong enough so people think he’s always wearing red Halloween contacts.

YUNHO :

Newly turned vampire who just wants to go back to his normal life. Has trouble controlling his cravings and tries to drink a gallon of tomato juice because that's what google told him to do. He got violently sick and now just sticks to blood bags. Doesn’t understand why he’s always surrounded by crows and black cats (he is a dog person) but is very thankful to have so many furry friends. Definitely the type to accidentally show his strength by breaking the football goal net, or accidentally shaking someone’s hand very tightly because he was excited. People thought he was a werewolf, honestly.

YEOSANG:

Sitting on a chaise lounge, monotonously sipping on a glass of blood while wearing eyeliner. That’s sort of the image I get when thinking of him. Something very high class and untouchable that demands respect from his peers. But at the same time he’s only pretending to read The Art of War, and is using it to cover his copy of some trashy romance novel he’s actually reading. Secretly really wants the modern human experience, but is too attached to the concept of velvet couches to really let go. I can see him pointing towards any form of fast food and saying “What... desperate concoction is that?” While grimacing (he really wants to try it)