#I got into a flow while I was writing and I wanted to show some of their inner workings but I needed to cover the transitional part too

[literallyjusttoa]

Realizing I also want to keep track of the songs Apollo mentions, so I'm gonna go back real quick and mention "You Send Me" by Sam Cooke, released in 1957, which he mentioned in chapter 2, and "Rise to the Sun" by Alabama Shakes, released in 2012, which he mentions in the opening of chapter 10. Listened to them both, and honestly, they're both great songs! And Rise to the Sun actually fits Apollo really well, I was genuinely surprised.

Going back also makes me realize that Apollo was going to sing an honest to god love song to stop Cade and Mikey. That image will stay with me for years, I think.

Rhea is described as dressing like a "Libyan queen of old" which is interesting, bc I couldn't find any reference to Rhea being an important figure during the period where Ancient Greece had footholds in the region. What's interesting though, is that Apollo definitely was. One of the two cities Greeks established in Libya was Cyrene, and some myths even call the native Libyans the founders of both Delos and Delphi. So like, I have no idea where Rick got the idea of Rhea being connected to Libya, but it helped me learn new things, so that's cool!

Another anecdote: When Apollo drives the sun chariot as a bus, Hermes always sits in the back, because that's where troublemakers sit.

The way Apollo describes his physical state, I'm convinced he's just constantly in excruciating pain. Like, all he does is get off the cot in the Apollo cabin, and he says that his "eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their sockets." Bestie, what? Are you dying, wtf lmao?

Anecdote: Apollo once attempted target practice in Zeus' throne room. That feels like it might have been a more pointed thing.

Apollo sees Nero in his dreams for the first time in chapter 10, but he doesn't recognize him yet. He spends the rest of the chapter simply referring to him as "The man in the purple suit", "The ugly mauve-suited man", and simply "the ugly man" King behavior, honestly.

I know I made a post about it a while ago, but I still can't get over Apollo's outrageous claim of 33 mortal girlfriends and 11 mortal boyfriends. He has past that in Ancient Greek lovers alone lmao.

Rick does a really good job of writing these long flowing internal monologues for Apollo, only to cut them off with a short sentence that both allows for an easy transition out of Apollo's head and back to the action of the scene, but also simulates Apollo getting distracted in his own ramblings and then abruptly coming back to reality. Like, he goes on for three paragraphs about Nico and will, and then his past loves, and then his embarrassment over sharing his love for Hyacinthus and Daphne, only to end it all off with the short line "I am so confused." and then we're right back into the scene. It's a really great comedic bit, and it does wonders for Lester's characterization. (Also my god does Lester read so much like he has ADHD. Almost more than Percy to me, but then I think Lester's flavor of ADHD is much more similar to my own than Percy's is)

Anecdote: Apollo cosplayed Rocky at midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Queen.

Apollo mentions that he filmed the orientation film on "a tight budget in the 1950's" which like, why? Maybe it's mentioned in the supplemental books somewhere, but why would a god ever be put on a budget for something lmao?

"Had I been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me." One, Apollo she is twelve dear god. Two, I love this as a character moment for Apollo (Stay with me here). Apollo comes from a culture that is so focused on strength and power and violence. The moment he loses control of a situation, he grasps for any way to get power back into his hands. And in these moments, his way of giving himself power is by reassuring himself that he could totally murder everyone here if he wanted to. Killing people is a way to assert control, it's a way that Zeus and the other gods assert control all the time. And there's an implication with Apollo using these lines too. By asserting that he can kill people, it's also an assertion that the people he is threatening cannot kill him. Idk it's just a very interesting way of coping.

Real quick fun fact! Lester describes the Oracle of Delphi in Greece as a "cavern filled with volcanic fumes" but that's not actually 100% correct. The oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece was actually in the Temple of Apollo, with descriptions from ancient scholars putting her either in the cella or in an adyton that was below the main temple. There was a opening in the ground in this chamber, but it certainly wasn't a cave. Furthermore, the whole idea of Apollo fighting Python in a cave? From what I can tell, this is also not based in myth! Most descriptions of the fight between Apollo and Python that I can find in myth describe Python being coiled around the mountains of the Parnassus range, which is a terrifying image honestly. Just find it interesting that none of the cave stuff is actually a part of the Delphic Oracle. I mean, from what I can tell, the nearest mythologically important cave is the Corycian cave, which has nothing to do with the oracle and is also like a 45 minute drive away from Delphi.

I usually try to read three chapters before rb'ing, but I had so many notes on these two that I'm gonna cut it off here. Also, this has kind of just become pointing out shit I find interesting instead of focusing specifically on Lester-isms, but I'm def still gonna point those out, so the tag will stay. I just have so much to say about my little blorbo, sorry guys.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[chelseaknoo]

hey girl i love ur writing 🩷🩷

i'd love to request a modern marshall with a younger rapper like doechii or megan thee stallion?? you can do whatever i just love that dynamic! ok!

love you, keep doing amazing and i hope you had a happy holidays! 🥰

Eminem x young rapper!reader

Note:Thanks! My holiday was semi-decent. My family barely spent any time with me and my sister, which was disappointing. On top of that, the internet was SO slow, I could hardly get any writing done.I also did Secret Santa for the first time. I gave a girl some Victoria’s Secret perfume and lotion, and in return, I got Crayola markers… She said she picked them for me because I like art.First time doing Secret Santa—and definitely the last!

Since you were young, rap has always been your passion. It wasn’t just the rhythm or the flow; it was the raw emotion and power behind the words that drew you in. You grew up listening to Eminem, idolizing his honesty and unfiltered style. While others may have looked up to artists like Nicki Minaj, you felt a deeper connection to Marshall’s music, his story, and the way he could use words to paint a picture so vividly.

At just nine years old, you found yourself on Dance Moms, juggling dance routines with a fire for something more. Despite the pressure of the spotlight and the competitive environment, you always felt like something was missing. It wasn’t until you were older, that the pull of rap grew too strong to ignore, pushing you to make music of your own. The stage lights of Dance Moms had been your introduction to performing, but the microphone and the verses? That’s where you truly belonged.

-

You sat in your small apartment, anxiously tapping your fingers against the edge of the coffee table. The email confirming Shady Records had received your demo had been sitting in your inbox for weeks. You had poured your soul into that song—a raw blend of your personal struggles, triumphs, and a beat that you prayed would catch someone’s attention.

Then it happened.

Your phone buzzed one evening, breaking your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and froze. The caller ID simply read: "Shady Records."

“Hello?” you answered cautiously, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of your voice.

“Hi, this is Paul Rosenberg from Shady Records. Is this [Y/N]?”

Your breath hitched. *Paul Rosenberg? THE Paul Rosenberg?* “Y-yeah, this is me.”

“We’ve been listening to your demo, and we’re impressed. Eminem’s heard it too, and he’d like to meet you in the studio tomorrow. Are you available?”

You barely registered the rest of the conversation after the mention of *Eminem*. The Eminem. Not only had he listened to your song, but he wanted to meet you. You somehow managed to give a coherent answer before the call ended.

The next morning, you stood outside the studio, dressed in your best casual-but-professional outfit. A fitted pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie that hugged your curves, paired with sleek sneakers. You weren’t going to show up looking like you hadn’t put thought into it, but you also wanted to be comfortable.

When you walked inside, the receptionist directed you to Studio A. You hesitated outside the door, your nerves threatening to get the best of you.

"Deep breath," you muttered to yourself, before pushing it open.

The room smelled faintly of coffee and leather. Behind the soundboard stood none other than Marshall Mathers himself, headphones around his neck, scribbling into a notebook. He glanced up at the sound of the door.

“Hey,” he said, his voice smooth but with a touch of curiosity. “You must be [Y/N].”

You nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “That’s me. Uh… hi.”

He smirked at your nervousness, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. “I’ve been listening to your track. It’s dope.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the console. “Your flow’s clean, your wordplay’s sharp, and you’ve got this… edge to you. It’s rare for someone to come in with that kind of energy.”

“Thank you,” you replied, the words feeling inadequate for how much that compliment meant coming from *him*.

Marshall tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’re young, right? Twenty-four?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve got this kind of sound already?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Shit, I was still finding my footing at your age.”

You smiled nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flicked downward for a brief second, lingering on your figure before darting back up to meet your gaze.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, “what got you into this? Dance Moms, right? Paul told me.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, that’s me. I was on it for two seasons. But even then, I knew I wanted to rap. Dancing was fun, but music… music was everything.”

“That’s dope,” he said again, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I can tell you’ve been through some shit, though. You write like someone who’s seen some life.”

“Guess that’s one way to put it,” you replied softly.

Marshall nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good. People connect to the real shit.”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how he seemed to pay close attention to everything you said. He asked questions about your process, your influences, your upbringing. But there was also a subtle, lingering tension in the air. His gaze would occasionally flick to your lips or your figure before he’d quickly refocus on the conversation.

“So,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair, “you ready to spit some verses in the booth? I want to see what you’re like in action.”

“Now?” you asked, slightly surprised.

“Hell yeah,” he replied, flashing you a quick grin. “No better time.”

You stepped into the booth, your heart pounding. As the beat from your demo began to play, you took a deep breath and let the words flow. It was a familiar feeling—like stepping into a zone where nothing else mattered. When you finished, you glanced through the glass to see Marshall staring at you, an impressed grin spreading across his face.

“Damn,” he said through the intercom. “That was fire.”

You stepped out of the booth, your cheeks warm from the praise. “Thanks.”

He stood as you approached, towering slightly over you. His expression was serious, but his eyes held a flicker of something else. “You’re good,” he said, his voice low. “Like… really good.”

“Coming from you, that means everything,” you said, your voice almost a whisper.

He smirked, his gaze sweeping over you again. “I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other, [Y/N].”

And just like that, your journey with Shady Records—and Marshall Mathers—began.

-

Working on your debut album under Shady Records was everything you had dreamed of—and more. The long hours in the studio, the back-and-forth about beats and lyrics, and the energy of being surrounded by some of the best in the game—it was exhausting but electrifying. And then there was Marshall.

From the moment you stepped into the studio, you felt his eyes on you. Not just in the way a mentor watches over a rising artist, but in a way that made your skin heat under his gaze. At first, you brushed it off. You weren’t blind; you knew the photoshoots you had been doing for the album’s visuals weren’t exactly *modest*. But then you started noticing it more. The way his gaze would linger, the way his jaw would tighten slightly before he forced himself to look away, the way he suddenly got a little quieter whenever you walked into the room after a shoot.

Today was no different.

You were in the middle of a shoot for the album cover, the dimly lit set giving off a sultry, moody vibe. Your outfit? A black leather bodysuit that clung to every inch of your body, cut low in the front to show off just enough cleavage without being *too* much. The sides were laced up, showing off hints of skin along your waist and hips, leading down to thigh-high leather boots with a sharp heel. Your hair was styled to perfection, and your makeup was bold—smoky eyes, glossy lips, the works.

Marshall had been in the studio all day, working on mixes, but the second he walked onto the set, you *felt* it. The shift in the air.

You were mid-pose, one knee bent slightly, hands resting on your hips when you caught sight of him standing just outside the lights. He had his hoodie up, arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes—his sharp, blue eyes—were locked on you. And not in a *casual observation* way.

You smirked to yourself. *Busted.*

The photographer called out another pose, and you turned, arching your back just a little, pushing out your hips. A subtle move, but one that had an *effect*.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Marshall shift, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. You bit back a grin.

After the shoot wrapped, you grabbed a robe and walked over to where he stood, pretending like you hadn’t noticed his lingering stares all day.

“You good, Em?” you asked, sipping from your water bottle.

“Huh?” He blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

He scoffed, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Nah, I’m just… watchin’. The shoot. You’re really leanin’ into the image, huh?”

You tilted your head. “You mean *sexy*? Yeah, I am. You don’t like it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “Didn’t say that.”

You smirked. “Uh-huh. You sure? ‘Cause you looked like you were about to combust over there.”

That earned you a *look*. “Man, shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head, but there was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting back a grin.

You stepped a little closer, tilting your head up at him. “I get it, though. You’re used to being surrounded by dudes. You probably haven’t been around this much ass in a while.”

He huffed out a laugh, running a hand over his face. “Yo, stop.”

“Stop what?” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Marshall glanced down at you, his eyes flicking briefly to the way your robe was still slightly open, giving just a peek of the bodysuit underneath. You caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Man, whatever,” he muttered, shaking his head before turning toward the exit. “Go put some damn clothes on before we gotta fight.”

You laughed, calling after him, “Why? Afraid you’ll get distracted?”

He didn’t turn around, but you swore you saw his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he disappeared down the hall.

-

The day your debut album dropped, everything changed.

The moment it hit streaming platforms, social media exploded. Fans were dissecting every lyric, every beat, and every track. Your name was trending worldwide within hours. Critics raved about your wordplay, your delivery, and the *fire* you brought to every song. And, of course, having Eminem feature on two tracks didn’t hurt. Those songs? Instant classics. The kind of records people played on repeat, trying to memorize every bar.

You knew the album was going to do well, but *this*? This was beyond anything you had ever imagined.

You were sitting in the studio lounge, scrolling through your phone, trying to keep up with the thousands of notifications flooding in. Every time you refreshed Twitter, there were more posts.

“[Y/N] just dropped the best debut album of the decade. This girl is NOT playing!”

“Eminem and [Y/N] on a track together? Yeah, hip-hop won today.”

“She’s got bars, presence, and a whole lot of ASS. No wonder Em was looking at her like that in the behind-the-scenes footage.”

You choked on your drink at that last tweet. *Damn, people really don’t miss anything, huh?*

As if on cue, the studio door opened, and Marshall walked in, his hoodie pulled up, but you could still see the smirk tugging at his lips. “Saw the numbers yet?”

You grinned, holding up your phone. “Oh, you mean how my album is number one everywhere? Yeah, I *might* have noticed.”

He chuckled, plopping down onto the couch across from you. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘You got this. You’re dope. People are gonna love it.’” You mimicked his voice with a smirk.

He smirked right back. “Damn, I sound sexy as hell.”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

There was a moment of silence, just the two of you sitting there, letting it all sink in. You had worked your ass off for this, and now it was happening.

Marshall leaned back, watching you with an unreadable expression. “You proud of yourself?”

You met his gaze, suddenly serious. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile forming. “Good. You should be.”

A beat passed before he stretched his arms over his head and smirked. “Just don’t let this go to your head. I don’t need you startin’ to act all Hollywood on me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I could have a billion streams, and I’d still talk shit to you.”

His grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

-

### **A Celebration to Remember**

Marshall wasn’t usually the type to throw parties—not really. He never cared for industry events or massive gatherings, but tonight was different.

Tonight was about *you*.

Your debut album was a massive success, and he knew how hard you had worked on it. So, despite his usual reservations, he decided to celebrate properly—with an exclusive party at one of his favorite low-key venues. Nothing crazy, just the Shady Records team, a few producers, and a couple of close friends. It was intimate, comfortable, and filled with the people who had been there for every late-night session, every rewrite, and every breakthrough moment.

You walked in wearing a fitted, short red dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with sleek heels that added to your height. Your makeup was flawless, your hair cascading down your shoulders effortlessly. You weren’t about to downplay your success—you had worked for this, and you were going to *look* the part.

The second you stepped into the venue, you felt eyes on you. More specifically, *his* eyes.

Marshall was already there, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, deep in conversation with Paul and a couple of producers. But the second he saw you, his words slowed, and his blue eyes dragged over your figure, taking in every detail before snapping back to your face.

You smirked. *Busted—again.*

“Damn,” Royce muttered from beside him, nudging Marshall with a grin. “She cleanin’ up nice, huh?”

Marshall rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. He just took a sip of his drink and muttered, “She always looks like that.”

Royce laughed. “Man, shut up.”

The party itself was smooth. Drinks were poured, music blasted through the speakers, and everyone was in high spirits. You spent the night bouncing between conversations, laughing with the crew, and soaking in every moment. Marshall? He was his usual self—watching from the sidelines, engaging when needed, but mostly keeping a low profile.

But that didn’t stop the lingering looks.

Every time you caught him staring, he’d look away a second too late. Every time you passed by him, you swore his eyes dipped to your curves before snapping back up. It was subtle, but it was *there*.

And you weren’t going to let it slide.

-

Toward the end of the night, the crowd thinned out. Most people had already left, leaving only a few stragglers and, of course, *him*.

You found him sitting on one of the leather couches in the lounge area, nursing a drink, scrolling through his phone. You took the opportunity and slid into the seat next to him, close enough that your knees brushed.

“Tired already, old man?” you teased.

Marshall huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “First of all, fuck you. Second, I ain’t tired. Just chillin’.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, he just *looked* at you. Like he was trying to figure something out. You leaned in slightly, resting your arm on the back of the couch.

“You know,” you mused, “I’ve been noticing something lately.”

He raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You licked your lips before saying, “You stare at me a lot.”

Marshall froze for a split second. It was brief—so brief that if you weren’t paying attention, you would’ve missed it. But you *were* paying attention.

He scoffed, playing it off. “Man, you full of yourself.”

You grinned. “Am I?”

“Yes.” He took a slow sip of his drink, but you could see the way he shifted slightly in his seat.

You leaned in a little more, your voice dropping just enough to make it *dangerous*. “So, you’re saying you *haven’t* been looking at me?”

Marshall exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down. “I’m sayin’—” He paused, then shook his head. “Look, don’t start.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile. “Start what?”

He gave you a *look*. “You know what.”

You laughed softly, letting a moment of silence stretch between you before saying, “You’re kinda fun to mess with.”

Marshall sighed, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I *bet* I am.”

Another pause. His eyes flicked to your legs, just for a second, before he looked back up.

You tilted your head, deciding to push just a little more. “You scared or something?”

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “Ain’t *nobody* scared.”

“Then why are you acting all cautious?”

Marshall sighed, leaning back. “Because.”

“Because *what*?”

He exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally admitting, “Because there’s an age gap, and I ain’t tryna be that dude.”

You raised a brow. “*That* dude?”

“You know what I mean.”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail along the rim of your glass. “So, it’s not that you *don’t* want to…”

He didn’t say anything.

And that silence? That *pause*? That was an answer in itself.

You leaned in just a little more, lowering your voice. “Marshall.”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking to your lips before forcing himself to look back into your eyes.

“Hmm?”

You smiled. “Relax. I’m not gonna jump on you.”

That made him chuckle. “Good. ‘Cause I’d like to make it outta this party alive.”

You grinned. “Fair enough.”

For now, you let the conversation settle, leaning back into the couch. But the tension? The chemistry? That wasn’t going anywhere.

And you both knew it.

-

The night had been long, and after the party, everyone had dispersed—leaving just you and Marshall in the quiet of your hotel suite. The music, the chatter, the laughter were all behind you now, and the silence between you two felt strangely intimate.

You hadn’t expected things to turn this way. Marshall had always been careful—keeping his distance, always professional. But now, in the privacy of this room, you could feel the weight of the tension between you.

The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting a faint light across the room. Marshall had changed into a plain black tee and sweatpants, looking more relaxed than he had all night. You, on the other hand, had opted for something more comfortable too: a silk robe over your slip dress. You knew it wasn’t much, but it felt right for the moment.

You sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the skyline. Your thoughts raced—too many questions, too many unspoken things hanging in the air. Marshall was leaning against the dresser, sipping from his drink, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, breaking the silence.

He chuckled, leaning back slightly, his gaze never leaving you. “Well, I’m not just gonna leave you alone after a night like that, am I?”

You shrugged, turning your gaze toward him. “I guess not.”

The air between you thickened, and even though the conversation was casual, you both knew there was more beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Marshall took a step toward you. “So… you good?”

You nodded, but there was a slight tremor in your voice when you spoke. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He took another step, his eyes not leaving yours, his lips curling into that familiar, yet soft, smile. “You sure about that?”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening as his proximity increased. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart race, and you could tell that he felt it too.

Before you could respond, Marshall reached for his drink, his hand brushing against yours. His touch was brief, but it left a spark. “You know, I’m not usually the type to be all... forward. But with you?” He paused, taking another sip, his eyes scanning your face. “I’m startin’ to wonder if I’ve been too careful.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t talking about being cautious professionally. It was more personal than that.

“You think so?” you asked softly, leaning back on your hands.

Marshall’s gaze never wavered. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just sayin’, you’ve been on my mind all night, and it’s hard not to notice the way you—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if weighing the consequences of saying too much.

You smiled to yourself, leaning in slightly. “What, Marshall?”

He set his drink down on the bedside table, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe, his expression suddenly serious. “You know I don’t want to mess this up. But every time I look at you…”

You felt your breath catch in your throat as his words trailed off, his hand now resting lightly on your knee. The tension between you two was palpable, both of you clearly holding back, but neither of you willing to walk away.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice low and soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

Marshall’s eyes softened, his hand moving from your knee to your thigh, slowly, almost as if testing the waters. He looked at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read you, before finally taking the plunge.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, almost as if he was waiting for you to pull away. But when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

You responded instantly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Every inch of his body against yours sent a wave of warmth through you, and before you knew it, your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging him closer.

Marshall groaned softly, his hands now firmly on your hips, guiding you backward onto the bed as he hovered over you. The air between you two crackled with something undeniable.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I didn’t want to make things weird.”

You looked up at him, your chest rising and falling with every breath. “You didn’t, Marshall. You didn’t.”

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

As the night stretched on, the only sounds in the room were the soft whispers and the quiet sighs as you and Marshall gave into the moment. The world outside ceased to exist as everything you both had been holding back fell away.

The room felt like it was closing in, the atmosphere thick with the weight of everything unspoken between you and Marshall. His hand rested on your waist, firm but gentle, as he hovered over you, lips moving with purpose but not urgency. There was a sense of exploration, of unraveling something long held back. He paused, just inches from your face, as if waiting for a signal—an indication that this was what you both wanted.

“Are you sure about this?” Marshall’s voice was low, almost a growl, the words barely a whisper in the quiet room.

You could feel the raw vulnerability in his tone, like a man who’d spent so long protecting himself from getting hurt. But this—*you*—this felt different. You could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just looking at you anymore; he was *seeing* you.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back, lifting your hand to gently stroke his jaw. His stubble scratched your palm lightly, the sensation sending a thrill through you.

Marshall let out a breath, and in one swift motion, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, more desperate as if he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved, shifting his weight and pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, matching his urgency.

His hands explored your body, hesitant at first, but as your touch urged him on, his fingers moved with more confidence. He traced the outline of your dress, his thumbs slipping under the fabric, sending shivers down your spine. The way he touched you felt different—like he was both careful and eager, wanting to savor each moment.

You gasped when his lips moved down your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Damn, you don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured against your skin, his hands inching higher, brushing the straps of your dress off your shoulders.

You shivered at the way he spoke, feeling every word as if they were meant for you. “Then stop thinking,” you said, your voice breathless. “And start acting.”

Marshall chuckled softly, a dark edge to his amusement. “You sure you can handle me?”

You met his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve been handling you all night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Marshall moved in, kissing you with a renewed intensity. You could feel the pulse of desire in every movement, every soft caress. His hand slid down your body, reaching for the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly. The fabric felt almost like a barrier between you two, and you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of urgency.

You tangled your hands in his shirt, pulling it over his head, feeling the hard lines of his muscles under your fingertips. Marshall’s lips left yours for a moment, just long enough to catch his breath. He looked down at you, eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips, as if debating something internally.

"Is this… too much?" he asked, his voice rough.

You reached up, cupping his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “No. It’s not too much. It’s exactly what I want.”

There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with something else—something deeper, more raw. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warned softly, his lips brushing against your ear.

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “I think I do.”

Marshall didn’t waste any more time. His lips found yours again, more demanding now, and you responded in kind, meeting his intensity. The world outside the hotel room ceased to exist as the two of you lost yourselves in the moment.

His hands roamed freely now, lifting your body against his, and you could feel the heat radiating between you both. He moved with purpose, a mixture of tenderness and passion in every touch. The barrier between you—your clothes—vanished with a few swift movements, and soon, it was just the two of you, skin against skin.

As the night stretched on, time seemed to lose its meaning. Everything faded into the background except for the feeling of Marshall’s body against yours, the warmth of his breath, the soft whispers between kisses. Each touch was a promise, each kiss a question, and neither of you seemed ready to stop finding the answers.

This wasn’t just about the music, about the fame, about everything else that had brought you here. This was something deeper, something more real than either of you had expected.

But for now, all that mattered was the moment. And in this moment, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

-

The fluorescent lights of the recording studio cast a warm glow on everything, but it felt different now that you and Marshall were officially together. There was a new energy in the air, something between you two that hadn’t been there before. The work was still the same—people moving around, adjusting equipment, going over tracks—but it was harder to focus when Marshall was right next to you, his presence magnetic in a way you hadn’t expected.

You were sitting on the couch in the corner of the studio, legs crossed, working on some lyrics for the next track. Marshall was sitting across from you, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the surface of a nearby desk, eyes glued to his phone. Despite the steady pace of the workday, the space between you two felt full of unspoken things—things that went beyond the music.

"How’s the writing going?" he asked, glancing over at you from behind his phone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You looked up from your notebook, feeling a flush on your cheeks from the way his eyes lingered on you. "It’s good. Just working through some ideas," you replied, trying to keep your focus. But you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it, and it made your heart race.

"You sure?" He tilted his head, as if he could sense the distraction. "You seem a little... off."

You smiled, biting your lip. “Maybe I’m just distracted by you.”

Marshall’s eyes darkened for a split second, a spark of amusement flashing across his face. “Oh, really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning back into the couch, trying to act casual even though every fiber of your being was aware of the way he was looking at you. “You’re kind of hard to ignore these days.”

His smirk grew, and he stood up, moving toward you with that same cocky yet confident stride that always made your stomach flutter. "I’m hard to ignore, huh?" His voice was low, almost teasing as he stood in front of you, looking down at you with that familiar intensity.

You looked up at him, heart thumping in your chest. “You’re *definitely* hard to ignore.”

Marshall’s lips curled into a smile, but this time, there was something different about it—a softness that hadn’t been there before. He bent down slightly, just enough to be closer to you, his face hovering inches from yours. “You know what else is hard to ignore?” he whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear. “What’s that?” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his lips hover by your ear for just a second longer before pulling back and looking you straight in the eyes. “This.”

He leaned down again, this time kissing you gently, almost like he was testing the waters. It wasn’t hurried or aggressive—it was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the moment. When you kissed him back, your hands instinctively reached for his shirt, tugging him closer, the electricity between you two undeniable.

You pulled away slightly, trying to regain some composure. “We’re at the studio, Marshall,” you murmured, your voice a little breathless.

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Yeah, I know. But who says we can’t have a little fun in between sessions?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful grin creeping onto your face. “Isn’t that a little unprofessional?”

Marshall gave you that signature smirk of his, leaning back just enough to look down at you. “Maybe. But I’m not exactly known for being the most professional guy, am I?”

You laughed softly, knowing that was true. His rebellious streak was one of the things that made him... *him*. And somehow, it made you even more drawn to him.

Just then, someone from the team walked by the room, momentarily breaking the tension. Marshall straightened up, giving you a wink before walking over to the mixing board to check in with the sound engineer.

You watched him, still trying to shake the warmth his kiss had left on your lips. You were officially dating Marshall, and yet, the chemistry between you two was so palpable it was hard to believe it wasn’t some kind of dream.

As Marshall worked on a few adjustments to the track, you stayed on the couch, jotting down some more lyrics. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing over at you, a look of something deeper than admiration on his face.

You could feel it now, the shift from business partners to something far more personal. And despite all the layers of fame, the industry, and the people in your lives, it felt like this—right here—was the most real thing either of you had.

"Ready to lay down your verse?" Marshall asked, his voice suddenly breaking your train of thought as he returned to you, his hand reaching out for your notebook.

You nodded, standing up and moving toward the booth. As you stepped into the soundproof room, Marshall followed, his presence close behind you.

“Let’s make some magic, huh?”

You grinned at him, feeling more confident than ever. “Let’s do it.”

And as the beat dropped and you stepped up to the mic, you knew that this was just the beginning—both for your music and for your relationship with Marshall.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hello, I hope you are well.

eI'm thinking A LOT about a reader who is completely obsessed with Logan, like they're in a relationship, and she doesn't hide the fact that she's completely in love and compassionate with him because she knows everything this poor man has been through and just wants to take care of him and make him happy, and Logan is kind of lost because no one has ever done this for him and he feels very loved and wants to reciprocate. anyway it's just an idea, thankssss :)

Hello! I'm doing well and I hope you are as well. Thank you for this request! I loved writing it and I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it!

At first, he would get flustered when you openly showed how much you loved him. He knows you loved him, obviously you did or why else would you be with him? But he wasn't used to someone being so open with PDA.

The two of you had planned a night out with some friends. The plans were simple, a dinner and some light shopping. Logan wasn't expecting you to still stick to him closely as you do when the two of you are alone, but he wasn't upset about it either. The two of you sat on one side of the booth while your friends sat on the other. Light conversation was flowing with ease as you began to cuddle into his side. He just wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he continued talking to your friend about the latest hockey games score when he felt you twiddle with his fingers. He froze mid-sentence and looked down at you to see what you were doing, and his heart skipped a bit when he noticed you were talking to your friend, and you were completely playing with his finger absentmindedly. He never truly realized how easy it was for you to love on him openly until this moment.

He also wasn't used to someone putting their life on hold to do something for him.

He was having an awful day, and he just couldn't find it in himself to function properly anymore. He knew you had a busy day today so he was planning on going to bed to sulk until you got home and then he would make dinner for the two of you. As he got home, he was taken back by the sight of you already there. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't going to be home until eight?" He asked in a hoarse tone. Your heart ached for the man as you took in his beaten down form, "I took the rest of the day off, you sounded off earlier on the phone, thought you might need someone." You went to him and stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. "Want to help me make dinner?" He could feel his heart swell with the amount of love you give him. "I'd love to" He muttered with a soft smile. As the two of you danced between one another in the kitchen, he felt his body finally ease from carrying all the tension he collected throughout the day.

The longer Logan is with you the easier it is for him to open up, to love freely, and there isn't a day that goes by that he isn't completely and utterly in awe by you. You chose him, something he'll never be able to wrap his head around, but he never wants to witness you loving someone as easy as you love him.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@slowlikehoneyyy

@brisinggamenwearer

[heart-democracy]

TDI Advice wanted!

Hi TD fans! I'm planning a rewrite of TDI, the cast will be 18 for in-universe reasons (think legal contracts, I'm not gonna be weird about them). I'm aiming to make it more realistic and in line with the 2007 aesthetic, i.e era appropriate lingo & references, mobile phones are rare, homophobia is a bigger concern etc, but I'm wondering how far I should take it?

In the end I'll write what I enjoy, but should I lean more heavily into the gritty side of reality TV both on and behind the screen, include more notable sexism, potential slurs and creepy behaviours etc? The point is for there to be believable drama in-universe and the topics planned all have some merit to be present. I have some hard lines I'll never cross (see last tags on the post for those curious) and I want people familiar with the themes to feel seen rather than exploited reading it.

At the end of the day the cast are just youngsters getting to know each other and themselves. I want to humanize them and write believable conflicts without demonizing anyone, it is intended as a character driven story after all. But I also want to know what others think would make for an enjoyable read/take on the show.

The cast will inevitably diverge from their canon counterparts, but I am unsure how to handle certain characters, an example being LeShawna. She's clearly based on a racist stereotype, but her personality, background and lingo are a huge part of her appeal and I'd rather portray her in a better light than change her from the ground up. If you have any pointers I can keep in mind for her or anyone else you think is often portrayed poorly in canon or fanon then please let me hear your takes! This goes for non-TDI castmates as well, even if they don't show up in the story I wanna know what people think does and doesn't work for them and their tropes/traits cause it might still be relevant!

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[pickingupmymercedes]

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis��s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called ���cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

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[springseasonie]

could you maybe please write something about mark fingering shy virgin reader and she’s nervous and flustered but mark keeps complimenting and praising her the whole time :(((

Stress Relief (M)

Warnings: sexual content, fingering, shy/virgin reader, kinda proof read

Word count: 2,6k

A/N: jumped for joy when I got this req I need this man so bad

Mark tried, he really did. He tried to suppress those thoughts about you, wanting to touch you, feel you in ways you hadn’t before. He knows you’re inexperienced and currently uncomfortable with the idea of sex, but you’re so perfect to him.

Pretty lips, pretty eyes, perfect body, perfect voice. He’s obsessed with you, but even though you’re his girlfriend, you’re still oblivious to things you do to him. You don’t know that when you sit on his lap, it makes his mind stir, whining his name drives him insane, even playing with his fingers does it for him. It’s not like he’s never tried to slip sex into a conversation, you always shut it down.

But this time, he needs it. He can’t wait.

You run to your door, Mark’s signature knock making you shoot from your couch. Swinging the door open, you see him. Oversized T-shirt, basketball shorts, and his slides, your favorite outfit on him. His long hair was beginning to cover his eyes a bit, glasses almost completely covered.

“I missed you,” you said, shyly taking his hand pulling him inside.

Mark didn’t say anything, just giving you that smug smile he always does when he hears something he likes. “Kiss me.”

You smiled, his directness making your heart flutter. You pulled him closer to you, pressing a light kiss on his lips, your hand resting lightly on his forearm. Mark could practically feel the blood flowing to his dick, even your small touches making him delusional. “How are you babe?”

You shrugged, a small pout appearing on your lips. “between work and school, I’m so tired. I need to release some stress.”

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes scanning your body slowly.

“Release some stress.” You make it too hard to resist you. You’ve been pushing his buttons for so long he's going to burst at any second.

“That sucks. I wish I could help you.” His voice was low, softer than usual. Mark’s gaze made you feel like prey, like he wanted to eat you but you secretly loved it.

“That's why I told you to come over. I wanted you to help me.”

Mark licks his lips, pulling you into a deep kiss softly. You were taken back by his actions, so flustered you gripped his bicep tight while he pressed his body against yours. Your chest presses against his tight, a small whine leaving your lips. Mark places his hands on your waist, letting them trail down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands.

“Mark that hurts,” you whine, slapping his arm softly.

“Let me release some stress,” he says, eyes flickering from your lips to your cleavage.

His predatory gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, the grip he has on your body making your heart race. Your body is hot, stomach beginning to tingle when he bites his lip.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he said almost in a whisper.

“how?”

“Want me to show you?”

Mark could cry when you nodded, your shy gaze averting to your feet after he spoke. He takes your hand, leading you to your bedroom. He can’t see you, but he knows you’re looking at him, eyes wide and brows scrunched in worry. Your hands are sweating, the thought of losing your virginity finally setting in as you take your first step into your room. Mark sits on your bed, a tiny smile on his lips as he watches you stand in front of him awkwardly.

“Why are you so far,” he laughs softly. You move up, standing between his spread legs. Mark looks up at you, his big brown eyes even bigger because of his frames. The man grabs the back of your thighs, rubbing and squeezing your legs. His fingers brushed dangerously close to your aching pussy making your breath hitch.

“how are you gonna help me,” you ask, hands resting on his shoulders. Mark loves speaking with actions more than with his words, so when he pulled your shirt up, kissing your stomach slowly. His lips were soft on your skin, his lip balm leaving residue but you didn’t mind. With every kiss, his tongue touched your stomach, the feeling of the hot muscle making you want him more and more.

“I know you’re nervous,” he says, planting more kisses. “We can take it slow okay?”

You nod, making him smile.

“sit next to me okay?” you sit, barely having a second to get comfortable when Mark grabs you by your waist kissing you roughly. His hands gripped the skin of your sides, unable to stop them from letting them fall further down your body between your legs.

Unconsciously, your legs part, wanting him to continue touching you. You feel his fingers ghost over your clit, the very soft, faint touch of his fingertips through the fabric making you jump, gasping softly.

Mark takes notice, continuing to run that spot slowly, your gasp tiring into shaky breathing. He parted from your lips resting his forehead on yours as he watched your brows furrow. You rested your body against his, allowing him to hold up.

“Does that feel good hm?” Mark kisses your jaw, his hand squeezing your waist softly while his other hand plays with the waistband of your pants. He smirked, biting his lip when you nodded. “Would you let me finger you?”

Your eyes shot open, he stopped rubbing you through the thin fabric staring at you for an answer. “I-I thought we were taking it slow.”

“That is a slow baby.”

You gulped, your nervous facial expression tugging at his heart. You were too cute, it made him want you even more. “O-okay. What do you need me to do?”

He chuckled, kissing you softly before answering. “Well first,” he says, pulling away from you, “these need to come off.”

You could feel his eyes burning into your body the moment you stood up. Your fingers lingered at your waist band, playing with it to try and subside how nervous you were but nothing was going to calm you down. “Before we do this can I just be honest,” you say, looking down at him. 

“go ahead.”

“I'm sorry if I do something or say something wrong,” you start. “I’ve never done anything like this before so I’m trying to stay calm but you know how I get when I’m nervous. I can stop rambling and talking and-“

Mark chuckled, looking up at you with adoration. “It's okay baby. It’s just me.” 

“I know it’s just you. You have all this experience and I have none.” You pout, expecting to be shown pity but he does nothing but smile. Mark doesn’t let you regain your sanity, dipping his fingers into your pants, pulling them down. Your eyes were so wide they almost popped out of your head. “Mark!” 

“sit right here,” he said, patting between his legs. His entire energy shifted. He was sweet and understanding before, but now it’s like a whole new story. Slowly, you sit down, putting both your feet on the mattress. your legs are closed tight together, head down in complete embarrassment. Mark sat behind you, basketball short riding up his legs, his glasses now off and on your nightstand as he tries to focus on anything but your ass on his raging boner. 

“Don’t be shy, open those pretty legs for me,” he cooed in your ear. He was almost at a loss for words seeing how wet you were. You’re soaking through your panties, the cold air hitting you making you shiver. You swallow, watching his fingers trace around the wet spot. You wanted it so badly, but your body felt like it would collapse if he touched you again. 

“Mark,” you whined, covering your face as you turned away from his lewd sensual actions. 

“You’re such a dream.” He was breathing in your ear, fingers lightly pressing on your hard clit. Your hips unconsciously pressed against his hand making him bite his lip softly. “Do you like that? When I touch you right there?” 

He chuckled when you leaned into his body trying to close your legs once more. 

“Tell me what you want. I need you to speak to me.” His voice was calm and soothing, evoking more emotions from you that felt a bit foreign. 

“Mark..I can’t,” you say quietly. “Please just do whatever you want.”

“no no no, I need you to say it.” He watches you uncover your face to reveal an extremely flustered expression, brows furrowed with your lip between your teeth. 

“I want your… fingers in me,” you say, cringing at the words coming out your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says. Mark slides your panties to the side, the amount of slick sticking to them making him almost moan out loud. Mark would never admit it, but when you told him you  were a virgin, he was ecstatic. Mark loves virgins. So easy to turn on, so wet, and when they get comfortable, they get extremely confident. Mark knows how shy and self conscious you are, but it never bothered him one bit. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers, taking his index finger scooping your juices from between you legs. “Do you get like this by yourself?”

You couldn’t say anything. Every cell in your body was telling you to get up and run away, but you needed him so badly it hurt. “don’t tease me,” you squeak out. 

“Oh baby, I wasn’t teasing. I love that a pretty girl like you gets this wet when you think about me.” You could hear the grin as he continued to speak. “I bet you taste as good as you look, hm? You think so?” 

You body freezes in shock watching him raise his fingers to his lips, maintaining his eye contact. Mark sucks his finger, a smirk on his mouth watching your legs shut. You seemed shocked on the outside, but your stomach did about 15 flips already. These were the things you read in books but you never imagined it could happen to you in real life. 

“Baby don't look away from me,” he cooed, turning your head to face him. Mark kisses you deeply making you taste yourself on his tongue. He takes his other hand, prying your legs open. Mark rubs your inner thighs, the feeling of him so close to your core making you squirm. His fingers ghost over your swollen clit, the feeling of being touched there by him making you jump. 

“Mark, please,” you whimper softly on his lips. 

He keeps kissing you, passionate and deep as he rubs your clit slowly. Your brows furrow, gasp escaping your lungs when you feel the surge of pleasure run through your body. Mark pulls away smiling at the way you chased his lips as he parted from you. 

“You like it don't you,” he whispered, watching your hips grind on his hand. 

You nod, brows knit, feeling his kiss your cheek. Your body leans into his back flat against his chest. You can feel his rapid breathing, the sensation sending you into a deeper spiral. Mark stops rubbing, taking two fingers and slowly pushing them inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan softly, taking his other hand as he pulls his fingers pump in you slowly. “W-wait, can we just-” 

“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” he said softly. He keeps pumping his fingers, hissing at the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing around him. The sound of you squelching making him harder and harder, the sheer wetness between your legs being everything he's ever wanted. 

Hearing the sounds of your own whimpering and wetness combined made you cringe, starting to bother. You whine starting to shut your legs in embarrassment, but that didn't slow his movement. 

“M-mark, please,” you whine, face hot from embarrassment.

“Are you embarrassed?” His soft chuckle made a fire light in your belly.

“I hate the sound.”

“Why?” Mark fingered you faster, lip between his teeth watching you fail to keep your knees together. “I love that sound. It's so fucking hot.”

Your whines and whimpers get louder and louder the faster he goes. Your grip on his other hand loosens while your head falls back on his shoulder. You've never felt your body get this weak, not even from touching yourself. 

“Pretty girl,” he whispers in your ear. “My pretty girl.” 

Your hips begin to move on their own, grinding with his hand. Goosebumps form on your skin with the way his rough palm keeps brushing against your clit. 

“You like that? You like my fingers fucking you hm?” He could almost moan when you nod, pushing your hips in his hand even more. Mark moves his other hand away from yours, tugging up your shirt instead. His hand attached to your chest almost too naturally as if he's done this before. 

“Prettiest tits, prettiest pussy,” he says low in your ear. “Fucking perfect.” 

“Mark, I'm so close,” you whine, head turning to look at him. You had the most beautiful teary eyes look on your face, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming for you. 

“Cum for me. Be a good girl and cum.” He maintains eye contact. the way he looks at you makes you want to melt. Your hips moved fast “There you go baby. Good girl. Just keep grinding.” 

“I love you so much,” you whine, taking his lips into a heated kiss. At this point Mark completely stilled his hand, letting you move on his fingers until you came, but you hadn't even noticed. You're so wrapped up in your own world that you can't tell that the extra friction has worn off. “I-Im cumming”

Mark feels your squeeze tight around his fingers, your juices soaking his digits. The look of complete bliss on your face would be enough to make him cum if it wasn't for the blue balls he was experiencing at the moment. “That's it, there you go. I love those pretty sounds.” 

“Shit…oh my god.”

Mark watched you regain consciousness, your face going from complete relaxation to shy in a couple of seconds. “Hey, you okay,” he asks softly, a smile on his face as he watches you still trying to regain some sense of reality.

You close your legs, the air hitting your skin making you shiver. “I'm fine,” you mumble, “I've never done anything like that.” 

He chuckles, soothing your sides with his thumbs. “I know.” He wants to be a good boyfriend, he really does, but the way you look at him through your lashes, your pretty doe eyes looking back at him like you're begging for his cock. He needs you to, he needs you to say you want even more. Mark knows that he won't be able to hold himself back anymore, especially after this. He just wants to reward you for being the best girl he could possibly imagine. Mark wants to make you cum over and over again, show you what it feels like to be stretched out for the first time. 

“Mark, stop looking at me like that,”you whine, covering your face in embarrassment. 

“Looking at you like what?” he continues to gaze at you like he was to devour you whole, the tension making you sweat. 

“Like you wanna eat me.”

“But I do.” Mark loved the shocked look on your face coupled with your legs squeezing together. “You like the sound of that dont you?”

“Maybe.” 

“Would you let me?” 

But Mark knew he didn't need the answer to his question, not when you smile, kissing him softly. Little didnt you know you were about to get yourself into the longest night of your life.

[naomis-daydream]

her favorite place // paige bueckers

summary: paige goes live as she gets her hair done from her favourite person sat in her favourite place.

warnings: none!

a/n: not my best work but I wanna start writing for her and this is the first time in months i’ve flowed while writing so!

✧

the image looked suggestive, or at the very least, questionable to viewers.

as hundreds joined the huskie’s live, they couldn’t help but notice the comfortable position their favorite player had between a pair of parted thighs.

uconnfan what did i click awn…

user3 facing the wrong way tbh

user8 who is that behind her??!

she smirks slightly as her eyes dart over the flood of comments.

“where am i?” she reads, “my favorite place,” she says, scrunching her nose as she smiles.

she knows what she’s doing, you think from behind her, rolling your eyes at her antics.

as if she could hear your thoughts, she stops taunting her growing audience.

“y’all chillll, i’m just getting my hair done. my favorite spot, aka the hair chair, getting my braids. come on now,” she assures, turning the camera at an angle to show you, eyebrows furrowed as you focused on a braid.

she nudges you with her shoulder, nodding at the camera. “hey live,” you say gently, poking your head out from behind paige with a soft smile. in the bottom corner that the blonde was still visible, her lips curled into a small grin as she watched you speak.

“today we’re switching it up a little bit from her normal two braids. we’re doing three on each side pulled into a slick back.”

paige nodded along as she put herself back into frame. “yup,” she popped her lips, “she’s getting me right.”

a low “mm-hm,” left your lips before you spoke again. “yeah, i gotta treat her right after them cruise braids. poor girl was traumatized.”

she whipped her head around at your comment, truinng to look up at you. “hey, i thought we left that in the past, i got set up.”

you giggle as you take one hand to push her jaw forward. “stop moving. then your hair really is gonna be messed up.”

you hear the smack of her teeth as she refocuses on the live, shaking her head slightly.

as you continued, she spoke with viewers about the upcoming season, plans for summer holiday, and traveling, occasionally reading comments aloud to you.

“‘can y/n do my hair next?’ uhhh no, she’s booked. got her for the whole summer actually. right?” she pans the camera to you.

“sorry guys, p comes first,” you say with a feigned frown.

she turns the phone back, shrugging her shoulder. “i could get kayla for you if you want though, for sure.”

you apply oil to the parts in the braided section then smooth you hand along the middle section. “okay, im done with the braids. can you get the brush and gel so i can do the bun?”

“but i’m on live,” she replies, looking at the screen.

you stop, looking at the back of her head silently. really?

paige slowly turns around, meeting your incredulous expression.

“yes ma’am.”

“thank you,” you smile as she gets up, propping her phone up on the glass table in front of you both.

as she turns the corner to the bathroom you lean forward, reading some of the comments flooding in.

wbbluver period suh!! you tell her

huskie4l “yes ma’am” ohh it’s like that💀💀

ice.bradyy made blondie get up real quick

you laughed at a few, responding as you read. “yeah, because I don’t know who she thought she was talking to.”

said blonde walks back into the living area, gel and brush in hand “what’re you in here giggling about?”

“nothin’” you shake your head, leaning back to give her space back between your legs. “just chattin’ with the people.”

she sits down, folding her legs criss crossed as she passes you the products. “what are you guys saying about me in here, huh?” she asks as you push her head playfully.

“oh hush, we weren’t talking about you.”

she hums quietly as you begin brushing her hair back, smoothing over any fly aways or unarmed tangles before grabbing a scrunchie and tying her locks back. you pull her hair through twice before pulling it halfway through the third time and wrapping the excess hair around the bun.

you place your hands on her shoulders, sighing softly, “okay, you’re all done.”

her eyes light up as she sits up straight, “perfect! ayeee, lemme see.” she looks in the camera, licking her lips before they pull into a smile.

oh lord now she’s feeling herself.

“okayyy, my girl got me right! braids by y/n get at her,” she exclaims before correcting herself, “but like i said, i got first priority, you know this.”

you laugh at her softly, gathering the supplies to take em back to the bathroom before a hand stops you.

“wait you can’t leave without saying bye to the live,” she says, wrapping her free arm around your shoulder.

you smile, waving again, “bye liveee,” you blow a kiss, leading to paige blowing one of her own followed by a wink.

“talk to yall later, peace!”

✧

[ash-muses]

Dean's pulse skyrocketed when he caught sight of Jo Harvelle, standing just outside the bunker as if she hadn't been puppy chow for Hellhounds several years back. His lips had parted slightly in awe and eyes widened imperceptibly, hesitating with his gun still pointed at her. There was no freakin' way this was his Jo — she couldn't be... right? But when she started to explain, he could see the dizziness setting in, and he slipped the gun away just before she collapsed into him.

"Whoa, whoa — take it easy, all right?" Dean blurted gruffly, still trying to process the situation. However, as her body went limp in his arms, panic set in, his protective instincts warring against his suspicion. "Jo?" a brief pause, and then more firmly, "Jo?" He tore his eyes away from her, darting toward his brother, who looked just as bewildered as Dean.

Sam latched the door to the bunker and quickly put his weapon away, helping carry her to one of the spare bedrooms. When they got her settled onto the bed, the two of them gawked at one another in silence for a minute, the room enveloped in a subtle air of tension and uncertainty. An unspoken question lingered between the brothers, one that was all too familiar to them by now. How the hell was she alive, and was she even really Jo?

Dean sighed and crossed one arm under the other, leaning his head forward into his palm. He took a minute to himself, trying to figure out where the hell he was supposed to start; he hadn't even let himself grieve over her, hadn't heard her name spoken aloud in God knew how long. Then, Dean was the first one to break the stillness that had settled over them, his voice strained and quiet. "All right, Sammy," he muttered, "I'll stay here, keep an eye on her. When she wakes up, we'll do the usual tests — can't be too sure."

It was obvious that Dean was struggling, particularly since the two of them had a history together, and so he let his older brother take the lead, giving a slight nod. He knew it was better for Dean to have a sense of control in these situations, and for now, he would resist the urge to comfort him or try to get him to open up about it. "I'll go grab some water and something to help clean up the dirt," he suggested lowly, brows arching briefly with a mix of confusion, concern, and curiosity. "Find her some clothes? She'll swim in mine."

Meanwhile, Dean couldn't force his gaze away from her, his expression serious yet holding an ounce of vulnerability that he typically kept hidden. "Yeah, I'll find something for her," he responded absentmindedly. It was another minute before Sam felt comfortable enough to leave and start on his task. On the other hand, Dean finally pulled himself together long enough to slip into the next room over — his room — and dig through his drawers, grabbing a few pairs of pants for her to choose from and an old flannel.

After Sam had gently cleaned away the dirt from Jo's exhausted features, he set a water bottle by the bedside and gently draped a small blanket over her. While Sam busied himself, Dean left the new clothing neatly folded on a chair at the foot of the bed. "Let her rest a while," he murmured, his hand landing gently on Sam's back as he passed by, "She can take a shower and get dressed when she gets up." With a small inclination of his head, he silently followed Dean out and into the main area of the bunker.

The boys sat across from one another at the large table, a beer in Sam's hand and Dean favoring shots of whiskey. They had been idly chatting and whiling away the time, the thought of Jo briefly forgotten as though it had been nothing more than a fever dream. However, movement caught Sam's attention, his focus snapping up and his expression shifting quickly as he spotted long blond hair and a slightly too large flannel peering around the corner of the hallway. Dean was quick to follow his brother's line of sight, his own features softening somewhat as he met Jo's gaze.

Her heart pounded as she waited, head leaned against the door. If she knew the Winchesters, and she DID know the Winchesters…They would be opening the door armed, so she had to be careful, and prepared to get holy water splashed onto her face. It might feel good, considering how hot it was outside, and with all the dirt on her face. The door swung open, revealing Sam…and Dean. Dean Winchester, her first love. Joanna swallowed thickly. “He guys, what’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?” The blonde croaked, her head spinning. The hunted was confused, and, well…Traumatized.

“Listen, I’m not a demon, not a shapeshifter..It’s—“ Harvelle tried, the world spinning around her with more intensity every moment that was passed by..and then she collapsed into Dean, exhausting finally winning its battle. Joanna breathed softly, her body limp against his.

When she would wake up, she would have so many questions. What she missed, if her mom was still alive. For now however, the girl just needed rest, food and water.

[weakformingyu]

The very first night | L.M.

Pairing: Lee Know x afab!reader

Summary: after a few months of dating Minho, you two finally have your very first night.

Genre: fluff, smut, friends to lovers

Words count: ± 3,200

THIS ONE AND ALL MY CONTENTS ARE +18, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

If you like my content don't forget to ✨reblog✨

Warnings: virgin!Minho, virgin!reader, very sloppy and eager sex, unprotected piv(wrap it before you tap it), fingering, oral(F receiving), biting(I think that's all)

A/N: I was reading this fic by @moonlinos and had this thought: "what would be like to have your first time with inexperienced bf Minho" and it came out like this 🥺 I'd like to tell @/moonlinos that I just found out about your blog and your writing is amazing, you're really an inspiration 🫶🏻

You met Minho on your first day of college, you were lost in the campus trying to find the orientation room when you bumped into someone, letting your books and bag fall to the floor.

It was your fault, you were looking around and didn't see the man coming in your direction. You apologized right away, more preoccupied with picking up your things rather than looking in his face but he didn't answer you, waiting for you to properly look him in the eyes.

To say that you two hit it off instantly when your eyes met his, it's an understatement. You even blinked a few times making sure you weren't dreaming. That guy was the prettiest man you have ever seen and it's not even an exaggeration. He was wearing a light pink sweater with a white dress shirt below, dark blue jeans and all stars. It was an outfit that would look average in anyone else but it looked like a masterpiece in him.

You didn't want to let him go so in the spur of the moment, you asked if he knew where to find the orientation for your major, just to find out he was also going there. After that day you two got closer like it was nothing, you were never good at making friends but it seemed so natural with him, like it just happened you didn't have to put a lot of effort into it.

You first realized your feelings for him when he told you he had a date coming up. You felt like throwing up and the ache on your chest just made the whole situation more excruciating.

You avoided him for a week after that, trying to convince yourself that you weren't in love with him or at least that you could pretend not to be in love with him.

When he showed up at your dorm in the middle of the night looking extremely tired, eye bags under his eyes and hair a mess, he inquired why you were being like that and you suddenly didn't want to pretend anymore. You decided in the split of a second that it was worth it to confess to him, so you did.

He blinked once, twice and for a third time, not letting out a single word, making you suddenly regret everything that you said to him. What if he wanted to end your friendship? You don't think you could handle losing him as your friend too.

But in an unexpected turn of events he stepped close to you, cupping your face with his hands and kissing you.

“I thought you didn't like me back”, he whispered after pulling away, breathless. “That's why I was trying to move on”

You felt relief wash all over you, so he liked you back it seems.

After months of dating, you still hadn't gone beyond kissing and some light touching. You always let things flow in your relationship, knowing that you two would give the next step when you were ready. And it was sooner than you expected.

The end of the semester had arrived, finals were finally over and you could take a deep breath. You and Minho would meet in the cafe in front of the college gates, grab some coffee and go back to his apartment to watch some movies and cuddle. His roommates would be out tonight partying to celebrate the end of the semester and the apartment would be just yours.

“Fried chicken or pizza?” He asks, scrolling on his phone while selecting something to order.

“Fried chicken?” You ask back, making him glare at you. He hates how indecisive you are so he always tries to give you few options.

“Ordered”, he tells you.

“I'm gonna take a shower”, you get up going to the bathroom.

Your bath is a bit longer than usual, you are not in a hurry today since you can stay up all night and sleep all day tomorrow but when you open your eyes there's a surprise in the wall next to you.

“Minho!” You yell, screaming like you just saw a ghost. You grab a towel and jump to the other side of the bathroom, watching as your boyfriend swings the door open, worry in his face.

When he looks at you and sees you are safe and sound, he scowls.

“What is it?” He rushes you, impatiently.

You point out in the bathroom, tears in your eyes.

“Did you make all this scandal because of a cockroach?” He asks, huffing but goes after it and kills it for you.

“You know I hate them”, you make a disgusted face. “They are gross”

He sighs, just now paying attention to you and noticing that you have only a towel covering you. You only remember that fact when his cheeks and ears turn pink and you look down, instantly covering your chest.

“Don't look!” You whine, hiding behind the door.

“Okay! Okay!” He puts his hands up in surrender, turning around and closing the door.

What follows after that is an awkward atmosphere, you are boyfriend and girlfriend but never have seen each other naked. You know it's something that is certain to happen but you never really discussed much about it.

You decide to address the issue when you are already on your second glass of soju. You look at him challengingly, narrowing your eyes.

“I think I should see you without a shirt since you have seen me too”, you tell him. It's not what you wanted to say, you wanted to ask if he ever thought about your first time but the moment you were going to say it you chickened out.

“I haven't seen you without a shirt though”, he says, “you were covered by a towel”

“But that's the equivalent of me being naked in front of you, so now you have to pay me back”, you roll out your words, trying to form a coherent sentence. You're not drunk enough to be doing that but you're definitely embarrassed enough to be doing that.

Minho sighs, knowing you won't drop it. So he puts his hands on the collar of his shirt, pulling it off, revealing his abs.

You can feel your cheeks burning, you have never seen him without a shirt and the only thing that comes to your mind to describe him is: tempting.

You gulped down, feeling a strange pool form in your panties, you can feel it getting soaked.

“I think now it's your time to pay me back”, he raises a brow, making you bite nervously on your bottom lip.

“I'm not wearing a bra”, you whisper, feeling your heart beat faster at each passing second.

“I wasn't either”, he jokes, making you punch him in the arm. When Minho doesn't look away, staring at you intensely, you realize he's being serious about that so you gather all the courage you have, grabbing the rem of your — well, it's actually his, shirt and pulling it off, letting it fall down to the ground as you become completely mesmerized by the look on his face.

Minho has his bottom lip stuck between his teeth, lust emanating out of him. You can see his chest rise and fall at a fast pace.

“Can… Can I touch you?” He asks, looking into your eyes desperately and you nod, watching as he comes closer, cupping your breasts with both of his hands. He's on his knees in front of you, kneading on the soft flesh of your chest. Minho pinches your nipple, groaning when you let a moan escape. He's sure it's the prettiest sound he has ever listened to.

He leans over you, taking your lips into his. The way he kisses you stays the same, calm and gentle. He trails wet kisses down your jaw, to your neck, seizing the opportunity to mark you with his teeth, something he loves to do and that's the closest he has ever been to your chest until today. He goes down tracing kisses till he's in front of your breasts, Minho kisses the hill between them and attaches his mouth to the right one, still massaging the left one, pinching the bud eventually because likes to hear you whimper and sigh.

Your hands go to his hair, pressing him against your chest. You have your eyes closed shut, probably an unflattering face of pure pleasure but you really don't care. Minho sucks at your other breast before going down, trailing wet kisses down your stomach.

You're embarrassed, no one has ever seen you so vulnerable like that and you really want to have him go down on you but you're a bit scared since your friends always talk about how guys find it a hassle to go down on girls. You know Minho is not an asshole, he won't want you to do the same to him if he can't pleasure you first.

“Can I?” He asks when he notices your hesitancy, his fingers are hooked at the waistband of your sweats, playing with the elastic while you decide if you'll let him continue.

“You don't have to feel obligated”, you bite on your bottom lip, not very sure on what to do next.

“I don't, I really want to do it”, he says, but seeing as you don't look like you believe him, he chuckles. “Chan said he really enjoys going down on his girlfriend, I wanted to try it since we started dating but didn't know how to ask”, you can see his ears turning a dark shade of red, making your heart beat faster.

You nod, feeling more nervous than before.

“Can we kiss a little bit more?” You ask and he nods frantically.

“We don't have to do anything tonight if you're not ready”, he says, hovering over you and kissing your neck.

“I'm ready”, you cup his face, making him look at you. “I'm just nervous”, you chuckle awkwardly.

“It's fine”, he gives you a peek on the lips. “Should we move to the bed?” He asks and you nod, getting up as Minho collects your things and his, following you to his bedroom.

It takes you half an hour of making out to grab Minho's hand and pull it down to your core, you lift the waistband of your sweats and panties so his hand can find your soaked pussy. He slides one of his fingers between your folds gathering your slick and pressing it on your clit.

“Is it good like this?” He asks, even though your face should give it in right away that he's pleasuring you.

“Yes, please don't stop”, you put your hands on his arms, digging your nails on his skin. Minho chuckles, doing what you asked but also adding another finger, making you open your eyes in an instant to stare at him with wide eyes. “Oh”, it's the only thing you can let out when you feel the knot forming on your lower stomach.

He kisses you, turning the experience into something much more deeper. By the way he kisses you, no longer the calm and gentle but now an eager and hungry kiss, you can feel how urgent he's feeling, how much he wants you and that's enough to make you come on his fingers.

You take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes just to witness your boyfriend putting his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean. You gulp, feeling a burn run through your body.

“Can I go down on you now?” He asks, eyeing you eagerly and you nod, still too dazed by your orgasm.

Minho doesn't lose time, moving to your bottom part and pulling off your pants and underwear with him. He looks at your pussy enamored, like you're the prettiest creature he has ever seen and that makes you embarrassed, moving your hands to cover yourself but your boyfriend shakes his head, preventing you from continuing.

“Don't cover yourself. You're so beautiful, I have no words to describe it”, he tells you, eyes so sincere you can't even tease him about lying.

You nod once more, laying down comfortably as he trails kisses up your legs. Minho kisses your ankles, then your calves. He follows the path to your knees, kissing the inside of each and then going to your thighs, doing the same thing. When he leans down on your core, you hold your breath, feeling his hitting on your skin. You have goosebumps all over your body when he kisses your clit, making you sigh and let go.

Minho licks a huge strip between your folds, gathering all the juice he can get on his tongue, enjoying your taste. You moan loudly, earning a glance from him, he was so concentrated by his own pleasure on feeling your pussy on his mouth that he forgot to check what was your reaction and he's glad to find that you're enjoying yourself, hands flying to his hair as you pull him more into your cunt. He keeps licking your clit, sucking and even biting just to make you shudder glaring at him. He chuckles every time, making the vibrations stimulate you even more.

Minho puts on a finger, testing the water to see how you react, he puts on another one when you look unbothered by just one, earning a reaction from you as you whine and moan. You can feel your second orgasm of the night being ripped out of you, as he intensifies his sucking on your clit and his fingers thrusting inside you.

You let out the louder couple of moans of the night, holding onto the sheets for dear life as you tremble and arch your back in pleasure. You're absolutely fucked out and have no idea how Minho can keep going, his hair is a mess and his lips are swollen, his face is covered on your juice from his mouth until his chin. When he kisses you again, you can feel your own taste on his tongue, making you groan.

You can feel his hardness pressing against your leg. He still has his pants on looking painfully tight.

“You wanna keep going?” He asks and you nod, biting on your lip. “I think Chan has some condoms stocked, I'm gonna take a look”, he starts moving out of the bed but you hold his wrist, pulling him back to you.

“I'm on the pill”, you bite on your bottom lip, “I’ve been taking it since we started dating”, you prop yourself up, leaning on your elbows as you kiss him, “wanna feel you”, you say, making his breath hitch and his face turns red.

He nods, blinking a few times before leaning over to kiss you once more. He gets up quickly, taking off the rest of his clothes and in a second his body hovers over yours as he positions himself between your legs, his cock teasing your entrance carefully.

“If it hurts, tell me”, he checks with you for the last time and you nod. He starts pushing his cock inside you, your hands are holding him by the shoulders, digging your nails on him but he doesn't seem to mind.

He closes his eyes briefly, feeling your velvet walls squeezing him so much it's hard to keep going. Minho stops when he hears you sniff, opening his eyes just to find your eyes full of tears and trembling lips.

“Am I hurting you? You should say it if I am”, he scolds you gently, something only he can do.

“The first time is supposed to hurt”, you explain.

“But I can do something to make it hurt less if you tell me what you're feeling”, he kisses your forehead, having all the care to not move inside you.

“You're already making it so much more comfortable”, you smile, kissing his nose.

“Maybe you should be on top, that way you can have the control”, he tells you and you ponder for a minute, nodding.

He pulls out of you, making you whine to the sudden loss, making you feel empty. Minho chuckles, kissing you before laying down to watch you be the one to come on top of him.

You grab his cock, position it in your entrance and push it in. You're much more brave than him, Minho thinks, but also you're the one who knows how much pain you can handle so it's only right for you to have the control — at least on your first time.

You sink down on his cock slowly, making him grab the sheets rather than your hips, too afraid to put too much pressure on you and hurt you. Your face tells him you're in pain, but he knows there's not much he can do about it other than soothe you. So he caresses your back with one hand and your face with the other, sliding his hands to your breasts and kneading at them so you can at least relax a bit.

When you finally have all of him inside of you, you sigh, staying still for a couple of minutes. Minho feels like he can explode at any second, you're squeezing him like crazy but he doesn't want to hurry you so he waits for you to move.

You start grinding on him, rubbing your clit on his pelvic bone and trying to relax the most. After a while the pain is almost not perceptible and you start riding him at a fast pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good”, Minho says, finally grabbing at your hips to pull you down on him.

You can't really form coherent sentences, so the chant of “ah-ah-ah” followed by your kisses on him and you marking his chest is the biggest form of communication you can manage at the moment.

Minho thinks you're the prettiest person he has ever seen, he thought that the moment your eyes lock for the first time and he'll think that until you two are too old to remember what you ate the day before.

When he feels like he's about to cum, he warns you and you nod to let him know you understand but keeps sinking down on him even deeper. He paints your walls white while trembling, his bottom lip stuck between his bunny teeth as he holds your hips with such strength that you know it's gonna bruise. But you don't mind, not at all.

You didn't cum this time, it wasn't as painful as it could be but still painful enough to not edge you.

“I'm sorry you didn't finish”, he pouts as you pull out of him and snuggle yourself in his arms.

“You made me come twice”, you chuckle, making him smile before kissing the top of your head.

“But I wanted to do it a third time”, he huffs.

“We have all the time in the world”, you tell him, resting your chin on his chest as you watch him grin.

“Yes, now you're mine forever”, he giggles to your widened eyes.

“Should I be worried?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“You were already mine from the start, you just didn't know it yet”, he kisses you, pulling away just to stare at you for a few seconds. “I love you”, he confesses and you feel your cheeks burning.

“I love you too”, you say, closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him again.

[hannieehaee]

GOSH im in love with your writing like YOU HAVE NO IDEA SWEETHEART

And I'm desperate for some friends to lovers with seokmin who begs to taste you, his bff, after you joked about how your friends are saying he would be the best in eating a girl out bc of his nose🫦

18+ / mdi

content: simp!seokmin, bffs2lovers, smut, afab reader, eating out, seokmin's nose, etc.

wc: 682

a/n: HEHE THANK U SO MUCH<33 had to choose these pics bc his nose looked soo good in these i cry T-T

masterlist

"o-oh"

"seokmin, fuck, just forget i said anything," you groaned, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

why did you think it was a good idea to bring up your drunken ramblings to seokmin completely unprovoked?

"n-no! don't be embarrassed. you just surprised me, that's all," he sat next to you on the couch, encouraging you to remove your hands from your face.

"it is embarrassing. i dont want you to think of me as some horny loser lusting after her best friend. i swear, i didnt even bring it up! they were just talking about guys with big noses and you were the first guy that i thought of and-"

"my nose? you thought about how my nose would feel?"

"n-no, i-"

"i, i mean, it's okay if you did," he said, scooting closer to you despite his eyes looking everywhere but into yours.

you decided to take a plunge, turning your body to face his as you looked to him in wonderment.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, uh, i mean that it wouldn't bother me if ... if you thought about me in that way," seokmin winced at himself as the words left him, still unable to look at you.

gulping, you got closer to him, nudging him to turn to you also.

"do you mean that, seokmin? i ... do you-"

"yes," he was firm in his answer, finally looking at you.

"oh ... do you wanna ..."

"yes," he practically whined.

~

"o-oh, fuck! m-minnie, just like that ... yes!"

"'sso good, shit. so warm ..."

it hadn't taken much encouragement for you to jump seokmin after he'd given you confirmation that he did, in fact, want you in the same way you did him. after aggressively making out for a good ten minutes or so, seokmin had pleaded for you to please open your legs for him and let him have a taste of you. you, being you, needed no convincing to open your legs and guide him where you wanted him most.

by now he had spent the past ten minutes alternating between licking at you and suckling on your clit, but he was yet to show you what his nose would feel like as it slid against your folds.

before you could beg for it, seokmin's strong arms grabbed a hold of your hips and tilted you a bit in order to position his nose in a way that would grace your bundle of nerves just right all the while his tongue continued to explore you.

you screamed the moment you felt his sharp nose drag up and down your cunt, falling in love with its straight shape and the slight slope of it. the sharpness and rough exterior of his nose made you cry out in pleasure. it wasnt long until you began grinding against his face like a maniac, completely ignoring his attempts at guiding you against his face.

grabbing his head, you rubbed him against you while you canted your cunt against his face, tears flowing down your face at the pleasure.

"y-your nose, minnie! o-oh ... so good, fuck. so fucking good ..." you breathed out, followed by many other praised and curses at the pretty boy below you.

he was unable to speak due to the way you had taken over the entirety of his mouth, but his groans of pleasure were enough to get you crying even harder for him.

seokmin continued savagely eating you out while you ground against his nose all the way until your high, somehow managing to speed up his movements the closer you got to your orgasm.

with a silent scream, your fists closed in on seokmin's hair one last time before you dropped limp against your bed.

the room was silent for a few moments while both you and seokmin caught your breaths. but the moment the two of you were apt to speak, seokmin climbed on the bed and began kissing his way up to your lips, giggling at your fucked out state.

"so my nose, huh?" he teased, face scrunched up due to his pretty smile.

"shut up."

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: 1,462

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy, Mama, and other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, etc.)

A/N: I literally haven't written in years. I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

PART 2 => 🦋

"You look like you bite," I said looking at him directly in his eyes. They were a greenish-hazel color that resembled fallen leaves. Nothing about this man's appearance was hard on the eyes. His face, his eyes, his lips, his body, and even his smile were driving me silently insane. His presence was intimidating yet inviting. An aura surrounded this man that demanded attention and took up space.

He stared back at me with a challenge brewing in his eyes. "I do, but only if you want me to. I promise," he said not even hiding his smirk. All I could do was stare at this smug bastard. I knew that he knew the effect he was having on me. If he couldn't see it on my face, the heat from my body was evidence enough. I was getting hotter by the second.

"Mhmm," I said while turning away. I honestly just wanted to see what he would do. I couldn't let this man see me fold this quickly. I wasn't retreating; it's just that I needed a moment to promptly gather myself. I was fucking losing it. We hadn't even spoken three sentences, and I was already struggling to think. I was normally a quick-witted smartass with a lot to say. Everything about this man was short-circuiting my brain, and I didn't like one bit of it.

"Where you going? C'mere, lil' mama," he teased. The way that man's voice had me in a chokehold. It was thick, heavy, and warm like raw honey. All I could do was smile. I paused and turned back to face him. "Why would I come to you when I'm the meal? If you want it, come get it," I said motioning for him to come here. Now, why the fuck did I do that?

"Meal? I'd prefer it if you were dessert. Daddy's got a sweet tooth," he said striding towards me. He was closing in on the space that I was using for comfort. I felt like I was melting in the spot I stood in. I had to think about my next move. I had to do something. I took a breath and relaxed as much as I could before speaking. The last thing I wanted to do was show this man that I was a nervous fucking wreck. "Well, I guess it's a good thing Mama's a baker," I said while winking up at him. At this point, there was no space between us. We were chest to chest, and I could feel every rise and fall between us.

There was no turning back now. The smile that this man wore from what I said had me blushing. I couldn't cover it up even if I tried. Clearly, I had lost this battle, but I would try my fucking hardest to win the war.

We were way past the point of this being friendly or casual banter. The sexual tension was heavy between us, and I had some shit to prove. He reached up and gently caressed my chin. Breaking me from my trance as he spoke, "Focus, mama. Where your head at, pretty girl?" His smile was now even more intense and sinister. It was as if he was feeding off of my nervousness. Was he getting off on watching me react like this? A devil, I tell you.

At this point, all I could say to myself was "fight back, bitch".

"Just thinking," I said looking up at him. I was struggling to keep my composure. I bit my lip to hide the anxious smile I was fighting. He said nothing as his eyes dropped to watch my movements. His eyes flowed from my lip to my body and back up to my eyes again.

Antsy and nervous, I began to rock on my heels shyly. My facade was beginning to break, and I was crumbling by the second. "Uh oh. Is all that big girl energy fading away?" he asked slowly using his thumb to stroke my cheek. "Big girl energy? I'm a grown woman." I snapped back. I instantly dropped my eyes in regret. "Oouu, there she goes," he said raising one of his eyebrows. This man was taking me for a joke, and my dumbass was letting him.

I raised my head to meet his eyes again. "You don't take shit I say seriously. Do you,... Um... Wait, I never got your name," I stated while watching him and waiting for a response. "Yes, you did. I told you what it was. You don't remember? Huh, pretty girl?" he questioned gathering my hand in his. He held my hand while I struggled to remember if this man ever said his name. I couldn't recall him ever saying a name at all. I, for sure, would have remembered replying with mine if he did. Was I that dumbstruck by this man? Did he have me forgetting portions of this conversation?

Then, it hit me. He said a name, but there was no way in hell that he wanted me to call him that. Right? Did he really want me to call him "DADDY"? I couldn't call a man that, especially a man that I just met. This had to be a joke. I was pulled from my thoughts by feeling his hand cupping my chin. He raised my face upwards to meet his gaze. Those striking eyes were piercing down into mine, and I could almost swear his eyes had darkened to bronze.

The growing intensity of his gaze and the faint grip he held on my chin indicated that he was awaiting an answer. "Something tells me you know exactly what my name is. You just don't want to say it. It's okay. I'll get it out of you one way or another, lil' mama," he said laughing. "And how are you going to do that?" I asked raising my hands to play with the lower hem of his plain t-shirt. "Don't worry. It doesn't matter if I got chu yellin' it, screamin' it, whisperin' it, crying' it. As long as I got chu sayin' it, I did my job," he said leaning in closer.

I could feel the warmth of every breath he took on my neck. The heat from that alone was like a smoke signal. I refused to fall prey to my own desperation, but my brain and pussy were now working against each other. I desired to feel every part of this man in EVERY capacity. I needed a closer connection, so I used the hem of his shirt to softly pull him in closer. I wouldn't dare fold that fucking easily. Not like this.

*FIGHT BACK!*

The wheels were now turning in my head, and my brain was in overdrive. I had to finish what I started. He was right about one thing. I WAS A "BIG GIRL". A woman whose thighs destroyed jeans on the regular and who could talk a lot of shit but wasn't going to take much of it. I had to get him while he was close enough to feel it.

"And what job might that be? Huh,....Daddy?" I asked while trailing my hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. "Mmmm..." he said taking a deep breath. GOT HIM! He removed his hand that was resting on my chin and rubbed the back of his neck. "What? Did I say something wrong?" I asked sheepishly. I was proudly smirking at this point. "Nah. You said everything right," he said smiling back at me.

I decided to take it up a notch. What was the harm in having a little fun? We were only talking after all. I couldn't believe I was feeding into this, but fuck it. "So, does that make me a good girl?" I asked stroking my hand along the back of his neck awaiting an answer.

I could feel the shift in his energy. Desire overtook his eyes. His playfulness had turned primal. "Are you?" he asked tilting his head while watching me. "What's the fun in tellin' you when I could just show you?" I replied as I stilled my hand to rest on his neck. He caught my hand and brought it to rest at his lips. He placed small kisses on the back of my hand. His eyes never left mine. "I guess that settles it, lil' mama. You busy tonight? I think I might have something fun for us to do," he asked smugly.

I knew exactly what this man meant, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it. I just hope he can keep up because...

"Big Mama don't fold, and Big Mama don't quit. If you stay awhile, she'll show you some shit."

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy

[unabashednightmarepizza]

A/N: Okay I have been playing Genshin for quite some time now, and I'm sure my eyes are hurting like a bitch, but this is a quick idea( and also a short story of a series I'm writing) since I have been reading SAGAU and Creator!Reader works a lot!

Everyone thought, just like Creator!Reader did who played Genshin for hours and built the characters, that Mondstadt would be home. With the jolly people and freedom coursing through the air, and with Venti being the Spirit of Freedom, everyone would listen at least. You were just as terrrified yet also happy and confused as anyone could be, surely they wouldn't execute you, right?

Wrong, so painfully wrong.

Instead Creator!Reader was hunted down blindlessly, who only entered the city with a big smile but left it as soon as possible with a horrified look.

But instead... Razor and Bennett found the Creator!Reader, shivering in the cold with- Was that golden blood?

Razor, since he was raised by wolves, didn't have an exact understanding of the Creator but he listened to his family talk about Them, how they thanked Them with their howls for the food and family and shelter given to them and how they praised the Golden Blood of yours to keep flowing through your very being so that one day, you would come back to Teyvat.

Therefore he knew who you were but Bennett?

Poor boy grew up with the stories of yours! How you created new worlds where there were many different creatures, magic and every kind of ores... Or how you gifted them with many new weaponary and such, how you gave them life and what they have built so far.

How you let them live in peace through their Archon.

So, to see your body covered in Gold blood with a terrified look, their first reaction was to jump up and warm you immediately, patching up any wounds so that their Creator didn't suffer anymore.

But whatever the people must have done to you, had messed you up pretty bad because you, The Creator of All, whimpered in fear and pain, still shaking with your hands up defensively.

"P-Please don't hurt m-me... I swear I didn't mean t-to..."

So, that was how you were coddled up by these two babies while they wondered with rage coursing through them that who did this to you. They weren't stupid, since they were close to their City, they knew it was them and couldn't help but feel shame for their actions. Everyone had been expecting your arrival for quite some time, preparing feasts and what they would say to you in person and then they just...

Blinded by fake religion and ideas, tried to kill you.

How funny Teyvat was more like Earth than you ever imagined?

And they didn't even want to know what would have happened to Teyvat, how angry the Winds and the ground would be at the people for killing the Divine One.

You were still aprehensive as normal, not used to the kindness they were showing you but watching as Razor bring you a very pretty shaped stone with a happy grin and offered it as a token of friendship, you couldn't bring yourself to break his heart as one of the many wolves in his family laid around you protectively.

You asked why he was doing this, when he had no understanding of who you were, when his people were hunting you, but the only answer you got was a confused tilt of his head and a soft spoken,

"You are my lupical and I want you to be happy... They are not my people, they were wrong."

Now Bennett didn't know if he should correct Razor since he was actually talking to their Creator, warn him about not to refer to you so casually, but the big and wide smile on your face as you hugged them thightly to yourself with tears in your eyes which held the stars warmed them both so affectionately and lovingly that they knew you needed this.

You needed to have friends, not worshippers.

And as they, alongside with the Traveller, Klee, Albedo( who was glad he was pulled here by Klee and help you) and Amber who was convinced of who you were by the wounds you had and how you literally breathed life into one of the many burned and ruined forest and was horrified at learning what the Mondstadt did, healed you back and helped you hide, that was when you realized that you did a good job by loving those four and building them up as much as possible.

But those traits weren't the only ones who convinced them. It was how you saw Amber's ambition and praised her for having such a strong dedication to her job to which she bashfully thanked you and cried softly because how kind and generous you were to them even when your life was in danger.

And you didn't forget to tell Lumine to let others deal with commissions and errands, to give herself a rest, with a huge amount of Mora you really didn't know where you got from but was just inside your pouch ( since I chose her and believe the Twins need to hear this) and also about what was going on with her brother and promised to explain more in depth after you were safe to which she held your hand in her warm and calloused ones softly and answered with don't worry about us, Your Grace. Just focus on your life and that's all the gift that you can give to me.

But as much as they loved to have you here and listen to your world and jokes, they also knew you couldn't stay here for much longer. Yes, the forest was big ( and the nature seemed to be hellbent on protecting you) but they knew the Knights wouldn't stop until they got you.

What a surprise that the Crux came to the City, with a frantic Kazuha searching everywhere in the dock for what the Wind whispered to him.

"Our Creator needs help. Help them. Save them."

And that was how you started to wander the streets of Liyue with Kazuha next to you, also hellbent on protecting you especially after seeing the state you were in. The City was literally glowing, and no it wasn't because of the lanterns but you, The Divine Creator who stepped in the City which was raised and built in your name.

He knew there was a famous pharmacy named Bubu Pharmacy and the owner of it was able to heal pretty much every kind of this disease, so he took you there in hopes that the fever you had been suffering from could be solved there.

And it was.

Baizhu, as the usual self-sacrificing man he was, did everything in his power to help you. You knew how his hands were already full with both his own disease and Qiqi who quickly grew on you since she has been playing with you and telling you all about what she learnt about the herbs and the City( she couldn't explain why but she just felt so close to you, as if you were like a parent to her which her caretaker also shared kind of the same love for you) and you were grateful for what they had done to you, how kind they were.

They had shown you the kindness you expected to have when you first arrived, and it wasn't given by other.

Not the most known ones, but the kindest of them all did.

So, as a token, you touched the hand of Baizhu softly one day while he worked to pack you herbs and medicine you might need, stopping him and asking him why he was doing this when he casually( though his heart was beating hard at having you touch hım so softly) replied with a I'm a doctor and you needed help.

You looked at him for some time, then a smile so bright that it made the doctor take a while to stare at you softly overtook your face and you replied You're so strong for carrying such a burden like your disease but still help people, Baizhu.

That was when his suspicions about who you were was proven, since he never told about his disease to anyone (after realizing the golden wounds and how he seemed healthier in your presence) and he immediately went to kneel but was stopped by your gentle hands on his face, rubbing soft circles under his tired yet wide open in shock eyes, his heart almost giving out when your lips touched his forehead softly and blessed hım with your warmth.

Never bow to me, thank you for all you had done for me... Now, let me pay back.

After healing him back and yet once again running away from Liyue so that you weren't hunted down, making the Crux the enemy to Liyue since they were helping you (not that they cared, they loved being pampered by the True God with love, luck and food), a certain sea monster and the eartqueaks of Liyue almost destroyed the whole City for their disrespect so much so that Zhongli had to come back as Rex Lapis and he wasn't even able to stop it until the Wind carried your soft words to Liyue and Osial and made them stop.

Don't punish and destroy them, they don't deserve it...

-- A similar situation happened back in Mondstadt when Dvalin caused chaos after learning what they had done to Divine Creator, roasting the shit out of Venti for his mistake but also was stopped by your gentle caress even from Miles away, to stop hım from harming them. He gave them their lesson anyways, he only needed to find you to protect you as he left the people of Mondstadt in Terror and fear for what they had done.

The "they" in question was obviously the Crux, Baizhu, Qiqi, Xiangling and Shenhe who showed their love and care for you, who was logical enough to listen to you and see the truth for themselves. Xiangling who made you many delicious food you never ate before, Shenhe who was comforted by you about how she wasn't a cursed child and was loved dearly by everyone and most importantly you as she cried into your chest, who believed in her purpose to fit in with humans even with her tendencies, which you found to be a beautiful part of her...( not me reflecting my Shenhe love here ehe ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡)

Asking "why are you doing this?" had become some kind of a test, like those in fairytales in your world, to see who was kind and sincere and who wasn't.

And you used it in many nations: Inazuma, Sumeru, Fontaine...

Inazuma was, of course, the WORST so far since Ei was obsessed with Eternity and the Creator, not even listening at all. But even if she didn't, the Kamisato siblings, Kokomi, Gorou, and Thoma believed in you from the very beginning, with many others soon following after them.

Ayaka and Kokomi were the first ones, with Ayaka seeing the sadness in your eyes at how restricted you were, how no one seemed to believe in you and how Inazuma seemed calmer and more happy as soon as you arrived( and how you reassured her to be herself and not live according to what people would say which made her love you and convince her brother to listen, who was glad she did if not... Well, he didn't want to imagine it.) and Kokomi hearing the whispers of the ocean who was the happiest, who cheered for you and didn't stop chanting your name, which lead her to see it for herself and welcome you to Watatsumi Island as the God she worshipped. Who was also praised by you for her smartness and how she worked hard for the Island even if her career plan wasn't this, but was warned to not to overwork which she blushed at and assured Creator!Reader.

Not surprisingly enough, Sumeru was the kindest to you since Nahida knew who you were even before coming to her nation and greeted you herself excitedly, showing you around as her people( Yes, even Tighnari and Al-Haitham who was known to be stern) smiled and offered you a new home.

Fontaine was probably the happiest you had been, after Sumeru, to stay. Furina, as much as she didn't believe in herself, saw right through you and knew who you were, providing you with utmost care and protection ever alonsgide Neuvillette who always hang around you, protected you and even became your friend! Maybe it was the dragon instincts in him, once the closest to you like Zhongli but also one who wasn't blinded like him, as he stayed with you when your fears and nightmares became too much to bear.

Who knew, maybe something more would happen?

And after all the nations realized their mistake, after you defeated Celestia and came to a peace with It, and restored Khaenri'ah who always believed in you from the beginning even years ago, they feared the punishment waiting for them. They didn't want to accept their mistake, blame Celestia for all of it... But they also knew they were blinded by hard and unlogical belief and almost did the most unforgivable sin ever.

They were ready for any punishment from you, even if it included never seeing you again...

But the only answer to their question was a letter written by you, which made them shiver.

The only reason none of the nations who wronged me are not punished severely was because of the names listed below. Shall any harm come to them, your nation would see the true wrath of the Creator.

Thank you to Razor, Bennet, Amber, Klee, Albedo and dear Traveller from Mondstadt.

Thank you to Baizhu, Qiqi, Xiangling, Shenhe, the Crux, Beidou and Kazuha from Liyue

Thank you to Kamisato Ayato and Kamisato Ayaka, Thoma, Gorou, Kokomi from Inazuma.

Thank you to Sumeru, Khaenri'ah, Fontaine and Natlan people for their never ending kindness and belief.

Eternal gratitude and blessings from the Creator, who you helped to gain confidence and power...

[imababblekat]

Bayverse TmnT X Reader; Injury HC's

@hellhound911 ,"Hello I love your writings! I was wondering if I could request with the Bayverse turtles where the reader is in a relationship with the turtles (not all at once, but the little scenarios you do) and they come home hurt really bad and the reader begins to help bandage them up and they are trying to keep it together but they let tears flow and they were worried what would happen if their special turtle died and despite being hurt, the turtles comfort their lovers and say that they love them and they aren’t going anywhere? Things like that? Just a thought whenever you can/want. Thank you!"

◉Story Notes: character injury(nothing explicit), tiny bit of angst with added comfort

~xXx~

Leonardo:

Leo’s used to putting on a strong façade for the sake of his brothers, but when he’s with his s/o he feels that he can let that all go and show how hurt he truly is

Yet, the second he sees his s/o’s eyes start to glisten he’s already gently grasping their cheek, worry drowning out any major pain his body was in

He hates that he made them worry so much, and feels guilty at not realizing sooner how coming to them so completely battered might affect them

Leo gets it though, he could never even begin to imagine if something happened to his s/o, which is why he’s out there every night kicking bad guys to the curb

He’ll spend the night at their place, offering them comfort and making them both tea despite his injuries, just so they can hold onto him as much as they need for reassurance that he’s safe, and also so that he may hold them tightly as well

Raphael:

This turtle is constantly getting himself into sticky situations that him and his s/o have a running joke of “x amount of days since Raph got his butt kicked”, that it’s never occurred to him what kind of toll showing up to their place at o’ dark hundred, bruised and bleeding would build up to

It’s not till after one particular bad patrol that his s/o, furious and tear stained while cleaning his wounds, breaks down and practically shouts at him for his carelessness

He’s so confused at first, but once things calm down and his s/o can properly explain how worried sick they are all the time that there will come a night he’s not knocking at their window does it hit him how serious this is

Raph makes his s/o a promise that “ain’t nothin’ stopping me from seen’ your pretty face, doll”, and while he’ll be out there still playing rough, he's definitely more conscious about his actions

Donnie:

Before his s/o, Donnie was always the one to fix his own wounds, but now he had someone he could go to for help

It was still rare that he ever had to, but the few times he did he had always had the sneaking suspicion that it bothered his s/o

He didn’t understand why till he asked one night after a heist gone wrong, and his s/o, bleary eyed and holding back choked sobs, admitted how they were terrified of there coming a time where his wounds were so great they couldn’t do anything to help him

It hit him hard, because if something serious happened to his brothers, they could always count on his expertise medical skills to fix them right up

Now, in holding his crying s/o close to his plastron, his brain was already kicking into gear plans to teach them all he knew, so that should a time ever come, not only his brothers, but his s/o would be ready

Mikey:

Mikey’s not exactly careless, but he is free spirited, and sometimes that would get him into trouble

Before his s/o, his brothers always made sure that he was tended to first if injured during a fight, but when his s/o came into his life he was always quick to run to their place to be doted on

However, one night Mikey is getting a nasty gash sewn up on his bicep and despite still having the energy to crack some light hearted jokes, his s/o is uncharacteristically silent

It takes a bit of prodding but eventually they tearfully admit that, especially after the Kraang incident, they’re terrified that someone will take him, their shinning ray of light, away from this world

Mikey’s heart is so absolutely broken hearing this; he’s so quick to pull his s/o in for a hug, shushing their cries and swearing to the heavens that nothing would take him from his loving angel

~xXx~

[rootedinrevisions]

Off the Red Carpet

SUMMARY: You accompany Glen to a red carpet event, and you get to watch him be in his element- the chaos of flashing cameras and the glitz of the red carpet- firsthand. As Glen navigates the spotlight, you remain behind the scenes, quietly proud of the star he's become, all while cherishing the connection between you that exists when the cameras aren't on.

A/N: This idea was originally from @hunterthecharmer thank you for the idea and for giving me the okay to try my hand at writing this! Hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: None. This one is pretty fluffy.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

The hotel suite hummed with quiet activity, a mix of soft music playing, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the main room.

The golden hues of sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light across the space. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the gown over your hips. The fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, flowing softly into a gentle train. The way it hugged your figure made you feel like you belonged on the arm of someone like Glen, even if the thought of stepping into the spotlight still set your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, adjusting one of the delicate straps before reaching behind you to zip up the dress. Your fingers fumbled, unable to grasp the tiny pull. Frustration mixed with your growing nervousness, and you let out a soft sigh, glancing toward the closed door.

As if on cue, there was a knock.

“Babe? You almost ready?” Glen’s voice carried through the door, warm and familiar, a grounding force amidst your swirling thoughts.

“Almost,” you called back, your voice a little breathless. “But…I might need some help.”

The door creaked open, and Glen stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding you. The room seemed to still for a moment as his gaze swept over you, his usual easy smile softening into something more profound.

“Wow,” he said quietly, the word barely more than a breath.

You felt your cheeks warm under his stare. “Think you can help me with this?” you asked, turning slightly to show him the unzipped back of your dress.

He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, and gently brushed your hair to one side. “Of course,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he took hold of the zipper.

The soft tug of the fabric and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. When he finished, his hands lingered for a moment, resting gently at your waist before he turned you to face him. His eyes roamed over you, and the quiet awe in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step back, as if needing to take all of you in, and shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “I think,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, he reached up, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “Seriously,” he added, his tone soft but earnest. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The emotion in his words made your chest tighten, and when he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t just an affectionate peck. It was slow and deliberate, his lips lingering on yours like he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of what he couldn’t put into words.

“Glen,” his manager called from the other side. “We need to get going.”

Glen pulled back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Guess that’s our cue.” He smiled down at you, taking your hand in his. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, though your voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

The soft click of the hotel room door echoed as you and Glen stepped into the hallway. The plush carpet muffled the sound of your heels, but walking in them while managing the delicate train of your gown was proving to be a challenge. You tried to discreetly gather the fabric in one hand, balancing it while taking careful steps, but the effort was less than graceful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Glen glance down, his expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. Without a word, he slowed his pace, gently reaching for the trailing fabric of your gown.

“Here,” he said softly, gathering the train in one hand with practiced ease. “Let me take care of that.”

You blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Glen, you don’t have to—”

He cut you off with a small shake of his head, his lips curving into a warm smile. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his tone light yet sincere. “But I want to. Can’t have you tripping before we even make it to the car.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the sound easing some of the lingering nerves in your chest. As you resumed walking, you felt the gentle pressure of his other hand resting lightly at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt so natural, so him.

When you reached the elevator, Glen shifted slightly, keeping hold of your gown as he pressed the call button with his free hand. The doors slid open with a quiet chime, and he gestured for you to step inside first, his hand never leaving its spot at your waist as you did.

Inside the elevator, you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The golden lighting highlighted the soft yet focused expression on his face. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, and you found yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly as the elevator began its descent.

Glen caught the movement, his thumb brushing lightly against your back in response. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and just for you.

You nodded, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. “Yeah,” you replied softly. “I just…I feel lucky.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your temple. “Funny,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of playful charm. “Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

The elevator chimed again, signaling your arrival at the lobby. Glen stepped aside to let you exit first, but not before giving your waist one last gentle squeeze.

The lobby was alive with a low hum of activity, hotel staff bustling about and the faint chatter of guests mingling in the background. As you and Glen approached the doors, the distant sound of cameras clicking and voices calling out his name grew louder. Paparazzi were stationed just beyond the entrance, their flashes already bouncing off the glass.

Glen’s security team, always a step ahead, intercepted you both before you reached the main doors. One of them leaned in to speak quietly. “The parking garage is clear. We’ll take you through there to avoid the crowd.”

Glen nodded, his hand still resting lightly at the small of your back as the team led you toward a side corridor. The bright, polished floors of the lobby gave way to the dimmer, utilitarian lighting of the garage. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the occasional echo of footsteps replaced the buzz of the crowd outside.

As you stepped into the cool expanse of the garage, your heels clicked softly against the concrete. You walked side by side with Glen, his presence steady and reassuring, until you came upon a patch of water glistening under the overhead lights. It stretched across the pathway, and your gaze dropped to the delicate hem of your gown, worry flickering across your face.

Before you could even voice your concern or attempt to maneuver around it, Glen reacted instinctively. “Hold on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Without hesitation, he bent slightly and swept you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing. A surprised laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he carried you effortlessly around the puddle.

“Glen!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more amused than admonishing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He glanced down at you, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let your dress get ruined before you even make it to the event?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Still, I could’ve managed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk as he set you gently back on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist to steady you. “But why make you do it when I’m right here?”

You shook your head, still smiling, as you adjusted your gown. Just then, his security team opened the back door of a black SUV with tinted windows. 

“Milady,” Glen said with a playful smile, gesturing for you to step in.

“Thank you,” you replied, matching his tone as you carefully slid into the plush leather seat, mindful of your dress.

Glen followed suit, settling in beside you and closing the door behind him. The faint hum of the engine provided a soothing background noise as the driver pulled out of the garage and onto the city streets.

For a moment, you were quiet, staring out the window at the lights of the bustling city. Glen shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You glanced at him, offering a small nod. “Just…nervous, I guess. It’s a big night for you, and I don’t want to—”

“Be ridiculous,” Glen interrupted gently, flashing his trademark grin. “You’re not going to ruin anything. Trust me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“There she is,” he said, nudging you playfully. “See? You’re going to be fine. You’re not even walking the red carpet, anyway. You get to stay behind the cameras and sip champagne while I do all the work.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call posing for photos and answering questions work,” you teased, arching a brow.

“Oh, it’s brutal,” he said, feigning seriousness. “All those flashing lights, having to keep this face from looking too shiny…”

You shook your head, smiling, but the fluttering in your stomach didn’t entirely subside. Glen seemed to notice.

His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours with ease. His thumb began to graze over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer now, his teasing dropped. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m really happy you’re here with me tonight. It means a lot.”

You looked at him, his expression earnest and filled with something deeper than you could put into words.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’m happy to be here with you, too. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile, his thumb continuing its comforting motion. “Well, don’t make me cry before we even get there.”

As the car slowed to a stop outside the venue, the energy in the air shifted, electrified by the flash of cameras and the distant sound of fans calling out names. You could feel the thrum of excitement radiating through the air, reverberating in your chest.

Glen adjusted his bow tie, his jawline sharp under the streetlights. He turned to you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Ready for the madness?”

You nodded, even though your nerves had returned. The line of cars ahead crawled forward, one by one releasing a parade of celebrities who were met with the cheers of the crowd and the blinding strobe of camera flashes.

When it was finally your turn, Glen stepped out first, his polished shoes meeting the pavement. The crowd erupted, calling his name as the flashes intensified. He turned to wave, flashing that Hollywood smile that had charmed audiences all over the world.

Then, as if the chaos around him didn’t exist, Glen turned back to you. He leaned down, extending a hand through the open door. “C’mon,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise.

You took his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you stepped out. For a brief moment, the two of you stood together, a quiet connection amidst the frenzy. Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, his thumb brushing your skin in a silent promise before he stepped toward the red carpet.

“See you inside,” he said, and then he was gone, the lights and cameras swallowing him whole.

His manager appeared at your side, her touch gentle as she guided you away from the chaos and toward the media’s edge. Here, you were safely tucked behind the lines of reporters, photographers, and onlookers, shielded from the prying lenses but still close enough to see everything.

From your vantage point, you watched Glen stride onto the red carpet like he owned it. His confidence radiated with every step, and the cameras adored him. He paused in front of the wall of flashing bulbs, effortlessly shifting his stance to give them what they wanted—his signature smile. He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, his jawline sharp under the bright lights. The tailored suit he wore fit him perfectly, exuding the kind of polished charm that only he could pull off.

He looked every bit the Hollywood Leading Man, and for a moment, you found yourself caught between awe and adoration. Glen was always himself with you—gentle, playful, sincere—but here, he embodied the star the world had come to know. And yet, there was a thrill in knowing that beneath the flawless exterior was the man you knew better than anyone.

Your attention lingered as he moved seamlessly into an interview. He leaned in slightly, his posture relaxed but engaged, as the interviewer asked their question. You couldn’t hear the words over the buzz of the crowd, but you could tell by the way his brow lifted and a small smile tugged at his lips that it was something lighthearted. And then it came—the laugh. His shoulders shook just slightly, and his expression softened in a way that made your heart swell.

As he finished his response, Glen straightened and glanced around, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they landed on you, a grin spread across his face. He gave you a quick wink, just enough to send your stomach fluttering before he turned back to shake the interviewer’s hand and move on.

Your smile grew as you watched him continue down the carpet, stopping now and then to interact with fans pressed against the barriers. He greeted each one with genuine warmth, signing photos and posters, crouching down for selfies, and even exchanging a few words with those lucky enough to catch his attention.

One young fan, no more than ten years old, handed Glen a scrapbook of drawings they’d made of him. He thumbed through the pages, his expression shifting to one of quiet amazement. You could see his lips move as he said something to the child, who nodded enthusiastically while clutching a pen Glen had just handed back.

“Thank you so much,” you heard him say clearly to another fan as they gushed about his latest role.

This was a side of him that always took your breath away—the way he gave so much of himself to those who supported him. He didn’t just exist in their world; he connected with it, leaving pieces of himself behind for everyone to cherish.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze found yours once more. This time, it lingered, a soft yet electric connection that sent a wave of warmth through you. His lips curved into a smile, not the polished one for the cameras or the fans, but one meant just for you.

You raised a hand in a small wave, your heart beating a little faster as he gave you a subtle nod before turning back to the next group of fans.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” his manager said, leaning toward you with a knowing smile.

You nodded, your gaze fixed on Glen as he moved gracefully through the crowd. “It’s surreal. But he… he makes it look easy.”

“That’s Glen for you,” she said with a chuckle. “Always knows how to work a room—or a red carpet.”

You laughed softly, but your attention never strayed far from him. He was magnetic, every movement deliberate yet natural, as if he’d been born for this.

This was his moment. After the whirlwind year he’d had—the long days on set, the relentless press tours, and the skyrocketing success—he deserved every bit of the recognition coming his way.

And while you were more than content to stay in the background, watching from the edges of his world, you couldn’t deny the pride and love that surged through you as you saw him shine.

The buzz of the red carpet faded the moment you stepped into the building. The quieter hum of conversation and the elegant glow of the interior lights replaced the chaos outside, offering a reprieve from the cameras and shouting fans.

Glen’s manager stayed close by, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she led you through the foyer. “He should be coming in right behind us,” she said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile.

You nodded, your fingers fiddling with the delicate strap of your clutch as your nerves began to settle. But before you could think too much about the evening ahead, you felt it—a warm hand sliding around your waist.

“Miss me already?” he teased, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your lips curved into a smile as you looked up at him. “Always.”

There was a brief pause, and then Glen offered you his arm, his tone light. “Shall we?”

You accepted without hesitation, slipping your arm through his as he led you further into the building. The buzz of the outside world felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the quiet elegance of the venue's interior. The soft lighting and low hum of conversation seemed to make everything feel more intimate, even amidst the crowd.

“So, how did I do?” Glen asked with a teasing edge, clearly eager for your opinion.

“You were perfect,” you said honestly, giving his arm a small squeeze. “I’ve never seen you look more confident. Like you belonged there.”

He chuckled, his voice warm as he turned to face you. “Well, it’s a bit easier when I’ve got someone like you cheering me on.”

You couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck, but you gave him a smile in return, silently grateful for how grounded he made you feel in the midst of the chaos.

“Seriously, though,” he added as you made your way through the foyer. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to do this without you by my side.”

As the two of you continued through the space, the evening ahead felt less intimidating, more like an opportunity to savor the quieter moments together. While the world outside might never fully understand the dynamic between you, it was moments like this—away from the cameras, just the two of you—that made it all worth it.

The night ahead would be full of attention and flash, but the most important thing was that, despite the world around you, you were right where you needed to be—by his side, without needing to make a spectacle of it.

[starlitrays]

KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE

starring. pro hero!katsuki bakugo x pro hero!gn!reader

summary. set several months into the fake relationship, bakugo doesn't really like you and you tolerate him, but you both know how to appease an audience | 1.7k words

content. fake dating (obvi), second person pov, bakugo having conflicting feelings, use of 'y/n' and 'l/n' for last name, fluff if you squint, x is still twitter bc i said so, reader has a pet cat, this feels choppy to me

a/n. first time writing in awhile AND first fic post AND and i didn't fully get into the flow until i was almost done so be patient i might rewrite this after awhile

navigation – masterpost

The cameras ate up every helping you two gave them. You and Katsuki were extremely lovey dovey around the cameras no matter where they were, but when there wasn't a camera or paparazzi or a fan around you two, neither of you said much.

It had been arranged by your managers without much input from either of you, to fake date, that is. It was for approval ratings, popularity polls, and although you individually did well enough on your own, together you shot up the charts. Neither of you particularly liked each other but you could be civil to each other, and you knew how to play a camera, so it was working out well.

Now you sat, thigh to thigh next to Katsuki with his left hand held in your lap with both of your hands, smiling at the interviewer talking to the two of you. He wasn't smiling, although that was normal. The crowd, filled with live audience members and other paparazzi looking for the perfect shot, stared in awe at the perfect couple the two of you were.

When the interviewer would ask a question, you'd turn and wait for Katsuki to say something first, and if he didn't or he turned to face you, that meant it was your turn to answer the question.

”Now, there is one question that a lot of your individual and combined fans have been asking a lot lately.” The interviewer, Notaui, began, although he paused, waiting for some kind of approval from the two of you.

You started to nod a yes, and Katsuki spoke up. ”Go on.” He sounded annoyed. He always sounded annoyed though, and you were internally rolling your eyes, although that never poked through to your facial expression. Pure focus in media and PR training had taught you how to maintain an expression while feeling something else entirely.

”Can we expect to hear of a save the date anytime in the near future?” Notaui lifted his brows up at the happy couple. You turn your head to Katsuki, but he freezes, and you squeeze his hand, letting him know you would take care of it. After all, this was bound to come up eventually, and you were prepared.

”Notaui c'mon, wouldn't that ruin the surprise of a proposal?” You say with a laugh, getting the attention off Katsuki for a few moments. At the sound of your laugh, your counterpart dry laughs right along with you. You didn't need a quirk to feel the realisation of the stupidity of the question ripple through the audience. ”Besides we're in no hurry.” You continue, turning and smiling at the crowd with a wink.

The answer you gave was perfect, Katsuki knew that. He also knew that his manager would praise him for letting you handle it, but it still pissed him off a little bit, even if the rewards got him exactly where he'd wanted to be since he decided he wanted to be a pro hero.

Notaui cleared his throat, and his cheeks got a little rosy out of what most would assume was embarrassment, but you could tell, it was disappointment from not getting the answer the producers wanted.

”You just say when.” Notaui laughed, winking at the camera. It made both you and Katsuki question how this guy got his own show, but nobody knew that. ”Oh and guess what, that's time.” He announced, telling you, Katsuki and the audience that the segment of you two sitting there looking perfect, was over.

Katsuki stood up before you did, and with your hands holding his, you were quick to follow suit.

You walked over to Notaui, releasing Katsuki’s hand to shake his, politely thanking him for having the two of you on. Katsuki didn’t shake the guy’s hand, instead just nodding along with your words before ushering off the stage just behind you, barely sparing a second glance at the audience you smiled and waved at. Still, you smiled as you politely thanked all of the behind the scenes crew, just like your manager had told you while Katsuki floated around you, hands in his pockets. 

When you two finally managed your way into the elevator and the doors shut, you both let our heavy sighs almost simultaneously. You glanced over at Katsuki, who had looked over to you at the same time. We’re spending too much time together. You thought to yourself, eyes returning to anything but him.

The ding of the elevator had your smile returning and your hand reaching for Katsuki’s for just a moment longer as you left the building, where a car had been pulled around for you both. Letting go of his hand, you reached forward, pulling the back door open before sliding all the way over to the farthest seat. Katsuki got in, sitting closest to the door he pulled shut. This left just the middle seat between you two.

“Well that was bullshit.” Katsuki muttered, arms crossed while his eyes glared out the tinted window. You turned your head to him momentarily, rolling your eyes as your head turned back to looking out your own window.

“For once I agree with you.” You responded, reaching into your purse for your phone. It’d become routine now, to check your phone after every time you and Katsuki would go out together. First you open your messages, giving a thumbs up response to your manager’s text about doing great. Then you read your mom’s text about how proud she and your father were to see you on TV, which you half-smile at. They didn’t know your relationship with Katsuki wasn’t real. Your mom gets a ‘thanks mom :)’ text back, and you close out of your texts.

Deciding against checking your email, you click on the blue icon with a white bird on it. You ignore the top tweets in your timeline, moving over to the explore page. There it is.

“We’re trending again.” You say into the air, eyes never leaving your phone screen. Katsuki just hums in response. You tap the trending tag, scrolling through tweet after tweet. Of course there were a few people who hated you, or Katsuki, or both of you, but most of the tweets were big hero culture news outlets and fans raving about you guys. Sometimes you did feel a little guilty about the whole thing. Making people happy made you happy, but it’s not like any of it is true. Regardless, you go ahead and like some of the fan tweets. 

Katsuki leans his head back against the headrest of his seat. He mumbles something under his breath and you turn to him. “What?” You ask him, eyes scanning his face.

He huffs, desperately willing himself not to roll his eyes as he always does. “I said, you’re too good at this, (L/n). Better than you should be, anyways.” He says, looking away from you. You quirk a brow up at him. “I mean-” He pauses, as if thinking over his words. “how are you always so cheerful with the fans and press?” The questions echoes in your ears.

“Easy. I think about going home.” You responded, more nonchalantly than you left. Of course the lie was tiring, but being in your own bed, surrounding by blankets and pillows and your cat Zero, his different fur colours always keeping him quite clear in your vision in contrast to the shades of your bedding as your eyes scan over the screen of your laptop, giggling at the youtube video displayed on the screen. 

Katsuki looks at you.. oddly? It’s almost a scowl, but not quite. It’s almost like he’s simply displeased. You stare right back at him and pull your lips tight together, silently reiterating your words. He grunts in response, it’s his nonverbal version of ‘okay.’ 

As the driver rounds the last corner before your apartment, you notice something in your peripheral vision. Was that..? You question, eyes looking into the driver’s rear view mirror. You can’t be sure of what you’re seeing since the angle is meant for the driver, not a passenger, but when the car stops just outside the carpark of your apartment complex, you take the chance to glance back as your readjust in your seat, gathering your purse and looking around for anything else you may have left behind in the car. Cameras. You were seeing cameras, maybe they were fans, maybe they were paparazzi, that you couldn’t tell. 

You reached for the door handle, when you felt your phone buzz. Sighing shortly, you reach for your phone, a text from your manager being the sole notification at the bottom of the screen. Without clicking it, your Face ID unlocks your phone, switching the text from a new message notification, to showing the contents of the text. It tells you that there are eyes on you and Katsuki which, granted, you knew, but it always made you shiver at how she always knew.

While you didn’t like the idea of inviting a man prone to outbursts into your safe haven, you still acted immediately. You couldn’t help how your media-trained mind worked. “Give me your jacket and come with me.” You say into the air, words clearly meant for Katsuki and he looks over to you from the window, confused while you typed back an ‘okay’ text to your manager.

When he didn’t move immediately, you lifted your eyes from the screen and looked at him. “Bakugo, now.” You told him, eyes looking at him almost as if he was crazy. Katsuki began to shed his jacket, handing it over to you with a frown. 

“Why am I going with you?” He asks, rolling his shoulders back. You start to drape the jacket over your shoulders.

“I’ll tell you when we get upstairs.” You huff, offering your hand out to him. “Ready?” 

All he does is slide his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers with a nod and a grunt.

Oh the things you do to remain at the top.

@ STARLITRAYS : please do not translate or repost my works without my expressed consent and permission. please do not copy any of my works.