#I need a surface to be creative that isn’t a desk

[weltonreject]

goals for future home: own a hobby bench

[calcifiedunderland]

I love your selkie Jade fic!! It’s so good and so creative! I need a Floyd courting fic like I need air, maybe where Yuu has no idea what Floyd strange behavior is, but the octavinelle crew is acting very odd and extra smug when they see Floyd and the prefect together

🐬💥💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

THANK YOU!!! I’m glad you liked the Jade Selkie fic AH!!! I really wanted to write a Floyd version too hehe, hope you enjoy~

Floyd Leech, ft. Selkie

Jade! Azul!

Floyd was confident no one would dare take his pelt. It was easy to steal a selkie’s pelt when it was left unattended (like Jade’s) or hidden (like Azul’s). Floyd always knew where his was - always, always, on his person.

When he had to go to the surface to attend NRC, their father gave him two pieces of advice. One, always pay attention to your footwear. And two, always keep your pelt with you. Whether it’s in your bag, over your shoulders, or under your clothes.

People expected Floyd to be more lax with his skin, but he took the advice to heart more than Jade, who liked showing it off tantalizingly to those grubby landers. So, Floyd’s pelt was always under his clothes. He hated the feeling of extra layers, but he hated being parted with the pelt even more. The very thought of being taken away from the ocean made his human skin crawl.

Imagine his panic when he couldn’t find it once he returned to his dorm after club practice.

He’d tied the pelt securely underneath his basketball jersey, and practice went off without a hitch. He was fired up that day too. He’d won points left and right, and left the gym feeling great. Up until he realized his pelt was no longer snugly tied to his torso, and his heart dropped. He’d passed through the gym, the entire school, the mirror chamber, and through the Lounge up to his dorm. He could’ve lost it anywhere. To anyone.

Jade opened their dorm door to see Floyd flinging things around their room, and launching himself to Jade’s side to dig through his things. “What in the Seven’s are you doing, Floyd?” He didn’t even need to a response when Floyd turned to him with sheer panic on his face. Jade felt his throat tighten. Floyd lost his pelt.

Meanwhile, you stared at the… cloth? in front of you. Earlier today, you’d stopped by the gym while running errands for Crowley. As you made your way across, you noticed a teal heap amidst the basketballs. You knelt, curious, and picked it up. Wait, isn’t this what Jade and Floyd wear?

You didn’t really know what it was, only that it seemed special to them. You never wanted to be rude and ask him about it though, since you figured Floyd had his reasons for hiding it, while Jade has his own for flaunting it.

That thing was massive. You didn’t even see a zipper on it, so it couldn’t be a jacket. Not to mention, it felt kind of… leathery, almost. Like fish skin or something.

When you got to Ramshackle, you folded it neatly before tucking it in a spare shoebox you had. It had a few jewelry pieces in it with shells and pearls. You also chucked a shoe polish in, as well as some funky patterned socks you didn’t want. You decided to leave them in, tucked under the cloth. Maybe Floyd would like them.

The next day, you walked into Mostro Lounge with the box. You overheard some students freaking out, whispering about Floyd being in one of his moods, but this time it was even worse.

You frowned, suddenly nervous. Floyd’s freaking out? Why? You clutched the box a bit tighter. Was it because of the cloth?

In Azul’s office, Floyd was damn near about to blow the whole dorm up. It took Jade wrestling him down and Azul placating him, to get him to calm down just a fraction.

Even now, Jade had to keep watchful eye on him while Azul had a million contracts on his desk, hair wild from running his hands through it. Currently, Floyd was staring listlessly at the wall, bouncing his leg wildly. Who could have possibly been brazen enough to take Floyd’s pelt…? Jade and Azul had an understanding. They’d make them pay for this.

You overheard someone say Floyd was in Azul’s office, so you knocked on the door. “Hey, is Floyd in there?” You called, walking in. Jade glanced at Floyd, who seemed to at least compose himself in front of you. How interesting.

You stopped in front of Floyd, who looked up at you from the couch. He looked up at you, irritated. You cleared your throat, presenting the box to him. “I found your… belongings so I thought I’d give it back to you. It was in the gym, I figured you didn’t want to lose it.”

Floyd’s eyes zeroed in on the box, sensing the pelt, and he grabbed it from you. He nearly tore the top off, but at last he had his pelt back. He almost tore his uniform off then and there to feel it against his skin when he suddenly stopped.

You gave it back to him. You, gave it back to him. You gave it back.

Jade and Azul stared wide eyed at you and Floyd. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, “I also put some extra stuff in the box too, if you want it.”

Floyd lifted the skin a bit, and his eyes went wide. Glittering jewelry, shells, and pearls nestled in the folds of the pelt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Jade and Azul gasped.

“Oho?” Jade said, grinning slowly. “Oho?” Azul looked shocked. Floyd lifted the pelt out, and more jewelry fell out between the folds. Jade lifted his hand to his mouth, looking sly, “how forward of you, (Name). And in front of us, too.” Azul rose an eyebrow, pleased, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be the pelt thief. What an interesting development.”

Floyd was quiet, staring at everything in shock. He didn’t expect this from you, Shrimpy. You always were able to surprise him, but this took the bait. It was like everything started to make sense.

You had to know what you’d done. You gave Floyd jewelry, something merfolk did when they wanted to show affection. Not only that, you gave him things directly related to his interests. He eyed the shoe polish with interest, grinning widely. This was textbook courting rituals.

“Ne, shrimpy really is the best~” He stood, mood completely changed. You shrank back a bit as he leered over you. As he gazed into your eyes, you felt the acute sense that you just did something big.

“Don’t you worry Shrimpy, I’m gonna repay you back real good~” Floyd winked at you. You smiled nervously, conscious of the others’ smirks, “I-I should go.” You scurried out of Azul’s office, hearing Floyd’s raucous laughter echo behind you.

Floyd’s kinda weird today, you thought. You didn’t particularly mind it, though. Although dealing with Azul and Jade was a doozy.

Azul ran into you earlier, although you weren’t sure it was on accident. He’d hummed cryptically, with that sneaky businessman smirk he had when he knew something you didn’t. “I must say, it was incredibly forward of you to present Floyd’s pelt, especially with extra gifts. He was energetic all night, he hardly did any Lounge work,” Azul’s words somehow held little annoyance. Confusion filled you. His ‘pelt’? And the jewelry and shoe polish? Was it a big deal?

Azul continued, “You should find Jade later. He will want to speak to you, especially to go over your plans.” Your brow furrowed, echoing “plans?” Azul nodded, amused. “It’s more informal, since we’ve known you before. Just to discuss matters - the timing, ideal circumstance, your intentions, so forth.” He’d walked off before you could ask more. Your head swam.

You hadn’t been able to properly speak to Jade. He was all cordial smiles and, surprisingly, bowed to you multiple times. An amused smile graced his face, and he seemed to revel in your alarm. He’d brush past you just before you could ask him anything, and was always replaced by Floyd bounding up to you and taking you into his arms in giggles.

Ever since you gave him the box, Floyd was strangely clingy. His constant hugging and nuzzling you was borderline affectionate, and it made your heart stutter and stomach feel fluttery. You noted that he was wearing the jewelry you stuck in the box, next to the pelt peeking out of his shirt.

“Hey, (Name),” he said while leaning against you. You were both in the library. Floyd insisted on accompanying you everywhere, and seemed to be exhausted with how much he was yawning at you. “We should go swimmin,’ I’m bored here.”

You sighed, shutting your notebook. “I have work to do, Floyd.” You spied a couch nearby, “you could take a nap maybe, if you’re tired?” Floyd looked you up and down, before grinning. “Nah.”

He tossed you over his shoulder, and you shouted, making the ghost librarians shush you loudly. “Floyd!” He laughed and ran out before the ghosts could catch him.

He ran you all the way to the back of Mostro Lounge by the private fish tanks, where the tanks for the merfolk were. Finally he put you down, still cuddling you as the blue light from the waters washed over you.

Seeing the tanks, you suddenly remembered Azul talking about a pelt. Your mind flashed to the cloth you picked up from the gym. The skin-like texture. Floyd’s moodiness. The secrecy. You’d heard the word ‘Selkie’ being thrown around before, and you knew Floyd was a mer. The thought hid you like a truck - if the pelt belonged to Floyd, then was he a Selkie? Your heart pounded. And you gave the pelt back to him.

Jade walked in, holding a drink and potion in hand. “Ah, Floyd, you’re back.” Floyd grinned at him, shaking you side to side in his arms, “hey Jade~ me n’ Shrimpy are going to take a swim!” Jade smiled pleasantly, gaze locking onto you. “Could I have a moment with (name), please? It should only take a minute.”

Floyd pouted, but Jade gave him a look. Finally, let you go with a little sulk, but not before giving you a final squeeze. “I’ma be back, Shrimpy!~ Don’t go anywhere!” He flounced off, leaving you with Jade.

Jade handed you the drink and potion. “This is on the house, and this is an underwater breathing potion. I thought you may need one,” he said cryptically. You smiled warily at him, and you dumped the potion into the drink to mix it.

Jade sighed happily. “Mother and Father will be so thrilled.” You sipped your drink, throat feeling dry. “What do you mean?”

Jade continued as if he didn’t hear you, “please be gentle to Floyd. He’s never done this before, but I’ve never seen him so besotted with anything before.” Jade suddenly became serious, looking you in the eye. “You will not hurt him. And you won’t need to worry about him. I assure you, our parents took our lessons quite seriously where courting was concerned. He was always the one to wear his heart on his fins, so to speak. He’s quite romantic at heart, really.”

You nearly choked. “C-courting?!” Jade nodded, slowly grinning mischievously. “Of course. You made your intentions quite clear when you gave Floyd back his pelt. With some lovely courting gifts, no less.” Jade looked fondly at you, patting your shoulder. “You will be a welcome part of the family. Usually gifts such as jewelry come much later in the courting process, but I expect you’ll be betrothed quite soon with how taken Floyd is with you.”

Now you actually choked. “He- what?!” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t exactly upset about Floyd liking you, but courting? This was fast. Jade nodded. If he sensed your growing panic and confusion, he certainly ignored it (or found it entertaining) as he smiled at you. “Yes, he was quite pleased that you were the one who found his pelt. Ah, young love~”

You downed your drink as Floyd bounded back to you, sweeping you up. “Shrimpy~ I’m back!” He’d stripped off his outer garments. His pelt was draped over his shoulders like a towel, and he grinned down at you. “Let’s go~ I’ll keep ya safe, promise!”

As he waded into the waters, you decided to just accept your fate. You reached up and kissed Floyd on the cheek, pressing your face to his gently. He squished you against him as the water rose and his lower half meshed with the pelt, turning back into his eel form.

He rubbed his cheek against yours, “I’m happy you gave me back my pelt, Shrimpy.” You felt Floyd smile against your face, and you hugged him back. “Y’know what? I’m happy too, Floyd.”

THE MAN THE MYTH THE EEL!!! Floyd!!!!!

[misahyochaeng]

FETISH

tw: dom!momo, sub!reader, photography-tutor!momo, “intern”!reader, enemies/rivals to friends to lovers(?), slight angst & fluff, fingering, pussy eating, momo’s slightly older, she also likes girls who beg 😊 (me ngl), slight humiliation, begging, a bit of degradation and impact play.

You absentmindedly fold the blank pages of your sticky notes into tiny origami figures, your fingers working on autopilot while the professor drones on about the rule of thirds. You've memorized every angle and nuance—today’s lesson is nothing new to you.

Suddenly, a tiny paper ball lands squarely on your table. You pause, and without even looking up, you know exactly who’s responsible. Momo, ever the nonchalant senior, sits a few rows ahead with a self-assured smirk. She points at the front of the class, silently commanding your attention.

You roll your eyes and return to your folding, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Leaning against your shoulder, Chaeyoung doodles absentmindedly on the edge of your paper.

“Ugh, she’s so irritating,” you mutter, your tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Every single class, she just has to make me her personal punching bag.”

Chaeyoung looks up with a gentle smile. “Maybe she’s just bored. You know how seniors can be—they think they’re above it all.”

You scoff. “Above it? More like she’s on a mission to drive me crazy.”

Before you can continue, another paper ball whizzes by and lands on your desk. You shoot a glare at Momo, who casually flips you off before returning to her cool demeanor.

“Momo, seriously?” you mumble under your breath, the irritation clear in your voice.

Chaeyoung whispers, “Honestly, I think it’s her way of saying hello… in her own twisted way.”

At that moment, the professor’s voice snaps through the murmur of the classroom, “Alright, everyone, listen up. Today you’ll be working on a group project based on the rule of thirds. I’ll be drawing names from the registration numbers.”

You lean toward Chaeyoung, whispering about your dinner plans—McDonald’s, of course—when the professor announces, “Numbers 13 and 3.”

Your stomach drops.

You already know your number is 13, but 3… isn’t Chaeyoung’s. You quickly flip through your folder, scanning the list of student numbers.

A tap on your shoulder makes you freeze.

You don’t even need to turn around. You’d recognize that perfume anywhere.

“For fuck’s sake…” you mutter under your breath.

“Hey, respect your seniors, assface,” Momo drawls before giving you a not-so-gentle shove forward.

Then, as if she wasn’t just tormenting you a second ago, she turns to Chaeyoung with a sweet smile. “Hey, Chaeyoung.”

“Hey…” Chaeyoung laughs nervously before standing up. She mouths good luck before abandoning you to your fate.

Momo settles into the chair next to you, stretching her arms behind her head like she doesn’t have a care in the world. You don’t need to look at her to know she’s smirking.

This is going to be hell.

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, as Momo taps a pen against her notebook. She isn’t even looking at you, just scribbling something down like she’s already taken charge of the entire project before you’ve had a chance to speak.

“Alright,” she says, casually flipping a page. “Since I’m the oldest here—and obviously the one with more experience—I’ll handle the creative direction. You can be my assistant.”

You blink at her. “Assistant?”

She finally looks up, lips curling into a smirk. “Yeah. Like my little sidekick.”

You scoff. “I don’t remember signing up to be your intern.”

Momo hums, tapping her pen against her chin like she’s thinking it over. “You’re right. Interns at least get college credit.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh, you’re hilarious.”

“I try.” She shrugs, turning back to her notes. “Anyway, I already have a plan. Something bold, something striking—something that might actually get us an A.”

“Might?” you repeat, offended.

“Well.” She glances at you, her smirk deepening. “You do tend to drag things down, so no promises.”

You slap a hand over your chest dramatically. “Wow. Senior privilege has really gone to your head, huh?”

Momo chuckles but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she stretches her arms behind her head and sighs. “You’ll get used to it.” Then, without missing a beat, she adds, “Now, go fetch me a coffee.”

You stare at her, waiting for the punchline.

She stares back, completely serious.

“In the middle of class?” you ask.

She tilts her head slightly, as if pretending to weigh the logic of that. “Yeah. I think better when I have caffeine. And you work better when you do what I say. So, really, this benefits both of us.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

Momo leans in slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “Then do something about it.”

Your glare meets her smirk, and for a few seconds, it’s a silent battle of wills.

You groan, digging into your bag for your wallet. “You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m the best.”

You shake your head as you push your chair back. “This is gonna be a long project.”

Behind you, Momo chuckles, clearly pleased with herself. “Oh, trust me, Y/N, you have no idea.”

The tiny campus coffee shop was buzzing with students, the scent of freshly brewed espresso and warm pastries hanging in the air. It was run by the school’s barista and baking club, which meant the prices were decent, and the coffee was actually good—not that you cared about any of that right now.

Because right now, you were stuck in a booth across from Momo, who was currently staring at the bill like it had personally offended her.

“I told you, you should’ve paid,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

You scoffed. “And I told you we were splitting it.”

Momo groaned dramatically, leaning back against the seat. “Why do I even have to pay? I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.”

“Oh my god, do you hear yourself?” You rolled your eyes, pushing half the bill toward her. “You dragged me out of class for this.”

She narrowed her eyes but eventually reached into her pocket and begrudgingly slapped a few bills onto the table. “This is daylight robbery.”

“It’s literally five bucks.”

“It’s absurd.”

You ignored her, pulling out your notes and flipping through them. Unlike Momo, who had come in with zero preparation, you had already crammed a whole bundle of organized ideas long before this project was even announced. You knew exactly what had to be done—it was simple, really.

Momo, of course, not admitting it, but you caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes as she skimmed over your notes. impressed, though her ego was way too huge to say it out loud.

“So, I was thinking we could go for a more dynamic composition,” you started, pointing to a section of your notes. “Maybe play with leading lines or forced perspective—”

Momo scoffed, flipping one of the pages like it was offensive. “You’re trying way too hard.”

Your eye twitched. “It’s called being prepared, Hirai.”

“It’s called overachieving, freshman.”

Your hands clenched into fists as you glared at her, while she casually sipped her coffee like she wasn’t getting on your last nerve.

“Look, you wanna do something boring, fine,” you said, exasperated. “But don’t come crying to me when the professor gives us a mid-grade because someone—” you jabbed a finger in her direction, “—didn’t want to actually put in effort.”

Momo smirked. “Please, like you’d ever let our grade drop. You’d rather die.”

“That’s—That’s not the point!”

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Relax, freshman. I’ll throw in some of my genius ideas, and we’ll be fine.”

You huffed. “Stop calling me that. You don’t even have a plan, do you?”

“I have vibes.”

You smacked your forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

The discussion—or rather, the argument—only escalated from there. What started as a simple debate over concepts turned into full-blown shouting about color theory, lighting choices, and whether or not Momo even understood what the rule of thirds was.

“I literally just explained it to you!”

“I understood it! I just think it’s dumb!”

“You’re dumb!”

“Wow, real mature.”

“Why are you like this?!”

By the time the coffee shop’s owner came over and politely —but firmly—asked you both to leave, you were fuming, and Momo looked far too pleased with herself. She shoved you out the door first, laughing under her breath as you stomped out.

You pulled your hoodie over your head, practically vibrating with frustration. “I’ll text you,” you muttered, keeping your gaze on the ground. Because honestly? Seeing her in person was a pain.

Momo chuckled, hands in her pockets. “Can’t wait.”

Every interaction with Momo was like an active battlefield.

Even through text, it was an argument. You’d message her something simple—Hey, let’s meet up tomorrow to finalize the outline—and she’d somehow turn it into a whole debate.

"Tomorrow’s no good. Do it yourself."

"I’m not doing everything alone, Momo."

"You basically already are, what’s the difference?"

“Fuck you."

It was exhausting.

Between this project, your other assignments, and just trying to survive life in general, made your patience wear thin. And she wasn’t helping. Every time you tried to make progress, she either made some sarcastic remark, refused to cooperate, or sent you on a damn coffee run just to waste your time.

And today?

Today was your breaking point.

The rain poured heavily outside as students rushed past with umbrellas and jackets pulled over their heads. You didn’t care about any of that. You were standing under the awning near the campus library, fists clenched, soaked to the bone, trying to talk sense into her.

“Can you for once take this seriously?!” you shouted over the rain, your voice raw with frustration.

Momo, standing in front of you with her usual nonchalant expression, just sighed. “I am taking it seriously. You’re the one freaking out.”

Your hands shook. “Are you—do you even hear yourself?! This project is due in less than a week and you’ve done absolute bullshit!”

She smirked. “I gave input.”

“Arguing with me every second isn’t input, Momo!”

You could feel the lump in your throat growing, frustration swelling in your chest like a balloon ready to burst. The rain pelted against you both, drenching your clothes, but you didn’t care. You were so tired.

Momo, however, just stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets, barely fazed. “You need to chill.”

That was it.

That was the final straw.

With a strangled yell, you shoved her—hard. Momo barely had time to react before she stumbled back, slipping slightly on the wet pavement. She landed on the ground with a dull thud, rain instantly soaking through her jeans, her hands catching her fall too late.

For a second, she just blinked up at you, stunned.

But you didn’t care. You were shaking, tears already streaming down your face as your emotions crashed over you like a tidal wave.

“You—you make my life a living hell,” you choked out, voice cracking. “I try to be cooperative, i try to listen—but every fucking second I spend trying to work with you, you make it worse.”

Momo just stared, lips slightly parted, but for once, she didn’t have a quick comeback.

With trembling hands, you reached into your bag and pulled out a thick stack of papers—a perfectly printed and organized document.

The project plan.

The exact layout, execution, and theme. Everything—even the parts Momo had specifically wanted.

And then, right in front of her, you crumpled it in your fists and threw it at her. The rain immediately soaked the pages, ink smearing, paper sagging as it landed against her chest.

Momo barely moved, still sitting in the puddle, as she slowly picked up the now-wet document. She tried to unfold the ruined pages, her fingers smearing the ink as she stared at the careful details, the way everything had been planned out—just the way she had stubbornly insisted.

A strange pang settled in her chest.

Why?

Momo had been feeling off all weekend.

No matter how many times she pulled up your contact, hovered over the text box, or even typed out a snarky insult, she always ended up deleting it. Too much? Not enough? She had no idea. And the fact that she even cared this much was messing with her head.

She didn’t hear from you at all. No texts, no passive-aggressive insults, no complaints. Not even a middle finger emoji.

By Monday, it was bothering her.

When she walked into class, her eyes immediately scanned the room, searching—There.

You were slumped at your desk, hoodie pulled over your head, face half-hidden by the fabric. A large coffee cup sat next to you, mostly untouched, condensation forming at the sides. You weren’t talking to anyone. You weren’t even on your phone.

For some reason, that sight made Momo hesitate. She wasn’t used to seeing you like this.

Slowly, she approached, standing awkwardly beside your desk before clearing her throat.

“Hey.”

You flinched slightly, like you hadn’t even noticed her standing there, before exhaling loudly. “God…” you muttered under your breath. “Not you.”

Momo forced a smirk, shoving her hands into her hoodie pockets. “Rude. I was so worried about you.”

You let out a weak scoff, still refusing to look at her.

She shifted on her feet, debating her next move before sighing. “Look, I… y'know, regret some things.”

That made you finally glance at her—just a little. “You? Regret?”

Momo rolled her eyes. “Okay, not in the way you’re thinking. But. I may have been an asshole.”

You raised an eyebrow. “May?“

“Fine,” she groaned, “I was an asshole.”

You nodded, satisfied, before looking away again.

A beat of silence.

Then, without thinking, Momo reached out and gently turned your face toward her, thumb resting just under your jaw.

She barely had time to process what she was doing before she saw you—really saw you. The eyebags peeking through your makeup, the slightly smudged mascara, the exhaustion written all over your face.

Her breath hitched. “Damn. You look rough.”

Your glare was immediate, and Momo quickly turned your head back down like she’d seen nothing. “I think it’s best if you just stay like that,” she muttered.

Your arm shot out, smacking her without hesitation. “Dickhead.”

Momo snorted, rubbing her arm. “Okay, okay, I deserved that.”

You flipped her off before taking a sip of your coffee, still sulking.

Momo exhaled, leaning against the desk. “Anyway… I actually came to say I’ll put in real work for the project.”

Your fingers twitched around your cup. “Hah.”

“I mean it.”

You gave her a side glance, still skeptical.

“I’m serious. We’ll work at my place later tonight. I’ll even buy dinner. Snacks too. My treat.”

You bit your lip, debating it, but Momo could tell she had you the second your shoulders relaxed slightly.

“…Fine,” you muttered, almost begrudgingly.

Momo grinned. “There’s that enthusiasm I love.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is gonna be hell.”

Momo patted your back, smirking. “Oh, absolutely.”

But for some reason, it didn’t feel as bad anymore.

—

When Momo opened her apartment door, she wasn’t expecting this.

You stood there, dressed casually — oversized hoodie, loose sweatpants, hair lazily tied back. No makeup, no carefully put-together outfit like you usually wore. Just… you.

Momo blinked. What the hell?

She’d always seen you as this organized, almost annoyingly put-together person. But seeing you like this — relaxed, comfortable, a little tired but still somehow… attractive?

What the fuck is wrong with you, Mo.. get a grip..

Momo bit her lip, scolding herself internally before stepping aside to let you in. “Took you long enough,” she muttered.

“You’re lucky I even showed up,” you shot back, toeing off your sneakers.

Momo rolled her eyes and led you to the living room, where her table was cluttered with notebooks, pens, and a half-empty bag of chips. “I already started setting things up,” she said, gesturing to the mess. “But I doubt your perfectionist ass will approve.”

You snorted, flopping onto the couch. “Oh, definitely not.”

For the next hour, you both actually worked — shocking as that was. The banter never stopped, though.

“Why are your notes written like you’re decrypting ancient text?” you muttered, squinting at her handwriting.

“Maybe if you weren’t illiterate, you’d understand,” Momo shot back, smirking.

“Yeah? Well, maybe if you weren’t lazy, I wouldn’t have to understand your part too.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

Somehow, despite the endless back and forth, you managed to make progress. Eventually, Momo grabbed the snacks she’d promised, tossing a pack of chips at you.

“Here. Don’t say I never do anything for you,” she said, flopping down beside you.

You caught the bag, tearing it open before popping a chip in your mouth. “Wow,” you drawled. “Such a provider.”

Momo scoffed. “You’re welcome.”

She reached for her own bag, but midway through her snack, she noticed you distractedly flipping through your notes. Without really thinking, she grabbed a chip, held it up, and pressed it to your lips.

You froze.

“…What are you doing?”

“Feeding you,” Momo said like it was obvious.

“I have hands,” you muttered, snatching the chip from her fingers.

“Yeah, but you’re too busy pretending to be a genius.”

“Pretending?!”

“Don’t start crying.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You’d miss me.”

Neither of you noticed how easy it had become — the teasing, the insults that felt more playful than venomous.

And it didn’t stop there.

For the next few days, it became a routine — meeting at her place, or sometimes on campus, even when there wasn’t anything to work on. Sometimes you’d pretend you *totally* had something important to do just so you had an excuse to hang out longer. And Momo? She didn’t mind.

Actually… she kind of liked it.

Too much.

She started noticing things — like how you scrunched your nose when you pouted, or the way you bit your pen cap when you were focused. And god, that *whiny voice* you used whenever she pushed a joke too far — it was so irritatingly cute, and it stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Momo swore to herself she wouldn’t catch feelings.

But here she was — completely hooked.

And she had no idea how to deal with it.

quieter, something fonder.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Realizing she’d been staring a little too long, Momo cleared her throat and grabbed a bag of snacks from the table, tossing it into your lap.

“Here,” she muttered. “Before you start crying.”

You huffed dramatically, tearing the bag open — but as you reached for a handful of chips, you couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes still lingering on you.

The two of you worked quietly for the next half hour, your occasional sighs and scribbles filling the room. By the time you both finished, the weight of the project finally felt lighter — almost freeing.

“Well,” you exhaled, stretching your arms. “We should submit it now.”

Momo, still scrolling through her computer screen, scoffed. “Nope. We’ll send it tomorrow.”

“What? No, let’s just get it over with,” you insisted.

“It’s better to send it on time,” she argued.

“That’s so dumb. It’s done. Why wait?”

“Because what if something’s wrong? We can double-check it before—”

“Oh my god, Momo.” You groaned. “It’s fine. Just submit it.”

“It’s not fine, and you’re not always right,” she shot back.

“And you’re never right,” you snapped.

The tension built quickly — voices raising, your patience thinning again. For a second, it felt like things were spiraling into yet another full-blown argument.

But then Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll send it.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really,” she grumbled, opening her email. “I’ll submit this dumb thing now, but you’re turning in the itinerary tomorrow.”

You crossed your arms. “Fine.”

Momo clicked the ‘Send’ button, but as she hovered over the file attachment, you caught a glimpse of her hesitation.

“You should double-check it first,” you muttered.

Momo’s eye twitched. “You just said it was fine.”

“Yeah, but what if you—”

“Oh my god, would you just—”

“Just check it again!” you barked.

“Shut up,” Momo huffed — and suddenly her hand clamped over your mouth.

You froze. Her palm was warm, fingers curling slightly near your jaw, thumb resting just below your cheek. She wasn’t holding you tightly — just enough to stop you from speaking.

It smelled... nice. Clean, faintly floral — her lotion maybe? Your thoughts scrambled for a second before you caught yourself.

What the hell is wrong with you? you scolded yourself.

Momo seemed to snap out of it too, pulling her hand away quickly as if she realized what she'd just done. Neither of you said anything as she finally hit ‘Send.’

“Done,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “Thank god that’s over.”

You couldn’t resist. “Aw, you’re gonna miss me, aren’t you?”

“In your dreams,” Momo snorted.

You grinned. “You wish I dreamed about you.”

“Oh, please.”

The room fell into an oddly comfortable silence. The tension from earlier felt... different now. Softer.

“Hey...” Momo spoke up after a moment, her voice quieter than usual. “Thanks.”

You frowned, turning your head. “For what?”

“For... putting up with me,” she muttered, her eyes flickering to her lap. “I know I’ve been... kind of a pain.”

You snorted. “Kind of?”

Momo chuckled under her breath. “Okay... a huge pain.” Her voice softened. “But... I mean it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Was she... being nice?

“Okay... what do you want?” you asked suspiciously.

Momo shook her head. “Nothing, idiot,” she laughed lightly. “I’m serious. You’re... you’re really dedicated. And hardworking. I like that.”

The words lingered in the air. You swallowed hard, feeling a strange warmth crawl up your neck.

Momo’s gaze lingered on yours for a beat too long. She licked her lips nervously, her body shifting just a little closer.

Before you could say anything, she leaned in — and her lips pressed softly against yours.

The kiss was tender at first — soft, almost hesitant — but then something shifted. It deepened, her lips moving against yours with a hunger that caught you off guard. Like she'd been holding herself back for far too long, and now she couldn’t stop.

You knew you should’ve pulled away. Should’ve shoved her back and demanded what the hell she was thinking. But instead... you melted.

Her hand slid to your jaw, fingers curling against your skin as her tongue swiped along your bottom lip. It was fleeting — just a tease — before she suddenly pulled back, her eyes wide in panic.

“I’m... I’m so sorry,” Momo stammered, her voice breathless. “I shouldn’t— I didn’t mean— I don’t know why I—”

You didn’t let her finish.

Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, you yanked her back in, crashing your lips against hers once more. This time, there was no hesitation — just heat. The way her fingers dug into your waist, how her breath hitched as you tangled your fingers in her hair... it made your head spin.

Neither of you seemed to care how messy it was, how desperate — how much you both knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

But in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Her lips crashed back onto yours, this time with more urgency—more need. Her hand cupped the side of your neck, thumb grazing your pulse as if she wanted to feel just how fast your heart was racing. You barely registered the way her body shifted until your back hit the couch cushions, her weight pressing down on you.

Momo hovered above you, her knee slipping between your legs, trapping you beneath her as she added a bit of pressure to your core. The warmth of her breath fanned across your lips as she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her face was flushed, her pupils dark and blown out.

“Your lips…” she panted softly, her voice low and breathless. “They taste so good.”

Before you could even think of how to respond, she leaned back in, her lips slotting perfectly against yours. Her fingers slid into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The way she moved — slow yet deliberate — had you spiraling.

You knew this was dangerous. That whatever this was, it could only complicate things.

But when her body pressed closer, her lips claiming yours like she couldn’t get enough… you didn’t fucking care.

Her hands began to messily tug the hem of your t-shirt, slipping under to run her large cold hands on your soft skin, tracing shapes across your stomach.

She planted open mouthed kisses at your neck, each one earning a whine out of you, “Fuck.. keep making those noises, Y/N.” She tested the waters and moved higher from under your shirt, fingertips inches away from the lower part of your breasts.

She moved down to your collarbone, sucking on the skin there, leaving marks you knew you both were going to regret later—it didn’t matter right now though.

“Momo.. take it off..” you stammered out, your voice a fragile whisper that made Momo’s heart race—she held back wanting to ruin you whole.

She finally removed your t-shirt, throwing it somewhere on the floor, she took in your bare body, looking at it with primal hunger, an urge to devour you whole.

She unhooked your bra in a swift motion, cursing under her breath at the sight of your breasts, how perfect, how soft they looked—she knew they would be even better in her hands—she cupped one of them, squeezing it slightly, you jolted forward and squeezed your eyes shut, she let out a tiny chuckle “So sensitive huh, baby?”

Momo continues to explore your chest, her hands roaming over the soft mounds. She leans down to capture one of your nipples in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hardened peak. Her other hand kneads the other breast, enjoying the feeling of your perfect tits in her hands.

You moaned loudly at the feeling of her warm wet tongue, fingers automatically going to tangle into her blonde hair, soft curses slipping out of your lips as you slowly grinded your core on her thigh that was still positioned inbetween herlegs, Momo’s eyes practically rolled back once she heard my moans for the first time, that urge of hers to lose control slowly coming out. 

Momo's body reacts to your moans, her heart rate increasing and her breathing becoming heavier. She releases your nipple with a soft pop and looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Her hands continue to squeeze and caress your chest, leaving red marks on your delicate skin. "Fuck..."

You whined in eagerness, pushing Momo’s head back into your chest—the tug was firm and desperate as your lip quivered in desperation, you wanted—you needed—her mouth.

“Needy girl..” she happily obliged your desperate tug, diving back onto your chest with enthusiasm. She alternates between your nipples, lavishing one with her tongue while pinching and teasing the other with her fingers. A grin spreads over her lips as she feels your pussy grinding urgently against her thigh.

Your lips shaped into a pout as you pressed deeper on her thigh, hands reaching up to grab Momo’s shoulders, nails digging into her skin through her shirt. “Fucks sake—please, momo.” you bit back, impatient and desperate. Momo smiled agaisnt your skin before nipping at it slightly, she pauses her teasing and looks up at you with a seductice glint in her eye. "Say please nicely, and maybe I'll give you what you want."

Fucking god.

She sucked and swirled her tongue hard and you snapped, “Oh fuck you—“ she cut you off my pressing deeper into your core, her tensed thigh pressing down on your desperate cunt, you threw your head back and moaned. “Such a dirty mouth, Y/N, do better.”

“Mmph—fuck off.” you spat out, though your body was reactive to every touch, every grope, every pull. Momo smirked, finding your stubbornness surprisingly arousing. She grinds her thigh harder against your pussy, making you yelp. "Are you always this difficult to fuck?" She asks in small pants, nipping at one of your breasts.

You gave in, a tiny whimper escaping your lips as you cried out in a shaky, soft voice, “Please, Momo..” her face softened into a satisfied grin, she has you right where she wants you. She begins increasing the pressure, rubbing agaisnt your clit with a smug look on her face “That’s better.”

“I need it..” your chest heaved as your nails dug deeper into the fabric of her shirt, rubbing against her thigh more frantically, “Yeah? What do you need?”, she tensed her thigh muscles, she knew you were soaked, your cunt warm on her thigh, she nipped at your breasts softly. Your mouth fell into an ‘O’ shape as she rolled your nipple inbetween her fingers, “Mmph—touch me, please..”

Momo gives in and finally slips her hand into your pants, cupping your dripping wet pussy, the warmth, the smell of musk, how wet it is—it’s driving her insane. "Is this what you need?" you frantically nodded as you bucked your hips forward into her hand, Momo’s eyes darkening with lust as she felt your wet cunt grind against her palm, she slowly slipped a single finger inside—letting you feel her length, she gasped at how easily her fingers entered “Gosh, Y/N.. you’re so fucking wet.”, she teased with a smirk as she pumped her single digit inside you.

You whined, “Stop teasing..”, every little pump just from her singular finger felt so good, lost in the moment, you closed your eyes and furrowed your brows out of frustration. "And if I don't?" Momo purred, her voice husky with desire. She spread your pussy lips with her fingers before adding a second digit. Hearing your little whines and moans was like a symphony to her ears. "What are you going to do about it?" she spat in mock pity.

Your voice cracked as you let out another moan as she hit all the right spots “Please!”, you sobbed out, you were sensitive, your face flushed all the way down to your neck—you grew impatient by the second, that cocky smirk on her face as she pleasured your pussy pissed—and aroused—you off even more.

Momo’s forearm and bicep flexed with every pump, licking her lips as she pressed down harder on your clit with her thumb, your pussy gripping her fingers for release, “You’re so fucking cute when you beg like this.” she watched as you threw your head back, tits bouncing slightly at every pump.

Gosh this was embarassing.

Not was she your senior, but she was the person you’d hate till the world ended—the one you’d swore you’d rather eat a thousand shard of glass before looking her way. Yet here she was, knuckles deep in your pussy making you feel good.

You moaned before speaking through gritted teeth “Mmph—so fucking embarassing.” you locked eyes with her before rolling them, eyebrows furrowing as she curled her fingers “Oh? but you’re loving every second of this aren’t you?”

“I told you to stop fucking teas—“ her hand came down and snapped on your thigh, the motion leaving a harsh red mark, you yelled at the pain, the stinging becoming somehow arousing, “Then stop talking back you whiny bitch.” she starts finger-fucking you rapidly, her hand a blur between your legs. She can feel your pussy starting to tighten around her fingers.

You whimpered in reply as you began grinding on her hand, puffy clit grinding agaisnt the palm of her hand—momo watched. The sound of your wet pussy squishing against her palm is driving her insane with desire. She leans in close, biting down on your earlobe. “You gonna cum, Y/N-ie?”

You nodded, lip quivering as you tried to speak up, but it felt impossible. Without a warning, she pulled out, a whine leaving your throat at the empty feeling, you locked eyes with Momo, who was smiling against your flushed and sweaty skin. She teases your nipples with her tongue, biting and sucking gently before moving lower. She can feel your body trembling with need, and it turns her on even more. “Momo?..” your voice shook again, almost like a cold tremble.

Momo hums against your skin, blowing cool air over your nipples before sucking them again. She loves having this effect on you, absolutely loves seeing you so desperate and needy. "What is it, sweetheart?" She murmurs, trailing kisses down to your navel.

“What are you?—Shit!!” you threw your head back as she latched onto your cunt, her warm tongue tasting your pussy for the first time, she lost control. As soon as Momo's lips touch your wet folds, she loses all it. She hooks your legs over her shoulders and buries her face between your thighs, licking and sucking furiously. She can feel you convulsing against her face, but she doesn't stop.

You beg and scream out her name, the people in the dorms next to you probably hearing the commotion, but you didn’t care—atleast in the moment—with shaky hands you latched onto Momo’s hair, tugging and pulling her head closer to your puffy cunt, the dorsal bump of her nose bridge rubbing against your clit.

Momo moans against your wet pussy as you pull her closer, the sounds of your screams spurring her on. Her tongue thrusts in and out of you rapidly, occasionally flicking up to circle your clit. The smell of your arousal fills her senses, making her drunk with desire. “You taste so fucking good.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes rolling back as you felt that familiar knot form in your stomach, “Fuck, fuck fuck—Momo i’m gonna cum.” She groaned against your pussy, her tongue working faster and harder. Feeling your body tensing up, your thighs clamping down on her head as you get closer to the edge. She doesn't let up, determined to make you cum all over her face.

“Shit.. Momo i’m—mmph..i’m cumming, baby—cumming!” your eyes rolled back as you jumped her face frantically, body convulsing and baco arching, coming undone on her tongue as your hands tugged her hair tighter, knuckles turning white. She flattens her tongue against your clit and holds it there, lapping at your juices as you cum hard against her mouth.

She helped you ride your high, sitting back on her heels, a dorkish-satisfied smile on her face as she looks at you. Her mouth is shiny with your juices, her bangs stuck to her forehead from the sweat and your arousal. “You’re so stupid,” you muttered with a suppressed smile as you pulled her in for a tiny peck she gladly reciprocated.

As she pulled back she nervously rambled as she tenderly brushed your sweat-drenched hair out of your face, her brows furrowed with concern. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Water? A towel? Did I... go too—“ you pressed a kiss on her lips to shut her up. “I’m fine, just get me some clean clothes and let me rest, ‘kay?..” you croaked groggily as you caressed her cheek, and without any word, she ran off, ready to take care of you no matter the circumstance.

—

The morning had been... weird. Not bad — just off.

Momo barely said a word when you left her apartment, but that smug little smile never left her face. Every time you glanced at her, there it was — like she knew something you didn’t.

Walking into the lecture hall, you spotted Chaeyoung near the professor’s desk, watching her paper get torn apart with red ink.

Perfect.

You grinned and wiggled your brows. “So... you and Tzuyu, huh?” you teased as she glanced at her work partner who towered over her.

“Get lost,” Chaeyoung muttered, rolling her eyes — but she was smiling.

She turned to leave, but paused, her eyes flicking to your neck.

Her smile dropped. She stepped back, staring harder.

“Yah…” she muttered, then laughed under her breath. “Wear something more neck-covering next time, okay?*”

Your stomach sank.

Your hand shot up, fingers brushing over your skin — and that’s when you felt it.

You turned to Momo.

She was watching, smug as ever. The second your eyes met, her grin widened.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

“Oh no,” Momo teased, voice low. “Don’t hide it now.”

[trinitygirlfailuresantos]

call me & i’ll come

robert ‘bob’ floyd x singer!reader

Pictures are not mine, credit to pinterest!

3.5k words

summary: inspired by “Watermelon” by Jane + John Q Public. after bob joins a D&D campaign to make friends in San Diego, he gets talked into also joining the band that is formed within the group. Over time he and the lead singer slowly get closer and closer. What happens when they kiss, but don’t talk about what the kiss meant to them?

warnings: slight miscommunication! fluff fluff fluff. a bit angsty at one point. the end gets a bit heated so 18+ MDNI!!!! Reader uses she/her pronouns, but theres no other descriptors! petname “darlin” is used twice. use of y/n (i tried so hard not to lol) flashback is bold and italicized

authors note: first off, thank you @lewmagoo for posting about drummer rhett, which in turn helped inspire this story! & everyone posting their Atta Boy stuff was also a huge inspiration to this!! only my second fic and i wrote so much. i just kept going and didnt stop until it was finished! im so sorry lmao. but i hope you enjoy!! this is mostly from bob’s pov!

Bob Floyd has a secret. Well, two. The first one is that he plays in a band in his free time, specifically, he plays the drums. Anyone who may watch how Bob acts when he thinks no one is paying attention, they would see him drumming on his lap, on the desk, or on any free surface. But the Dagger Squad isn’t that astute when it comes to their fellow workers lives. Natasha knows but, there’s a certain trust to be had between a pilot & their WSO. So Bob told her, and while she was taken a bit aback that the quiet Bob Floyd played the drums in an actual band, she was supportive.

Now, the secret that not even Natasha knows, the one Bob would swear he would take to his grave, is that he has a crush on the lead singer in their band. It's not just a silly crush that would go away with time; no, this crush has stuck since he first met her at a community D&D meetup.

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Flashback

He saw a sign that read “New Dungeons and Dragons campaign, starting Wednesday! All leveled players welcomed!” on the board at the grocery store a week after being stationed in San Diego. He decided he needed a creative outlet after work and maybe to make friends that weren’t pilots. So he went, and that’s when he saw her. She was their Game Master and she was wearing a renaissance faire-esque outfit. From that first sighting, he was a goner. He would look at her theatrical storytelling during their sessions with a fondness that rivaled the way Orpheus looked at Euridyce. Quickly he would look away before she caught him, but if he had kept looking, he would have noticed her looking at him the same way.

Somewhere along the way, another member of the party, named Blake, noticed Bob drumming on his thigh when the game would die down for a bit. They suggested Bob joined their band, seeing as they were in desperate need of a new drummer, the last one leaving to hit it big time. He went on a whole spill about everything having to do with the band and Bob was apprehensive at first, performing was way out of his comfort zone. He wasn’t like Rooster, he didn’t think he had the proper stage presence to perform for a crowd, and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

But that’s when she walked over to the two, a smirk on her face as she looked at Blake and said “Blake… go easy on Bobby boy here. I’m sure he doesn’t need a whole infomercial on why he should join us.” She turned to Bob and put her hand on his arm, and for a second he was sure his brain short-circuited. Now with a soft smile on her face, she gently said “Bob we would love for you to join us, only if you’re comfortable. I know you could be called away at a second’s notice, but regardless it would be an honor to have you as our drummer.” He sat there for a second just taking her in, from the casual way she was dressed, to her kind demeanor. He realized at that moment he was royally fucked because he would do anything she asked. He looked her in the eyes and responded “I-I’ll do it,” stuttering a bit but getting through it. Her smile widened, her eyes lit up with what Bob thought could be adoration, and she jumped up a bit clapping, “Great! We rehearse every Saturday, usually, gigs are small just hangouts for friends or family! I’ll text you all the details.” He missed the warmth from her hand as soon as it was gone but her reaction was worth it. That night while Bob was getting ready to sleep, his phone lit up with a text.

Y/N: Thank you for agreeing to this Bob, it truly means a lot. I’m glad you decided to come to our session that first night :)

And after replying, he fell asleep with a grin on his face, not regretting his decision one bit.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Now after a few months, Bob and the rest of the members have gotten close. They hang out outside of rehearsal and game sessions, and they’ve even been to Bob’s apartment for dinner. That’s when he told Natasha that he was in a band, and introduced them to her. They had a great night and Bob felt like he had found his group of people. The thought of leaving them for a mission, where the outcome was unknown, was scary, but the idea of having them all there to come back to, outweighed the formidable thoughts. Especially when he thought about the kind, charming, and beautiful singer who made it her mission to text Bob every day to ensure he was having a good day. Over the few months they had learned a lot about each other, she made sure to ask him the same questions he would ask her. Including dreams, they had as kids, favorite movies, biggest music inspirations, etc. He opened up to her about the constant teasing from the Dagger Squad, including the “Baby on Board” joke. And he learned she was the biggest nerd outside of D&D, texting him updates on the latest comic she had read, the newest Doctor Who update, and random fun facts about his favorite movies. With every text he received, Bob fell deeper and deeper into Cupid’s chokehold.

It all kinda got turned upside down when he and Phoenix suffered from a Bird Strike during training, and they had to eject. Early morning, after leaving the hospital and getting home, he texted the band group chat to let them know he would be missing both D&D and band practice. He was bombarded with questions regarding his well-being, and texts lending out sympathy to him. But y/n had been quiet, that is until he heard a knock on his door. When he opened it, he saw her standing there with several bags full of groceries and a shy smile on her face. “Hi,” she said softly “I’m sorry for the intrusion but I just wanted to make sure your recovery was a stress-free time, and well, I just, I’m sorry I can drop all this off and go if you want me to. I should’ve texted beforehand and I..” she was rambling now and he thought he couldn’t find her any more endearing than he did right now. He adjusted his glasses and stepped out of the doorway, “N-no come on in, you are welcome here at any time, you know that.” At that, her shoulders dropped a bit in relief and he could see her let out a breath he doubted she knew she was holding in. He led her to the kitchen and watched her get to work doing whatever she was here to do.

“Okay so I have the stuff to make baked potato soup, Alfredo, and I also brought peanuts, chips, Gatorade, and a bunch of other snacks for you.” She quickly got everything out of the bags, putting things in the right place, and Bob was hit with a daydream of this being a normal occurrence. A domestic life with her, both of them dancing around each other in the kitchen, making dinner while dancing to songs like “I’ll Be Seeing You” by Billie Holiday. He was so caught up with his daydream, he didn’t even realize she was talking to him. “I’m sorry what did you say?” He asked with a bashful smile. She shook her head with a gentle laugh, and said “I was just saying you should go get comfortable, I’ll be in here for a while.” He looked at her and gave a soft nod, immediately going to lie down on the couch and continue his daydreaming. For a while, he could hear her gentle hums coming from the kitchen, and he let that lull him into a peaceful sleep where he dreamed of a future where they were together.

A few hours later he was woken up by someone gently shaking his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, put his glasses on, and when he looked to see who it was, he swore he was still dreaming. She looked almost angelic standing above him with a caring smile and a bowl of something in her hands. “Sorry to wake you, it just hit 4, so I thought you might be hungry,” she gave a soft shrug and looked a bit nervous to see what his reaction might be. He took the bowl from her hands and gave a soft thank you with a smile he hoped was kind, and not some kind of grimace from still being a bit tired. He realized it was baked potato soup and he had to admit it was the best soup he had ever had, “This is amazing, thank you so much.” She gave another shrug and replied “It’s the least I can do, need our best sorcerer and drummer to get better soon! I put the rest in the fridge along with the Alfredo. The snacks are still on your island, but I should get out of your hair now. If you need anything please know I am a call away.” He really didn’t want her to leave just yet so he did something that even shocked him, “Do you want to stay, I’m sure you’re hungry as well and we could watch a movie or something?” Her eyes widened and a bright smile appeared on her face, “I would love to if you really don’t mind.” Of course, he didn’t mind, was she crazy?? If he could he would spend all of his time with her. “I don’t, please you’ve done so much for me today so please stay.” He didn’t mean to sound so needy, but it didn’t seem to deter her. In fact, her smile got brighter and she nodded her head.

They decided on watching Wall-E, it seemed like a good idea at the moment, but now they are both sniffling on the couch. “God who knew a cute robot could turn two adults into an emotional mess?” she said while turning to him, wiping the tears from under her eyes. He looked at her and she was gorgeous he thought. They sat looking in each other’s eyes for a moment and in a flash, their lips were on each other. He doesn’t know who leaned in first, all he knew was her lips were soft and he could feel her breath from her nose. As soon as it started, it was over and he chased her lips when she pulled away. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m so- I’m gonna go. Thank you Bob.” she rushed out, quickly grabbed her stuff, and practically ran from his apartment. He sat there dumbfounded, had he messed it up so quickly? Did she not like him in the same way he did her? He didn’t know, he kept wondering what happened while putting things away, and he fell asleep asking himself what happened.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A few weeks have passed, and things have gone semi-back to normal. There’s an awkward tension between them every session, every band practice, and the texts from her have stopped outside of letting him know of any changes to the schedule. Natasha could tell something was going on with her backseater, but he wouldn’t budge. He just told her it was nothing and that he was fine. But anyone with any common sense could see he wasn’t fine, he was distracted at work, he didn’t have the band members over for dinner, and he just seemed lost in thoughts every time someone talked to him at Hard Deck. But Natasha wasn’t having it, so she contacted Y/N, she told her Bob was acting strange. Y/N let her know what happened, and that she felt as if the kiss had only happened because Bob was emotional. She also let it slip to Nat that she had been harboring a crush on Bob since they first met, and despite trying to ignore it, it continued to grow. Nat told her the band should perform at the Hard Deck that weekend, and Y/N agreed only if Bob was okay with it. She texted Bob and he decided it was time to overcome the fear of the Dagger Squad knowing he was in a band. If he couldn’t overcome the fear of telling her how he felt, and how the kiss made him feel, then he could at least do this. And so it was set, the group would be performing at the Hard Deck, and Bob let that distract him from whatever else he was feeling at the time.

Saturday finally came, and Bob was a ball of nerves. He was sure the squad wouldn’t be too harsh towards him, but when it came to Hangman, he could never tell. When he arrived at the bar to do sound checks, he saw her again and a bit of his nerves calmed. She looked at him with a gentle but nervous smile “Hey Bob, glad you made it. We’re just gonna run through a few songs, and then we’ll get going with the show. I also brought a new song, it’s not too much but it will be the last song for the night.” He nodded his head, a bit lost in her eyes. He pushed his glasses up a bit and got his drums set up. After sound check, people started filling in the bar. Nat came up to him with a bit of a smirk, “I know about your kiss with Miss Gorgeous Singer up there.” She then lightly punched his arm, “Why wouldn’t you tell me, Bob? This is important information and I thought we were best friends.” She had a faux pout on her lips now and he shrugged, “I don’t know what happened Nat, it was going so well and then she just ran out.” He looked down, twirling his drumsticks, and she realized he was quite upset. She’s guessing the two idiots haven’t even talked about it. “I’m sorry Bob, but hey maybe things will work out after tonight,” she said with a comforting smile. It was at that moment, Jake, Javy, Bradley, and Mickey realized it was their own “Baby on Board” on the drums for tonight.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” Jake said with his usual smirk on his face. “Cut it bagman.” Natasha quickly replied, she realized it was time for the band to start so she gave Bob a final comforting smile, then quickly pushed Jake and the rest of the guys back.

You got on stage and introduced the band. The show started and everything was going well. Bob was keeping up, concentrating hard and using the quick time between songs to push his glasses up his nose. Finally it was time for the new song, and he was a bit nervous, seeing as they hadn’t rehearsed it yet. He heard you clear your throat as you said “Hey y’all, this last song is a new one I wrote about a week ago. Sometimes you just meet someone and realize you will always be there for them no matter what.” With that, you looked back to the group and nodded to let them know it was time to start.

I’m the watermelon slammed into your driveway

Crack me open so I feel the air inside me

Bob stared at her while playing and realized that in someway, she had cracked his introverted shell. She helped him become more comfortable. She even was a huge reason he had a group of people who cared about him, outside of the dagger squad. He quickly looked at Natasha in the crowd, just to see her smirking right at him.

Music boyfriend I’m your yum yum

Call me and I’ll come

Y/N’s words from weeks prior echoed in his head as she sang, “If you need anything please know I am a call away.” And it hit him in this moment that maybe just maybe, she did feel the same way about him.

Am I dreaming or did you just kiss me

You don’t know it but you already miss me

He looked back at her and realized she was looking at him. Singing this song to him. She had a bashful smile on her face, and he could tell she was a nervous.

Fuck the rest of them

Fuck em all

Fuck em all but us

In this moment, everyone else in the bar seemed to fade away. It was just them, and he made the decision to admit what he was feeling after the show. She was breathtaking, and he thinks he may not make it if he doesn’t tell her tonight. She finally turned away in time to sing the last line to the crowd.

Fuck em all but us.

When the song ended, the bar was full of applause, even the squad looked impressed by the show. Bob watched her walk off stage after saying her thank yous, and head for the back deck. He got up to follow but was immediately stopped by the Dagger Squad, they were all patting him on the back and smiling at him. “Didn’t think you had it in you Bob, but that was truly amazing. And it seems as if the singer thinks so too.” Jake said to him with a genuine smile on his face. Natasha pushed Jake out of the way and gave Bob a hug, pulling away she said “Go get her, we’ll all still be here when you get back.” With that Bob gave a quick thank you and rushed toward the back door.

He saw y/n standing there, arms crossed over the railing and head up to the sky. When she heard the door open, she turned her head and she had a sheepish smile on her face. He thought she looked so beautiful, a bit sweaty from the show, the moon as backlighting. Her beauty rivaled that of the ocean. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word.

“You did good tonight Bobby. Thank you for letting us come play here.” She said softly as he made his way over to her. He felt warmth crawl up his neck at the use of his nickname, and he put his hand on his neck as he told her “You were gorgeous tonight.” She gave a soft laugh and bashfully turned her head. Before she could respond he continued talking, “Thank you. For everything. You invited me to this band, not even knowing if I was a good drummer. You texted me daily just to make sure I was doing okay. You made me possibly the best food I’ve had in forever. Don’t tell my ma I said that, she would never let me live it down.” He chuckled while saying that, he took a deep breath in and continued, “You have changed me as a person, so thank you.” She looked back at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. She had tears lining the bottom of her eyes, as she rushed over to hug him. “I’m so sorry I ran out of your apartment that night. I was nervous you were only kissing me because of the emotions from the movie and the tiredness. But that kiss meant everything to me. I haven’t stopped thinking about it or you since it happened.” Her speech was a bit muffled from the way she was pressed to Bob. Now it was his turn to look a bit shocked, he hadn’t even thought about how she might have thought it was all her fault. He held her and said“Darlin’ I think we’ve both been a bit idiotic. I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since I met you, and after that night I thought I messed everything up. I truly like you, I think I might even be falling in love with you if I’m honest.” She pulled back a bit and looked him in the eyes for the slightest sign that he could be lying, when she couldn’t find one she put her hand on his neck and pulled his lips to hers. This kiss was different. This kiss held all of the unspoken feelings they’ve both kept bottled up for months. He grabbed her hips and pushed her back against the railing, she opened her mouth to gasp, allowing his tongue to slip inside.

She tugged at his hair and he let out a quiet groan. Just as he was making way to pick her up, the loud noise of several nosey aviators cheering burst their bubble. She pulled back and leant her forehead on his chest, shying away a bit. He turned back to see the group smiling, clapping, whooping, and hollering. He turned back towards her and lifted her face up to his, “I’m sorry about them. Also I’m sorry I feel like I’m doing this a bit backwards, but would you like to go out for dinner soon?” He felt a bit nervous asking the question but she just looked at him like he hung all the moon and stars. “Sure, how about we go talk to your friends for a bit, then go pick up some food, and maybe finish what we start at your place?” She asked with a flirty smirk on her face. Yeah she was going to be the death of him.

[scoutofmymind]

Mama scout mi Reina! Would you be open to writing an AU of Luigi? A little supernatural ish perhaps 👀

Saw You in a Dream — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI dream-kissing lol, yearning, some pining I suppose, reader is an uninspired artist, Luigi is a figment of her imagination.

Wc: 4,153

Notes: ONEIRIX™ is a dream enhancement supplement designed to intensify and prolong REM sleep experiences.

AN: I DO plan on continuing this if requests for it are abundant. I have many, many ideas for how this story could go, but I will tell you, it’s a lil…. Twisted hehe. Also, my darling anon, I know this isn’t really “supernatural” but in hopes of not writing 10k again and learning when to stop, I must note that more supernatural elements will be tied in if this is requested enough for a continuation. Love you xox

"What's wrong with old-fashioned, regular dreams?" You stare across the table at Bailey, who leans forward with an almost evangelical intensity, her blue eyes gleaming with the same fervor as when she pitched her start-up ideas or insisted everyone try CrossFit. "Is nothing sacred anymore? Do we have to optimize and upgrade every last human experience?"

"No," Bailey says, drumming her fingers against the table, her half-eaten omelette growing cold. She keeps shaking her head as if your resistance personally offends her. "These are revolutionary — they're going to change the way we think, bitch." The words come out with practiced casualness, like everything else about her these days.

She flicks a small pink baggie across the table, four obsidian-black pills rattling inside like tiny meteorites hurtling straight toward your earth.

"No." You slide the baggie back with a single finger, as if even touching it too long might leave a stain. "I don't need another vice."

"It's non-addictive." Bailey leans in, her voice dropping to that silky-smooth pitch she used to use selling timeshares in Miami. Despite her earlier promise that she wasn't working for them, you catch that familiar gleam in her eye — the one that surfaced with every pyramid scheme and side hustle she'd dragged you into. "I just need you to experience it. Just once."

The baggie sits between you like a dare, its pink sheen catching the diner's fluorescent lights, making the black pills inside gleam like wet ink.

"It could really inspire your art." She slides a journal across the table — black, unmarked, expensive-looking. "I've filled this thing with ideas already. It’s only been a week.”

She's found your weak spot now.

Those late-night calls, the wine-soaked confessions about your creative drought, the mounting pressure from your agent — it's all ammunition. "This could be your saving grace," she adds, and the words sink their hooks in deep. Your fingers twitch toward the baggie, career desperation beginning to outweigh your better judgment. “I’m dead serious.”

"Fine." You snatch the baggie and shove it deep into your purse, somewhere between old receipts and forgotten lipliner, secretly hoping it'll vanish into that void where hair ties and spare change go to die. "Give me the pamphlet. You clearly don't need it." You thrust out your hand, and Bailey practically glows as she slides over the sleek Oneirix packet, its metallic lettering catching the light like a sign you're choosing to ignore.

The pills had disappeared into your purse's black hole until Bailey's FaceTime lit up your phone the next afternoon. There she was, sleep mask pushed up like a crown, her face dewy with her latest hundred-dollar moisturizer. "So, did you try it?" Her grin was expectant, eager — the same look she'd worn pushing juice cleanses and crystal healing.

You glance at your desk, where half-finished canvases gather dust and untouched notebooks mock your creative drought.

Last night had been your usual routine; an hour-long shower where you'd solved all of life's problems and remembered none of them, three episodes of that show you're still trying to convince yourself you enjoy, and quality time with your artistic inadequacy.

"Not yet." You mumble around a spoonful of ice cream, your attention split between Bailey's glowing face and whatever's playing on Netflix — neither getting your full focus.

"Girl," she clicks her tongue, and you can hear the judgment dripping through your phone speaker. "Go get them — are you scared?" The question hangs there, pointed and precise, like she's daring you.

You hate how well she knows you, how easily she can press that particular button.

Being called scared has always been your kryptonite, ever since she first met you at that high school gallery opening where you'd been too anxious to mingle.

"No." Your face twists into a scowl at her accusation. "I just forgot." You hit pause, abandoning both your show and melting ice cream to dig through your purse.

You find the baggie too easily, the pamphlet's glossy surface catching the light as you unfold it, its clinical text stark against the dark background.

ONEIRIX

DREAM ENHANCEMENT SUPPLEMENT

FOR INTENSIFIED & PROLONGED REM SLEEP EXPERIENCES

The instructions read like any over-the-counter medication.

One tablet, 30 minutes before bed, standard warnings about machinery and other medications.

"Okay." The pamphlet lands on your counter, its unread warnings fanning out like discarded playing cards. "Will it make me tired, or do I already have to be—"

"Oh, it knocks your ass out." Bailey's voice drifts from your abandoned phone, tinny and distant. You wrestle with the baggie's seal, the plastic refusing to cooperate until it suddenly gives, spilling one glossy black pill into your palm. "It works a hell of a lot faster than thirty minutes, too," she adds through a yawn.

You swallow the pill, and before you can even contemplate moving from the kitchen to your bed, a heaviness seeps into your limbs like honey dripping down glass.

Bailey's already drifted off on FaceTime, her gentle snores creating a strange duet with your own as consciousness slips away once you make it to the couch faster than falling.

The transition is jarring — not the usual soft fade into nonsensical dreams, but a sharp snap into awareness. You know you're dreaming, the way you know your own name, the way you know the sky is blue. It's like someone's turned up the saturation on reality, made everything clearer and brighter than it has any right to be.

This isn't the usual dream-fog where your brain accepts that your childhood home has suddenly sprouted wings or that your teeth are falling out at a gallery show.

This is different.

This is aware.

You wiggle your toes in the grass — actual, individual blades tickling your feet, not the vague suggestion of grass that usually populates dreams. Your manicure catches the sunlight, that specific shade of dusty rose you picked last Tuesday, tiny chips and all.

The rings on your fingers still catch when you twist them, that familiar nervous habit following you even here. Everything about you is preserved with photograph precision, dropped into this impossible elsewhere.

"Jesus," escapes your lips, the word carried away by a breeze that feels too perfectly warm to be real. The butterflies dance overhead like confetti caught in reverse, their wings painted in colors that might not exist in the waking world. You watch one land on a nearby flower, and you can see every detail of its wings, every tiny pattern — the kind of detail your sleeping mind has never bothered with before. "This is fucking-"

“Hey.”

The voice cuts through your wonder, and you spin, heart somehow racing in this dream-that's-not-quite-a-dream.

He's there, solid as the ground beneath your feet — no dream-logic shimmer or fade around the edges. Tall, with shoulders that could carry atlas's burden, and features that seem carved rather than grown. His smile plays at the corners of his mouth like he knows a secret you don't, but it's not threatening. If anything, it pulls at something in your chest, a curiosity that feels dangerous in its intensity.

"Hey," you echo, the word coming out softer than intended. Your eyes sweep the meadow, searching for other dreamers or figures or whatever they might be called here. But it's just him, just you, just this perfect pocket of perpetual summer afternoon stretching out in all directions.

"S'just me." His hand extends between you like a bridge, and you notice how the sunlight catches on his knuckles, creating shadows you could count. No name follows, just that smile deepening into dimples.

"Your name?” You tilt your chin down, adopting the pose of someone who's seen too many crime documentaries to trust a nameless stranger, even in a dream. Your eyebrows arch high enough to feel the stretch — another impossible sensation that feels too real.

"Seems you haven't decided yet."

"I haven't decided?"

He shrugs, the gesture rippling across those shoulders like a wave, and something flickers in his expression - like a TV losing signal for just a moment. "Yeah." He blinks, and you can see him searching his own mind, coming up empty. "Haven't decided yet."

Your eyes travel his form like you're memorizing a sculpture. The elegant taper from broad shoulders to narrow waist, the careful strength in his forearms, the way he holds himself — somehow both completely at ease and coiled with potential energy. His eyes meet yours with that puppy-dog hopefulness that seems at odds with his imposing frame, that half-smile still playing on his lips.

"Lu—ee-" The sound stretches between you, and you can taste the wrongness of it. Your head tilts, and suddenly it clicks. "Luigi."

Luigi nods, a slow, knowing motion, and reaches behind him. The wallet arcs through the air, and when you catch it, the leather feels warm, like it's been sitting in summer sunshine. It falls open in your hands, and there it is — Luigi Mangione, printed in stark bureaucratic certainty. "I thought you'd say that."

The urge to gasp, to stumble back in shock, rises and falls like a wave. Reality — or whatever version of it this is — reasserts itself with the gentle persistence of tide coming in. Of course you knew his name. Of course you did. Just like you knew the exact shade of his eyes, the precise angle of his jaw, the way his right dimple is slightly deeper than his left.

There’s a reason he feels familiar.

You made him.

"Well, Luigi," The name feels like syrup on your tongue as you pivot, bare feet finding their path through grass as the sun drapes over your shoulders like a tailored shawl, warming without burning, perfect in that way only dreams can manage. "I'm sure you know who I am."

Luigi falls into step beside you, a flag leaf dancing between his lips as he walks.

His presence feels as natural as your shadow, a complement to your movement rather than an intrusion. "Of course," he says, and his voice carries the same gentle warmth as the sunlight, the same easy invitation as the wind that plays with your hair.

The grass gives way to reveal a pond that looks like liquid mercury in the sunlight. "I've been waiting awhile for you — seemed to have run out of ways to pass the time."

You stand at the water's edge, watching swans carve elegant paths across the surface, their reflections perfect mirrors in the still water, and in the distance, ducks conduct their quiet conversations. "Are you saying you're bored of everything here?"

"No," Luigi's fingers brush your sleeve, gentle but insistent, like a breeze that knows where it's going. As he steps forward, wildflowers burst into existence beneath his feet — first violets, then daisies, then flowers you've never seen before, in colors that shouldn't exist. "I'm saying it gets lonely doing the same thing everyday on your own."

Luigi continues forward, leaving his galaxy of flowers behind, but you find yourself frozen, watching the way the light catches his silhouette.

"How many times?" The question escapes before you can catch it. "How many times have I been here and left?"

He pauses mid-step, and for a moment, the whole dreamscape seems to hold its breath — the swans pause their gliding, the breeze stills, even the wildflowers stop their eager blooming. When he turns to face you, his smile carries a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

"It’s been so long, but — " he pauses, and somehow the words don't sound like an accusation. "Sometimes for seconds, sometimes for hours. Sometimes you remember me, sometimes you don't. But you always come back eventually. And I'm always here."

You swallow, “How long has it been?"

His laugh drifts through the air, light and melodic. "Long enough that I've watched these trees grow from saplings." His bare feet shift in the grass, toes curling against the earth. "Long enough that I've named every swan on this pond, then named their children, and then their children's children."

The wildflowers continue once again their blooming beneath his steps — first soft pinks, then deep purples, then blues that seem to glow from within. Each petal unfolds with deliberate precision, creating a trail that marks his path across the meadow.

You notice how he holds himself, the way his shoulders stay perfectly squared, his posture too fluid, too precise for someone who's supposed to be just a figment of your dreams. "So I looked different last time?" you wonder, trailing behind him again, catching the slight nod.

"We were both younger then." Luigi turns back to you and grins, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’ve really missed you."

His voice carries the warmth of old sunlight, that rare sincerity that can't be fabricated — something in his presence that felt secure, anchoring, his nature as gentle as summer rain.

But the look in his eyes betrayed what his smile tried to hide — he knew you didn't remember him, and that knowledge lived somewhere deep and wounded inside him.

You could see it now, in the careful way he held himself back, how his initial greeting carried just enough warmth to be kind but not enough to overwhelm. Your memory of him had been burning away like lit matches with each passing year, while he'd been trapped here, holding onto every detail of who you used to be.

Luigi lead you further into the meadow, another pond materializing somewhere further into the deep but Luigi seemed far too familiar with this terrain, and you trusted each turn, “Have I given you different names?”

He shakes his head with a laugh, soft and bittersweet, almost as if he couldn't imagine wearing any other name than your Luigi. "No." He scrunches his nose, a gesture so achingly familiar it feels like déjà vu. "One time I almost thought you were going to, but — nope. Always some variation of Luigi."

The questions dance at the edges of your consciousness like autumn leaves in a wind, but somehow the answers are already there, settled in your bones like old truths. Why he lets you choose, how he knows when recognition lights your eyes and when they stay dark with forgetting — it's all written in a language your mind has forgotten but your heart still speaks fluently.

"I saw you for a minute somewhere near the streams last winter." His voice softens, eyes distant as if watching memories drift past like leaves on water. "It was only for a split moment — but I knew it was you, even though you'd changed."

Your heart twists with a horrible dread, sharp and cold as winter frost, weighed down by the certainty that he'll slip through your fingers like morning mist the moment you wake. "How do I make myself remember?" The words fall soft as prayer between you both, your knees brushing as you sit beside him.

He turns to you with that gentle patience that speaks of having heard this same desperate question from your lips a hundred times before, in a hundred different dreams.

He draws your hand into his lap with practiced ease, his fingertips ghosting over yours like butterfly wings — a gesture so deeply ingrained it speaks of countless similar moments, his soul remembering the map of your hands better than your own mind does. It doesn't feel strange to fall back into these rhythms with Luigi; everything has felt as natural as breathing since you landed here, like slipping into a dance your feet never truly forgot. "I know parts of me remember you," you whisper into the space between heartbeats, watching his fingers trace invisible patterns across your skin. "I know you feel familiar.”

Luigi nods slowly, pressing your palm to his cheek with a gentle sigh that carries the weight of a thousand forgotten moments. "We never learned how to make you remember," he murmurs, his voice wrapped in forced lightness that can't quite mask the undertow of grief beneath. "Always a toss up."

You swing your feet from the mossy ledge where Luigi sits, the ancient stone cool beneath you both.

He leans back on his palms, wearing a smile that's equal parts joy and resignation — a man who's learned to find peace in fleeting moments.

There's something heartbreaking in how he's already accepted that this too will slip through the sieve of your memory, but still treasures your presence like water in a desert, grateful just to have you here at all.

"I'll remember this time." The words spill out like a vow, fragile as spun glass but burning with conviction. Even as you speak them, you know they might shatter come morning, but something feels different here — each detail crystalline and alive, from the whisper of wind in the leaves to the warmth of his shoulder against yours.

This doesn't feel like the usual gossamer threads of dreams; it feels like stepping through a door into somewhere achingly real.

"Mm." Luigi's shoulder brushes yours, a gentle pendulum of contact, and though his hum carries years of gentle disbelief, he can't suppress the smile that softens his features. "All that matters is that you're here now, I think."

You nod slowly, watching your legs paint pendulum shadows against the water below. "Is there anyone else here?" The whisper slips out conspiratorial and soft, your eyes scanning the peaceful landscape as if its emptiness might be deceiving.

"No." Luigi shrugs, tossing a stone into the pond where it breaks the surface in perfect ripples. "You thought up a couple weird little-“ he scrunches his nose, lost in the memory of your previous creations — specifically those tiny Trojan warriors you'd accidentally willed into existence, who'd turned the peaceful fields into their own private battlefield. "It's just never worked out." He turns to you with a glimmer of fond exasperation, pressing a knuckle into your thigh. "You've got a rather dangerous imagination."

You swallow the question rising in your throat, deciding some doors are better left closed — for the sake of whatever fragments of sanity you still possess.

If there are any left to guard.

"Dangerous," you echo in a whisper, fighting back a bubble of laughter that threatens to spill over. "Well, scratch that, then.”

"It's always been you and me here." Luigi nods slowly, his voice taking on that particular texture of someone guarding something precious. "Outsiders make me nervous."

From that careful admission, you piece together a history of well-intentioned mistakes — multiple attempts at populating this sanctuary that ended in ways that left shadows in Luigi's voice. Each failure seems etched in the spaces between his words, a collection of experiments gone wrong. "That's fair," you murmur, reaching for his hand with gentle curiosity. He surrenders it without hesitation, letting you trace the lines of his palm like a map of all your shared disasters.

There's something profoundly real in the way his skin warms yours, in the faint calluses and subtle creases — too detailed, too imperfect to be mere imagination, yet too perfect in its imperfection to be anything else.

"How is the gallery stuff going?" His question floats between you, and for a heartbeat, confusion sparks — how could he know about the gallery?

But the answer settles over you like dawn breaking.

Of course he knows.

He knows the way your hands shake before each opening, the doubt that pools in your stomach when you face a blank canvas, the elation of a perfect brushstroke. He knows your fears dressed in their Sunday best and your dreams in their rawest form.

You made him.

Crafted him from stardust and loneliness, shaped him from the clay of your subconscious until he became more real than reality itself — your most perfect creation, yet the one you can never quite remember come morning.

"I haven't been inspired in — god," you trail off, turning to truly see him, and the dormant artist in you awakens with a sudden, fierce hunger. The sunlight plays architect with his features, gilding each detail you'd unconsciously perfected; those midnight curls catching light like cut obsidian, the almost-symmetrical beauty marks dotting his cheeks like carefully placed stars, the classical slope of his nose that Renaissance masters would have wept to capture.

Your fingers twitch with phantom muscle memory, aching to translate him from this dream-reality to paper, to make permanent what feels so ethereal. "So long." The words fall soft and wondering, as if you've suddenly remembered how to speak a forgotten language — the language of creation, of beauty, of art itself.

Luigi hums softly, nuzzling your shoulder with a familiarity that sends your thoughts spiraling backward through time. "Well, let's get you inspired," he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck, and suddenly you're wrestling with questions you've been too afraid to examine.

The intimacy of the gesture opens a door to memories of your teenage self — those raw, lonely years when you were all sharp edges and desperate yearning, underwhelmed by fumbling high school romances and overwhelmed by feelings.

You created him then, in those twilight hours between childhood and adulthood. A friend first, undoubtedly — a sanctuary in human form when the real world felt too abrasive to bear.

But now, feeling the casual tenderness of his touch, you wonder about the blurred lines in your shared history. If perhaps you'd written more than friendship into his DNA during those hormone-soaked nights, those moments when loneliness wore your resistance thin.

You melt into his warmth, drawn by a gravity as familiar as breathing, like a desperate moth to a flame you've danced with a thousand times before. "How do we do that?" The question hangs deliberately innocent, though electricity already hums beneath your skin with anticipated answers.

Luigi's response is immediate and devastating — the warm, wet slide of his tongue painting a deliberate path up your neck. Time stretches as he savors you, the gesture somehow both predatory and reverent.

"Maybe we could jog your memory, too." His voice drops to that particular octave that makes your bones liquid, left hand claiming your chin while his right arm becomes a band of heat around your waist, orchestrating your body until you're straddling his lap. "I remember exactly the things you like the most," teeth graze your pulse point as his hands span your back, fingertips pressing into your spine like he's playing music only he knows the notes to, "and the things you hate."

"How do you know those things haven't changed, Lu?" Your fingers find sanctuary in his curls, each strand impossibly soft, and the breeze carries the essence of August - sun-warmed grass, distant thunderstorms, ripening fruit. The scent of endless summer, bottled in this perfect moment.

"I guess there's only one way to find out, don't you think?" The question unfolds like a flower between you as Luigi tilts his head back, studying you through heavy-lidded eyes.

His lips part, pink and promising, an unspoken dare wrapped in velvet invitation. And you — you who have always been more poet than pragmatist — surrender to the gravitational pull of him. You lean in like a sunset chasing the horizon, drawn to the heat of his mouth, the shared breath between you becoming sacred thing.

His tongue moves against yours with practiced poetry, his lips a tender geography you're rediscovering. Every nip of teeth is precisely timed, a choreography written in muscle memory and want. Just as his hands find the warm skin beneath your shirt, reality fractures — a void tears through the dream like ink spilled across a watercolor.

The darkness swallows everything, sudden and absolute.

You jolt awake with violence, heart thundering against your ribs. The familiar couch cushions press against your cheek, mundane and mocking. The real world crashes back into focus with brutal clarity; the hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the wall clock, the morning light cutting through back scatter.

Each detail feels like a betrayal, a reminder that Luigi exists only in that liminal space between sleeping and waking, where longing takes shape and wears a face you crafted from starlight and need.

"No." The word escapes as a soft, desperate plea. Your hand reaches for the sketchbook and pen with the urgency of someone grasping at smoke, at fragments of a dream determined to dissolve.

And there he is — Luigi materializing before you like a miracle answering desperate prayers, your artist's eye already translating the divine geometry of his face onto paper before memory can steal him away.

You are the faithful at the altar, he the vision you're determined to make tangible.

The alarm screams again, reality's insistent hammer against your temple. "Fuck off!" you snarl, jabbing at the screen with unnecessary force, brows knitted with the particular fury reserved for things that dare interrupt worship.

The real world can wait.

Right now, there are curves of ink to capture, beauty marks to map, and the precise angle of summer sunlight in black curls to remember.

Hey, I think you were right about the pills

You text Bailey after lunch.

Holy shit

[askthelightsides]

here, have your own jellycats :]

virgil- you get miff mothman, a little spooky but cute like you (they also symbolise intuition and trust of your inner wisdom which is definitely fitting)

patton- classic bartholomew bear But in a bunny robe, bcs that’s adorable (he’s also super cuddly from experience) you deserve a little cuddly pal

logan- niptip owl, they didn’t have any space themed ones (i know a crime) but with them symbolising wisdom, knowledge and the ability to see beyond the surface it seemed fitting

roman- i mean a gay dragon? is their anything else that’s a better fit? (dont worry this one isn’t evil like the dragon witch) my friend has one and apparently they are Extremely good to hug so

janus- little snake (that’s the name Not calling you that my dude) he’s fluffy and soft and very cute (sounds like a certain side 👀) he’s not yellow which i know is your colour sorry about that

remus- obbie octopus, look at his little goofy face they also symbolise intelligence, creativity, mystery also with like only 5% of the ocean being explored who Knows what’s out there (also you deserve something cute :] )

Ro: I’ve heard the name but I thought it was a jelly for cats.

L: Or a cat in some kind of gelatinous form.

V: Huh…actually it’s kinda cute?? I didn’t expect it to be so fuzzy.

Ro: That’s not the moth man. Where’s his perk posterior?!

L: …I don’t think moths are known for that. Actually, I know moths aren’t known for that

Ro: But the statue! The moth man statue! He looks like a chrome male stripper.

Re: *pops in* we talkin mothman statue?! He looks like a super villain exclusively for gay bars

V: Stop objectifying mothman! *hugs his plush*

Ro: I’m not! But if I see a tremendous tush, chrome or not, I refuse to act like I didn’t.

L: Let’s move on!

P: OH MY GOODNESS!!! If that is not just the most perfect looking bear I have ever seen! Doesn’t he look like the most teddy bear teddy bear ever??

Ro: He kinda does, yeah.

P: Oh I can’t wait to introduce him to everyone else!! And he’s gonna sleep with me for the first week just in case he gets scared, but then it’ll start rotating again.

J: Rotating?

P: I try to rotate which plush I cuddle with every night so that nobody things I love them one over the others.

J: I keep waiting for this to be an act…but you really are like this aren’t you?

P: I don’t want anyone to feel left out!

L: While yes I have stated in the past my opinion that plush are a little childish, I do understand their value now…and I do enjoy owls. I also like that he seems to sit up on his own. It makes him easier to perhaps put on a desk when I could look at him while working sometimes.

P: Awww he could be your work buddy and help you wish ideas!

L: …Patton he’s made of stuffing, he can’t contribute to ideas

P: We don’t know that for sure!

L: We do. We do in fact know that.

Ro: Oh wait! Hey wait! No I love this!

V: Course you do

Ro: No like I really love this. They could have just done an all over rainbow dragon but I like that he’s the color of the sky so the rainbow is on his back. I’m keeping this. This is mine.

J: He doesn’t need to be yellow, I’m quite used to the color green at this point. He is rather cute though. Strange to see something that people would associate with myself also being so soft and fluffy. Interesting combination, isn’t it? It seems to work though if you ask me.

P: Awww Jan look at the little snake smile!!!

Ro: Wait, you got Remus something that represents intelligence?

Re: Ha! Look at his stupid little face! I love him. He looks high as hell, I’m keepin this guy. Your new name is Horatio the High Ass Octopus

[holllandtrash]

hi friends im alive i miss u all

sadly, for the time being, i have stopped writing fanfiction. i need to focus on my career and also on writing a story that i so desperately want to turn into something real

i wrote a little synopsis of something im working on if youre curious and you can read a snippet and see the chat gpt curated cover below the cut lol

The Art of Falling

Indy Brookes has spent her life immersed in the art world, navigating the delicate balance between creativity and commerce at the prestigious Westmont Auction House. She understands that every masterpiece holds hidden depths—stories layered beneath the surface. So when the new Head of Client Relations, Sunil Dival, steps into her world, she can’t help but see him the same way: a piece of art waiting to be unraveled.

Indy thrives on passion and instinct, while Sunil holds tight to logic and control. Though they each bring something valuable to the table, their visions for the future are fundamentally at odds.

As their lives begin to overlap, Indy realizes that Sunil, much like the art she loves, has more to him than meets the eye. In the fast-paced world of auctions and high-stakes deals, they find themselves navigating not only their work, but the unspoken connection growing between them.

Wine bottle in hand, I headed back upstairs, my footsteps quiet on the marble floors. I was going to grab my bag from behind the reception desk when something caught my eye in the gallery—Sunil, standing alone in front of the red painting I had just shown Ms. Bass.

His hands were slid into his pockets, his posture relaxed from what I could tell. The soft glow from the light fixture above the painting cast shadows across his side profile. Much like Ms. Bass, he stared at the painting in confusion. But instead of asking what he was supposed to feel, Sunil stared at it as though if he stood there long enough the answer would jump out. I waited in the doorway, watching him for a second longer than I probably should have.

The painting had a way of doing that—drawing people in. But it was strange seeing him like this. Still emotionless, but more composed. I couldn’t tell if he was just in work mode or if there was something else.

I leaned against the doorframe, the bottle dangling loosely between my fingers.  “Admiring the art?” I called out, my voice sounding more casual than I currently felt.

Sunil didn’t turn right away, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “Something like that,” he replied, his tone flat, as if he were working through something in his mind.

I took a small step into the gallery, unsure if I was intruding on a moment I didn’t fully understand. “What are you thinking?”

He finally glanced in my direction, though not quite meeting my eyes. “Just wondering why people are drawn to it,” he said. His voice was measured, detached. “There’s been so many calls about it, you know? It was the piece that Ms. Bass was here to see too, wasn’t it? I just don’t get what makes it worth the attention?”

I hesitated, not sure if he wanted a real answer or if he was just thinking out loud, but I had just had this same conversation only minutes prior. I took a step closer. “It’s about how the artist uses color and texture to create emotional tension,” I said carefully. “The red isn’t accidental, it has a purpose—it’s layered with meaning. Passion, desire, love. It’s almost as if the artist wanted you to feel conflicted, to question what you’re supposed to see.”

I paused, watching for any reaction, but Sunil’s expression remained impassive, his eyes still fixed on the painting. 

“The longer you look at it,” I continued, “the more it forces you to engage with that tension. That’s why people are drawn to it—it’s not just about what they see, but how it makes them feel. It doesn’t let you be a passive observer.”

He didn’t respond right away, then, without glancing in my direction, he said, “Or maybe people just like to overthink things.” His tone was flat, but the words cut through the air with a dismissive edge.

I stopped in my tracks, realizing at that point that he wasn’t asking for an explanation the way Ms. Bass had. He didn’t care about the history or the artist’s intent. This was something else.

“It’s nice, I guess.” he muttered, almost to himself. 

Nice. 

Nice. 

That word felt like a direct slap to the face. Nice? I had spent years studying pieces like this—pouring over the intricacies, the layers of emotion, the painstaking detail behind every ounce of effort put into it. And Sunil stood there, calling it nice? It was like hearing someone call a symphony ‘catchy’.

The part of me that wanted to set him straight bubbled up to the surface. I wanted to tell him that this wasn’t just a painting you glanced at and deemed ‘nice.’ This was a masterpiece, something you had to feel, something that deserved more than a casual shrug and a throwaway word.

A mild summer breeze was nice. A freshly-mowed lawn was nice. This painting landed in a category of its own that I was actually offended by his comment. 

I could almost hear the lecture forming in my head—something about the delicate use of the color red, the emotion hidden beneath the shadows. I wanted to ask if he even knew what it meant to truly see a painting like this, to understand the depth it carried.

But then I stopped myself, the words slipping away as quickly as they came.

What was the point? He wasn’t here to appreciate the art the way I did.

He wasn’t a curator. He wasn’t a historian. He was Head of Client Relations. His job revolved around the sales of the auction, not the beauty that was stored within our walls.

Sunil wasn’t asking for an analysis or a history lesson. He didn’t need to be corrected or belittled. Maybe, for him, ‘nice’ was enough. At least he was taking the time to even look at the piece.

I bit back the urge to put him in his place. Sometimes people just needed to have their own moment and this shouldn’t have been about me proving I knew more. 

For a moment I was envious of the lack of emotion he felt. I knew too much about the artist and his collection. I felt too much, but it wasn’t my place to force someone to feel the same. Maybe he just needed to stand in front of it, lost in whatever he was seeing, without someone like me shoving meaning down his throat.

So I stayed silent. I let him have this. His moment.

I took a step back, muttering a quiet "Goodnight," as the space between us grew. 

Sunil nodded, still looking at the painting. "Goodnight," he repeated, but there was something in his tone that made me pause. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it wasn’t warm either. It was just…there. Like everything else about him since he’s arrived—distant.

I lingered for a second longer, waiting for some kind of clarity but it didn’t come. I couldn’t get a read on him. With a small sigh, I twirled the wine bottle in my hands and made my way out, leaving Sunil alone in the gentle glow of the nice painting.

--

yes her name is indy like indy car!! u can take the girl out of motorsports but u cant take motorsports out of the girl !!

[the-fiction-witch]

Dearest

Media - Bright Star Character - Samuel Brawne (AGE UP) Couple - Samuel X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 17+ Word Count - 894

The rain cascaded down in a gentle rhythm, drumming against the arched windows of Samuel's antiquated home, each drop a soft whisper in the hushed atmosphere. The sheer curtains, delicate and gauzy, muted the dreary tones of the overcast sky while allowing a muted, filtered light to seep into the dimly lit room. Outside, the storm raged fiercely, the wind howling through the mist-laden fields, its breath adding a wild melody to the steady patter of raindrops as they struck the sturdy walls and slanted roof of the house.

Inside, a crackling fire blazed in the worn stone fireplace, its warm glow flickering and scattering light across the polished wooden floor, where intricate rugs lay sprawled in rich patterns. The flames danced and flickered, occasionally popping with a sizzle that threatened to send fiery sparks tumbling beyond the confines of the hearth. The room was a cosy sanctuary, adorned with dark, polished antique furnishings, peppered with small trinkets and framed portraits. The walls were draped with lush tapestries, their deep colours serving to muffle the sounds of the storm outside, and of the sound within. Cocooning Samuel in a world of his own as the winds howled in the distance.

Samuel sat, a familiar sight in his beloved chair positioned strategically beside the garden doors, where he often found solace. He was dressed in his meticulously tailored black-striped trousers, a crisp white shirt that contrasted against the fabric of his deep blue waistcoat. His violin rested gently against his neck, the wooden instrument cradled as he scanned the scattered notes before him, striving to find the inspiration amidst the cacophony of thoughts in his mind.

With a deep breath, he began to play, letting his fingers dance across the strings, coaxing out little tunes and meandering notes in search of an elusive melody. Yet, frustration brewed beneath the surface; nothing he played seemed to resonate with the spark of creativity he desperately sought. Each attempt felt like a fleeting shadow, slipping through his fingers, leaving only silence in its wake. Samuel yearned for the rush of musical muse that would finally bring his composition to life.

The door creaked open, and a wave of warmth filled the room as his beloved wife stepped inside. She appeared just as he saw her earlier, wearing her favourite blue and grey dress. The fabric accentuated her figure, and the colours complimented her sparkling eyes. In her hands, she carefully balanced an ornate silver tray, polished to a shine, adorned with a delicate china teapot and matching cups. The rich aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of baked scones that she had prepared for him earlier.

"Good afternoon, dearest." Y/n cooed as she hurried over, bustle-jigging as she did.

Samuel gave her a tired yet kind smile, setting his violin down in its case. "Afternoon my darling, how are you?"

"Same as ever." She laughed setting his tea down on the table for him, starting to pour him a cup, "how goes the writing?"

He gave and tired huff. “It isn’t.” he was too tired to even put any flair or enthusiasm into his voice.

"Oh, my poor hubby." Y/n cooed as she handed over his tea. She moved behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck lazily and kissing his head,

Samuel gave a soft sigh as he relaxed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He hummed softly, "I swear my brain is refusing to work"

"You work too hard. You need a break, dearest." Y/n encouraged trying to tug him from the desk towards the couch,

"A break doesn't seem practical. I have work to do, there is no time for rest my darling,"

“You are only going to make yourself more worked up, come along,” she insisted,

He did not offer any fight, not even attempting as he just let himself be led to the sofa. He slumped against the sofa and sighed rubbing his eyes, “Perhaps my creativity is failing me,”

Y/n didn't answer simply sitting beside him and curling up in his arms,

Samuel wrapped his arms loosely around her, resting his chin on her head. "Perhaps I should just give up on this new piece altogether. I haven't been able to make progress on it in what feels like an eternity,"

"You'll figure it out in time. You just need to look at it with new eyes dearest."

He just gave a soft hum. he knew she was right deep down, but was far too stubborn to admit it. "Easy for you to say, darling. What do you know about composing music?"

Y/n giggled and hummed herself a little tune,

He gave a slight scoff, "Yes, a beautiful little tune. truly music that will go down in the history books" he snarked slightly.

"You just need a break, Samuel. To look with fresh eyes and a clear mind. To not think of it for a while," she smiled and began peppering his neck with kisses,

“I suppose you're right,” he admitted, he let gave a soft moan and he tilted his head to give her better access.

"Would this help take your mind off this my beloved?" She cooed her hand settling on his thigh,

"I suppose it is a good distraction, my dear," he smirked, his hand settling on hers and tugging it up his leg, higher up his thigh,

“Would it?” She growled,

“Ohh it very much would.” He snarled pulling her into a kiss,

[ankeral]

Best Moon Lamp – Custom, Floating & Galaxy Moon Nightlights for Magical Home Decor

A Floating Moon, a Color-Changing Galaxy — These Moon Lamps Are Love at First Sight

When was the last time you looked up at the moon?

In a world full of city lights and endless screen time, we often forget the beauty of the night sky. But what if you could bring the moon into your own home? Not just any moon — a glowing orb of comfort, wonder, and personalization. That’s the magic of the best moon lamp.

Over the past few years, moon lamps have transformed from simple nightlights into beautifully designed, emotionally resonant pieces of art. With features like floating levitation, color-changing galaxy effects, and photo personalization, these lamps are more than just decor — they’re conversation starters, thoughtful gifts, and mood-setters.

More Than a Lamp — It’s a Personal Moon for Your Space

At first glance, a moon 3D light might just look like a glowing ball. But the story is in the details. These lamps are crafted using 3D printing technology to mimic the surface of the real moon — from its gentle curves to the rugged craters. Most are made from eco-friendly PLA material, giving you an environmentally conscious, tactile piece of the cosmos.

But modern moon lamps go even further. Some float and spin in mid-air using magnetic levitation. Others light up with swirling galaxy patterns. And many can be customized with your favorite photos, text, or names — making each piece truly one-of-a-kind.

Trending Styles You’ll Love:

Floating Moon Lamps: Levitating designs that rotate gracefully, giving your room a futuristic, magical touch.

Galaxy Moon Lamps: Swirling color patterns that turn your space into a dreamy galaxy.

Custom Photo Moon Lamps: Add a picture, message, or special date for a truly personal moon light gift.

Why Everyone Is Falling in Love with Moon Lamps

Yes, they’re beautiful. But what makes the best moon lamp so popular isn’t just its appearance — it’s how it makes people feel. A sense of calm. A hint of nostalgia. A little everyday magic.

1. Soft, Soothing Glow for Any Room

Forget harsh overhead lights. The gentle LED glow of a moon nightlight creates the perfect ambiance — whether for reading in bed, relaxing in the living room, or calming a child at bedtime.

2. A Balance of Technology and Emotion

From wireless charging to remote control dimming, moon lamps blend smart features with a romantic soul. It’s a piece of space-age tech that touches the heart.

3. A Gift That Says “I Know You”

Instead of giving generic presents, a moon light gift can be personalized with a photo or message. It shows thought, effort, and meaning — everything a great gift should be.

Which Moon Lamp Is Right for You?

With so many styles out there, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Here’s how to choose the perfect moon 3D light based on your needs and vibe.

🎁 For the Sentimental: Custom Photo Moon Lamps

Best for: Couples, families, long-distance love, special memories Keywords: moon light gift, custom moon lamp, personalized moon lamp

Print a photo, a special date, or even a short message directly onto the surface of your moon lamp. These make wonderful gifts for anniversaries, birthdays, baby showers, or even memorials. Add a gift box and you’ve got something unforgettable.

🌌 For the Aesthetic Lover: Galaxy Moon Lamps

Best for: Home decor fans, creatives, mood setters Keywords: moon 3D light, galaxy moon lamp, starry moon lamp

These are all about color and atmosphere. The swirling galaxy effect combines moon texture with vibrant shades (often RGB or 16-color options), making your room look like a scene from a space fantasy. Great for taking photos too!

🚀 For the Tech Enthusiast: Floating Moon Lamps

Best for: Sci-fi lovers, desk setups, “wow” factor gifts Keywords: floating moon lamp, light up moon lamp, levitating moon lamp

Thanks to magnetic levitation, these lamps actually float — and rotate! Place one on your office desk, bookshelf, or nightstand and watch guests do a double take. It’s futuristic, stylish, and a serious conversation starter.

🌙 For the Everyday Dreamer: Classic LED Moon Lamps

Best for: Kids, students, cozy bedrooms, small apartments Keywords: moon nightlight, LED moon lamp, soft moon glow

Simple, reliable, and perfect for winding down. Most offer touch control or remote dimming, come in various sizes (from 8cm to 20cm+), and are powered by USB or rechargeable batteries. A perfect everyday lamp that doesn’t skimp on charm.

What to Look For When Choosing the Best Moon Lamp

There’s no one-size-fits-all moon. But to make sure you’re getting the right one, pay attention to these details:

Size: From handheld 8cm mini moons to large 20cm statement pieces. For bedside tables, 12-15cm works great.

Lighting Modes: Look for lamps that offer warm light, cool white, and multi-color options for more flexibility.

Charging & Power: USB-powered and rechargeable battery options are best for portability and ease of use.

Material: PLA is eco-friendly and produces realistic textures.

Custom Features: If gifting, consider photo or text engraving options.

Why People Love Ankeral’s Moon Lamps

If you’re looking for something beautiful, reliable, and a little magical — Ankeral’s collection of moon 3D light products might just be your perfect match.

Here’s what makes Ankeral stand out:

Realistic Detail: Carefully modeled after actual lunar topography.

Photo & Name Customization: Make it meaningful with engraved memories.

Color & Brightness Control: Adjust your mood with a remote or gentle touch.

Multiple Styles: Choose from classic designs, galaxy colors, or floating lamps.

Thoughtful Packaging: Ideal for gifting, with ready-to-gift boxes.

Whether you’re shopping for a loved one or just treating yourself to something special, there’s an Ankeral light up moon lamp for everyone.

The Moon May Not Be Yours — But This One Can Be

There’s a reason we’ve looked up at the moon for centuries — it connects us. It’s calming, mysterious, and always there, even on cloudy nights.

With the moon light, you bring that quiet beauty into your life. Not just as a nightlight, but as a reminder to slow down, dream big, and find light even in the dark.

So if you’ve been searching for a gift that speaks without words — or just a little glow to light your evenings — maybe it’s time to bring the moon home.

[newpostad]

How to Choose the Right Private Office Furniture for Your Needs

Choosing the perfect private office furniture is not just about aesthetics—it’s about creating a space that enhances productivity, supports comfort, and reflects your professional identity. Whether you’re setting up a home office, designing an executive suite, or revamping your workspace, the furniture you select will have a major impact on how efficiently you work and how your space is perceived by clients and colleagues.

In this comprehensive guide, we’ll walk you through everything you need to know about selecting the right private office furniture for your needs, from functionality and ergonomics to style, budget, and long-term value.

Why Private Office Furniture Matters

Your office is more than just a place to work—it's a personal headquarters. The right private office furniture helps you:

Stay organized and efficient

Reduce physical stress and fatigue

Create a professional and impressive setting

Improve focus and mental clarity

Maximize use of available space

Bad furniture choices, on the other hand, can lead to discomfort, clutter, and even poor performance over time. Let’s break down how to choose office furniture that fits your workflow and workspace perfectly.

Step 1: Evaluate Your Space and Workflow

Before you shop for furniture, take stock of your space and how you use it. Ask yourself:

How large is the office area?

Is it a dedicated room or part of a shared space?

What tasks do I perform daily (computer work, meetings, writing, filing)?

Do I host clients or guests in this space?

Do I need tech integration (multiple monitors, printer access, cable management)?

Answering these questions helps you create a list of essential furniture pieces tailored to your needs rather than filling your office with unnecessary or oversized items.

Step 2: Identify Your Essential Furniture Pieces

Every private office should have these core components:

1. Desk or Workstation

The desk is the central hub of your office. Choose a desk that provides enough surface area for your equipment and tasks. Options include:

Standard desks for simple layouts

L-shaped desks for corner areas and dual monitors

U-shaped desks for multitasking and high-storage needs

Standing desks for ergonomic flexibility

2. Ergonomic Office Chair

Investing in a quality chair supports posture and productivity. Look for:

Adjustable seat height and armrests

Lumbar support

Swivel base and smooth-rolling casters

Breathable or padded materials for comfort

3. Storage Solutions

A clutter-free space keeps your mind clear. Consider:

Filing cabinets (vertical or lateral)

Bookcases for files, books, or decor

Mobile pedestals under the desk

Hutches or wall-mounted storage for compact rooms

4. Guest Seating

If you meet with clients, colleagues, or team members, provide stylish and comfortable guest chairs.

5. Lighting

Good lighting reduces eye strain and boosts mood. Combine overhead, task, and ambient lighting to create a balanced environment.

Step 3: Match Furniture to Your Office Style

Your office furniture should align with the overall aesthetic and brand of your workspace. Here are some style categories to consider:

1. Traditional

Rich woods like cherry or mahogany

Ornate details and symmetrical design

Ideal for law offices, finance, or corporate executives

2. Modern

Minimalist lines, neutral colors

Mixed materials (glass, metal, laminate)

Great for startups, creatives, and tech offices

3. Industrial

Raw wood, exposed metal, matte finishes

Loft-inspired, edgy, and utilitarian

4. Scandinavian

Clean white surfaces, natural woods

Functional, light, and airy designs

By aligning your furniture with your aesthetic preferences and company image, your office becomes a cohesive extension of your professional persona.

Step 4: Prioritize Comfort and Ergonomics

Ergonomics isn’t just a trend—it’s essential for long-term wellness and productivity. Poor posture, improper screen height, or uncomfortable seating can lead to fatigue, neck pain, and reduced output.

Ergonomic Furniture Features to Look For:

Height-adjustable desks or monitor risers

Footrests or under-desk supports

Chairs with lumbar and neck support

Keyboard trays to prevent wrist strain

Task lighting to reduce eye fatigue

Comfort leads to longer, more focused work sessions and fewer physical complaints.

Step 5: Consider Storage and Organization

Clutter can be the enemy of creativity and focus. The right private office furniture includes storage that’s tailored to your needs.

Storage Tips:

Keep frequently used items within arm’s reach

Use drawers and cabinets to hide clutter

Add floating shelves or wall units to save floor space

Label drawers and files for quick access

Choose furniture with built-in cable management to reduce visual mess

Your workspace should feel streamlined, not crowded.

Step 6: Make Tech Integration Seamless

In today’s digital age, your office needs to accommodate multiple devices, chargers, and accessories.

Look for Furniture With:

Built-in power outlets and USB ports

Grommets or cable trays to manage cords

Adjustable monitor arms

Space for printers or docking stations

Wireless charging pads

Integrating technology into your furniture helps keep your workspace efficient and clutter-free.

Step 7: Measure Your Office Before You Buy

Always measure your room (length, width, and height) before ordering furniture. Factor in door swing, window placement, and walking space.

Layout Tips:

Leave at least 3 feet behind your desk for chair movement

Place desks near outlets or natural light

Allow 2–3 feet between guest chairs and your desk

Don’t overcrowd—opt for space-saving or modular furniture in smaller offices

Use online layout tools or graph paper to map out your space and visualize your furniture placement.

Step 8: Set a Realistic Budget

Quality private office furniture can be an investment—but it doesn’t have to break the bank. Consider what pieces to splurge on and where to save.

Budget Prioritization:

Invest in: Desk and chair (used daily)

Moderate spend on: Storage and lighting

Save on: Décor and accessories

You can find great options in every price range by shopping online, comparing brands, and looking for bundle deals on furniture sets.

Step 9: Think About Growth and Flexibility

If your office needs may grow or change, choose modular or adaptable furniture.

Modular Furniture Advantages:

Easily reconfigurable

Add-on compatible (new drawers, extensions, shelves)

Perfect for evolving roles or growing teams

Easier to move or repurpose

This flexibility ensures your investment lasts through transitions.

Step 10: Add Finishing Touches That Reflect You

Once the essentials are in place, personalize your space with items that inspire you.

Ideas to Elevate Your Office:

Wall art, photography, or motivational quotes

Indoor plants or desktop greenery

Stylish desk accessories (pen holders, file trays)

Area rugs or accent pillows for comfort and color

Diplomas, awards, or books that reflect your journey

A well-decorated space feels more inviting and keeps you connected to your goals.

Final Thoughts

Choosing the right private office furniture is a blend of practicality, style, and comfort. Whether you’re furnishing a home office, executive suite, or creative workspace, take the time to assess your needs, measure your space, and select pieces that enhance both your daily performance and the overall look of your office.

With the right planning and thoughtful choices, your office will become a place where you feel empowered, focused, and inspired to do your best work.

[serenakane4]

vanity desk

There’s a quiet elegance to my JASIWAY vanity desk that brings grace to the entire room. It stands confidently near the window, catching sunlight across its clean surface, inviting me to pause and begin each day with softness. What I love most is the way the design honors both form and function—the refined silhouette, the perfect drawer depth, the strength of the wood frame—all of it speaks of craftsmanship. This makeup vanity isn’t just where I apply blush or eyeliner; it’s a personal ritual space that holds my stories. Each brush, each bottle of scent, each folded note in the drawer—it’s all part of my daily narrative. JASIWAY has created more than a vanity; they’ve created an heirloom piece that resonates with modern soulfulness. The furniture’s proportions are just right—it doesn’t overwhelm my space, yet it holds everything I need. My room feels elevated, not because it’s luxurious, but because it now reflects a version of myself I cherish—composed, creative, calm. With JASIWAY, I didn’t just add a new vanity to my room—I added a reminder that self-care is an art form, and beauty begins at home.

[fernkids58]

Transforming Classrooms with Montessori and Modern Furniture

Introduction

Imagine a classroom that feels more like a cozy home than a formal space. Where children sit comfortably on kids stools, pull out books from offset shelves, and gather around a low Montessori table to share ideas. That’s the power of thoughtful furniture — it shapes how kids learn, play, and grow. Today’s educational spaces need more than basic desks and chairs; they need soul, flexibility, and purpose.

Why Classroom Furniture Matters

Furniture isn’t just décor — it shapes the way kids move, think, and collaborate. The right classroom furniture tables supports focus, comfort, and creativity. Just like adults feel more productive in well-designed offices, kids thrive in spaces tailored to their needs.

What is Montessori Furniture?

Montessori furniture is designed with kids in mind: low to the ground, open, and easy to use. A Montessori desk or table Montessori allows children to work independently and build confidence while staying engaged.

Benefits of Individual Workspaces

A Montessori desk promotes independent learning, good posture, and a sense of ownership. These desks come in simple wood tones and minimalist designs — keeping the focus on the child, not the clutter.

Exploring Local Furniture Options in Canada

Buying a Montessori table in Canada is easier than ever. Many Canadian brands focus on safe, non-toxic materials, adjustable heights, and customizable finishes. These tables fit naturally into both homes and schools.

Tables for Young Learners

Activity Zones for Toddlers and Preschoolers

Childcare tables are often the center of activities. Choose round tables for group play, rectangular tables for art and meals, and foldable options for easy storage.

Keeping Footwear Organized

A preschool shoe shelf is more than just storage. It teaches kids to be responsible for their belongings, stay organized, and practice self-care and hygiene.

Embracing a Nature-Inspired Aesthetic

Waldorf Furniture blends natural materials with artistic forms. Inspired by Steiner education, it promotes calm, beauty, and connection to the environment.

Functional Seating and Storage Combos

A kids shoes bench doubles as seating and storage. It helps toddlers change shoes with ease and creates a tidy, clutter-free zone near entrances.

Choosing the Right Work Surfaces

Great daycare tables are spill-resistant, easy to clean, and just the right height for toddlers and preschoolers. They support everything from snack time to science experiments.

Flexible Design Features

An adjustable Montessori table can grow with your child. Look for tables with lock-in height settings, easy assembly, and lightweight frames.

Ergonomic Seating Solutions

The best kids stools are:

Ergonomic

Stackable

Durable enough for daily use

Picking Age-Appropriate Chairs

Kids classroom chairs need to be lightweight, non-slip, and sized for different age groups. Colorful chairs can brighten up the room and make learning more fun!

Furniture that Grows with the Classroom

When selecting classroom furniture, prioritize safety certifications, non-toxic finishes, rounded corners, and stable legs.

New Trends in School Furnishings

Modern classroom furniture emphasizes flexibility and function. Think modular designs, mobile tables and chairs, and built-in storage spaces.

Creative Storage Ideas

Offset shelves offer unique visual appeal, space-saving layouts, and easy access for kids. They’re great for storing books, baskets, and toys at varying heights.

Bench Styles for All Spaces

A long wooden bench fits more kids and is great for group activities. A short wooden bench is perfect for reading corners or shoe stations. Use both creatively across the classroom!

Essentials for a Productive Room Setup

The best furniture for classrooms is adaptable. Look for multi-use pieces, easy-to-move furniture, and sustainable materials.

Designing for Group Collaboration

Final Thoughts and Tips

Choosing furniture isn’t just about design — it’s about what your students need. Whether it’s a Montessori desk, a preschool shoe shelf, or modern classroom furniture, every piece should serve a purpose. It’s like setting the stage for a play: the better the set, the more magical the performance.

FAQs

1. What makes a Montessori desk different from regular desks? A Montessori desk is lower to the ground, designed for independence, and encourages child-led learning without overwhelming distractions.

2. Are Montessori tables in Canada made with safe materials? Yes, most Montessori table in Canada options use non-toxic, eco-friendly wood with child-safe finishes.

3. How many kids can sit at a classroom group table? Depending on size, classroom group tables can seat 4 to 8 kids comfortably, promoting collaboration and interaction.

4. Why should I consider Waldorf furniture for a preschool? Waldorf Furniture creates a warm, home-like environment that nurtures creativity, peace, and sensory development.

5. What’s the best way to keep a preschool shoe shelf organized? Assign each child a labeled spot on the preschool shoe shelf and teach routines around using it daily.

[deskup]

L Shaped Standing Desk: Crafting the Ultimate Productivity Zone

When it comes to creating a productive workspace, few pieces of furniture make as big of a difference as an L Shaped Standing Desk. Designed to blend form with function, these desks are reshaping how professionals, creatives, and remote workers approach their workdays — especially in the age of hybrid setups and wellness-focused work environments.

Why Choose an L Shaped Standing Desk?

The L Shaped Standing Desk isn’t just a statement piece. It’s a game-changer for multitasking, spatial efficiency, and ergonomic health. The L-shape provides a natural division between tasks — making it ideal for people who need a dedicated space for deep focus on one side and active, flexible movement on the other.

Whether you're managing two monitors, sketching design concepts, or juggling calls and spreadsheets, the corner structure allows for seamless transitions. And when paired with height adjustability, the desk transforms into a Sit Stand Desk in Australia that's built for both movement and momentum.

Real-World Productivity Gains

🔹 Optimised Workflow: With one arm of the desk devoted to digital tasks and the other to creative or analog work, your setup encourages natural context switching — without clutter.

🔹 Better Posture, Less Fatigue: Transitioning between sitting and standing reduces pressure on the lower back, engages your core, and minimizes the risk of prolonged sedentary strain.

🔹 Spatial Advantage: The corner-friendly design maximises wall and window spaces, making even compact rooms feel spacious and efficient.

What Users Are Saying

“I never realised how much my old desk was limiting me. The L Shaped Standing Desk has changed how I work entirely — I stand when I'm in meetings, shift to the seated section to write, and everything just flows. Total game-changer!” — Mia R., Freelance Architect, Melbourne

“I run a dual-monitor setup with constant note-taking and ideation. The L-shaped layout gives me breathing room — and the sit-stand feature keeps me moving. My productivity’s up, and my back pain’s gone.” — Darren T., Software Developer, Brisbane

FAQs

Q: How does an L Shaped Standing Desk differ from a regular standing desk? A: While a standard standing desk offers vertical flexibility, the L Shaped Standing Desk offers both vertical and spatial flexibility. It allows for multitasking across two connected surfaces, making it ideal for high-efficiency workflows.

Q: Is it suitable for home offices with limited space? A: Yes. Despite its generous surface area, the L-shape is perfect for corners, freeing up central room space and improving traffic flow.

Q: Can I find quality options for a Sit Stand Desk in Australia? A: Absolutely. Many Australian suppliers offer locally made or shipped options with warranty coverage, ergonomic features, and custom finishes suited to diverse work styles and room layouts.

The Stand-Up Evolution: Why Movement Matters

A core benefit of any Sit Stand Desk in Australia is its impact on well-being. Research shows that alternating between sitting and standing throughout the day can improve focus, reduce back and neck pain, and even elevate mood.

Pairing this health-forward approach with the natural layout of an L Shaped Standing Desk takes things further — encouraging dynamic posture, easy shifts between tasks, and better utilisation of natural light or room acoustics.

Final Thoughts

If you’re rethinking your work environment, it’s time to stop settling for traditional furniture layouts. The L Shaped Standing Desk is not just a stylish cornerpiece — it’s a tool for transformation. When chosen thoughtfully, it bridges ergonomics and efficiency, helping you craft the ultimate productivity zone right where you need it most.

Whether you're designing a dedicated home office or upgrading your workspace in a commercial setting, the combination of L Shaped Standing Desk design and Sit Stand Desk in Australia technology might just be the edge your workflow has been missing.

[innovativeyantra]

How to Choose the Right Smart Desk for Your Work Style

When I first heard about smart desks, I thought it was just another tech gimmick, like those voice-activated trash cans or self-stirring coffee mugs that end up in the back of the closet.

But that was before I hit my mid-30s and started feeling like my back was aging twice as fast as the rest of me. Sitting hunched over a regular old table (yes, let’s call it what it was—a glorified dining table doubling as a workspace) was taking a serious toll. That’s when I decided it was time to get serious about how I worked. I wasn’t just looking for a fancy gadget; I needed a solution that matched my habits, my workflow, and frankly, my daily chaos.

Choosing the right smart desk isn’t about jumping on a trend; it’s about finding a work companion that makes your day smoother, healthier, and more productive. Whether you’re working from home like me, juggling files, projects, and countless cups of coffee, or managing a hybrid work lifestyle, the right smart desk can be a game-changer.

I remember scrolling through endless digital catalogs, blogs, and customer reviews—feeling overwhelmed by all the options. Standing desks, adjustable desks, Smart desks, desks that memorize your sitting and standing preferences—it felt like I needed a degree just to buy furniture. But once I understood how to align my work style with the right desk features, it became much easier.

Here’s the thing most people don’t tell you: Not all smart desks are created equal, and more importantly, not all are meant for everyone. Your friend who swears by their fully-automated standing desk with built-in speakers and Bluetooth might not have the same workflow, posture needs, or even room layout as you do. The secret is tuning into your patterns.

If you’re like me, someone who alternates between intense focus sessions and spontaneous dance breaks to shake off the afternoon slump, you might want a desk that adjusts effortlessly with a quiet motor and programmable presets. It’s like having a personal assistant who gently nudges you to change positions before you turn into a human pretzel.

But beyond just the mechanics, the design and feel matter too. I underestimated this until my first smart desk arrived. It had all the tech bells and whistles but looked like it belonged in a sterile office from the early 2000s. It clashed with my cozy, book-filled home office. I quickly learned that a desk that feels inviting, aesthetically aligned with your space, and well-built makes you want to show up and work every day. It’s not superficial; it’s psychology.

Another thing I wish someone had told me sooner is to consider how much "real estate" you actually need. As someone who deals with tons of digital documents, project plans, and, let’s be honest, more virtual paperwork than I care to admit, I needed more than just a sleek surface. I needed space for my dual monitors, note-taking journals, and my ever-growing plant collection. If you handle loads of digital files (or, as I like to call them, electronic folders), you’ll want a desk that can accommodate your setup without making it feel cramped.

Smart desks also come with varying levels of tech integration. Some integrate seamlessly with your productivity apps, track how long you sit or stand, and even send reminders to stretch. Others offer built-in wireless charging pads, hidden cable management systems, or adjustable ambient lighting. While all these sound impressive, I realized not all were essential for me. I mainly needed smooth adjustability, memory presets, and solid stability because nothing kills your flow like a wobbly desk. Think carefully about what features will genuinely serve you versus what might just become clutter.

When I finally found my match—a desk that balanced functionality, comfort, and aesthetics—it genuinely changed my workdays. I noticed my energy levels lasting longer, my focus sharpening, and even my creativity getting a little boost. Was it magic? Not really. It was simply that my workspace was finally supporting me instead of working against me.

One piece of advice I share with friends who are shopping for smart desks now is: Don’t rush it. Visit showrooms if you can. Watch real-user reviews, not just polished brand videos. And most importantly, picture yourself actually using it during your busiest, messiest workdays. Will it adjust easily when you’re in the zone? Will it hold up when you pile it with devices, books, and maybe that emergency chocolate stash? Will it blend with your home office vibe, making you feel good every time you step into the room?

Oh, and don’t forget to check out the best smart desk roundup I found super helpful when narrowing down my final choice. It’s packed with honest insights, comparisons, and even some budget-friendly options if you’re worried about breaking the bank.

At the end of the day, choosing the right smart desk is about more than tech specs or fancy marketing. It’s about making an investment in your comfort, well-being, and productivity. And if you’ve ever found yourself rubbing your neck after a long day of work, trust me, it’s worth every penny.

I’d love to hear your story if you’re shopping for a smart desk or recently got one. What are you looking for? Are you team “minimalist and sleek” or team “give me all the gadgets”? Your feedback helps me craft even better, more relatable content. Drop your thoughts and questions anytime—I genuinely read them and adjust my content based on what you share.

[alieinthemorning]

Not True  [Diluc Ragnvindr]

Content: Fluff, Hurt (You)/ Comfort (Diluc)

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog!

Original Work: I Love you | Diluc Ragnvindr

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

You admired Diluc’s tenacity.

Your Lover.

Wine Tycoon

Vigilant of Mondstadt

And whatever else he did amongst the shadows.

Oh and,

Bartender.

The persona he was taking up now.

Sleeves rolled up as he mixed yet another drink flawlessly.

You smiled, admiring him and enjoying the bubbly atmosphere.

Until it popped.

A group of rowdy men howled loudly with laughter.

They weren’t directly beside you, but near enough to have your smile drop.

The bubbly atmosphere wasn’t so bubbly anymore.

Suddenly the whole room was too much and you needed to get away.

“Hey.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes flying to meet that of your beloved.

“I have some paperwork to finish before tomorrow.” He extended his hand, “Let’s go home.”

The smile floated back to the surface.

“I’ll brew some tea.”

You stared at the basket in front of you.

Colorful balls of yarn laid like eggs in a nest.

You had…an urge to learn to knit after watching Noelle knit a sweater in an hour.

So, you asked her to teach you.

And things were fine!

While you were with her.

You did a few small things to start

Small shapes like hearts because they were cute, coasters and even mug cozies.

But now that you were home with your latest project, a sweater for your beloved,

you froze.

The task was now daunting and scary.

What if you messed it up?

What if he didn’t like it?

What if he wanted to break up because of your terrible work?

What if—?

“You know,” You were startled out of your thoughts, as Diluc rounded the couch, eyeing yarn. “I was just thinking about taking up a hobby.” He picked one up then looked at you. “Would you be willing to teach me, love?”

You took a shaky breath, as your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll try my best.”

“We’ll try together.”

“Arugh!” You crumpled the paper in your hand, then slammed your fist into the desk.

This was the fifth time you were rewriting this.

Why was your handwriting so sloppy?

Why did the pen keep bleeding?

Why wasn’t the paper as smooth as it should be?

Why?

Why?

Why?

You swung your hand to the side, relishing in the sound of all the items on the desk clattering to the floor. 

But then your name was being called by your beloved,

And your anger very quickly fizzled into fear. 

You ducked underneath the desk, tucking yourself close and hiding your face away.

The moment you squeezed your eyes shut, the door opened. 

Silence, then footsteps, but not toward you, but the side. 

The discarded items were picked up from the floor, but you dare not face him.

Once everything was back in order, you felt his presence kneeling beside you. 

It took about a minute for you to gain the courage, or rather become uncomfortable, to face him. 

His arms were open, an invitation. 

And you selfishly took it.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed. “I didn’t mean to! I just got so angry and—!”

“It’s okay.” His whisper cut through your sniffling, “Anger can claim even the gentlest of us.”  

You wanted to run

To hide

To no longer exist. 

You couldn’t handle anymore. 

You knew, logically, that they weren't trying to be mean 

Or rude

Or to forget you. 

You were always so forgettable. 

No wonder— 

“There you are.” His voice startled you out of your thoughts.

You flinched at each of his footfalls, only stopping once he did. 

He curled in on yourself as he lowered himself to you. 

“Whatever it is, it isn’t true.” 

You bit your lip. 

You knew it wasn’t true, but you just couldn’t help it. 

“Let me see you.” He brushed a hand over your head. 

You lifted your head, but the moment you locked eyes with the crimson ones, the tears fell and so did your head.

How could someone like him love someone like you? 

His arms wrapped around you and kissed the crown of your head. “I love you, you know.” 

You nodded. 

“Let me hear you say it. Please.” 

“I know you love me, Diluc Ragnvindr.” 

“And I always will. I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it.” 

“Tell me you love me.”

You felt him smile. 

“I love you.”

Initial Note: Okay, so I know you wanted more than just Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, but I’m only comfortable with writing about that since I suffer from it. I don’t want accidentally offend anyone or present them incorrectly. So I’m sorry about that but I do hope you enjoyed what I did write. Diluc loves you! 

...

So, hey its getting close to two years since I wrote this, or rather the original one because oops this went from

"I want to have all of my Collection works on AO3 to be their own individual works because I don't always read other people's collection works, so why should I have mine like that" to "I should rewrite this"

So uh, maybe more will get an update to keep an eye out.

Also this is the original title of this fic, I don't know why I changed it to "I Love You"

Oh also peep the fact that I fully fulfilled the request out now lol

Gee I wonder what changed.

Totally not related but the second to last part is based off a true story haha :)

Also also, to the person who originally requested this: I really hope you see this! And if you do please send an ask! Reminder that Diluc love You!

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[spencersawkward]

if you feel comfortable with it, I’d love a prof Spence where reader is a student and goes to office hours to initiate ~smutty goodness~ but Spencer is reluctant at first bc his job but they flirt more and eventually sleep together

me n my professor kink when i saw this: 😏 anyway yes i am quite comfortable writing about this lol. i took some ✨creative liberties✨ with your request so i'm sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted! 

summary: reader is a student in Dr. Reid’s class, but she’s been something of a poor student-- office hours are the only solution.

relationship: Fem!Reader/Professor!Spencer

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, rough sex, super brief hair-pulling, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, age gap, degradation-- he gets pretty dominant oops.

word count: 4.5k

masterlist

popping in a piece of gum, I make my way to the back of the hall. there are a few people here already, but it's a little early. I'm never early. in fact, I'm usually late; my other class is on the other side of campus, and getting here involves a lot of embarrassing speed-walking.

but here I am, five minutes ahead of schedule and actually in a decent seat. as I flip open my textbook and pull my laptop out of my bag to prepare to take notes, my gaze slides down to the corner of the room, where Dr. Reid is standing up with a pile of papers. he walks over to the girl in the front row, handing her the stack and gesturing for her to pass it along.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. he's a total luddite. the first day, Dr. Reid spent about ten minutes rambling about the importance of reading from a physical book rather than online sources-- which, although I definitely agree with, means a lot more lugging around folders and organizing all the readings he gives out. if he wasn't so hot, I would have switched into another course.

and I know it's wrong to be daydreaming about my professor slamming me into a wall while he discusses the intricacies of quantum theory. the complete cliché of it is embarrassing. but still, I just can't stop thinking about him: how his fingers would feel around my throat, the smooth wooden surface of his desk against my cheek as he bends me over and pulls my panties to the side--

"glad to see you've decided to join us, today, Ms. Y/L/N." Dr. Reid's voice startles me out of my thoughts. he's standing towards the front of the room while students file in. his hands are resting in his pockets with his eyebrows pleasantly raised.

"glad to see you've noticed." I retort, too irritated with his comment to care about being polite.

a couple people look at me. even though I'm generally not on time, he tends to just glance my way when I walk in and leaves it at that. I know he doesn't like it, although I personally don't care. I hate this course.

he seems visibly surprised by my response but doesn't reply, gaze lingering on mine before he turns to speak to a student trying to get his attention. I bite back a smile. fucking asshole.

as usual, Dr. Reid writes in his thin, messy lettering on the board while wandering around the front of the room. he's quite fidgety, even though his voice doesn't betray any sort of nervousness. it's like he's naturally overactive.

every word out of his mouth is enunciated, sometimes spoken faster when he gets particularly impassioned by the subject. he's interesting to look at, too. messy curls and a nice suit, stubble that straddles the line between refinement and ruggedness.

I type quickly, but it isn't fast enough and the strange illustrations he does on the board only complicate things. I try to write them down in my notebook, but my handwriting is jagged; sometimes it's hard to read. when a student raises her hand for a clarification, I take the opportunity to catch up.

my head jerks up as soon as I'm finished and he's looking at me while he speaks. even from so many feet away, the intensity strikes me. he's gesticulating and crossing the room. I hold eye contact.

I wonder if he dates often; a couple of the girls in my row always stare at him throughout the lectures. he seems to be completely unaware of the effect he has on people. sometimes I'll see him in the hallway and he has his nose buried in a book, or a to-go cup of coffee, or both. either way, there seems to be no more room in that head of his for romance.

which, naturally, makes me curious about how he looks when he's on the edge of orgasm. if that composure is replaced with a contorted pleasure. I want to break him.

it's like he can read my thoughts, because Dr. Reid averts his gaze. my stomach twists with a strange anticipation. he avoids looking my way for the rest of the time.

towards the end of class, I start to pack my things to go. I have three papers to write, and my utter lack of interest in this is making me eager to leave. I shove my textbook into my bag the second my professor starts to make closing remarks.

"don't forget that we have a midterm in two weeks!" he says in a slightly louder voice as people start to move around. "if you have any questions, my office hours are posted on the bulletin board outside."

at this, my eyebrows rise. I forgot about the midterm. I have a study calendar set up for all my subjects, but I've purposefully been putting this one off. I'm not super into math. and it doesn't help that most of my time is spent not listening. when I am, it doesn't make sense.

as I stand up and gather my stuff, I hear someone clearing their throat a couple feet away. my head turns to see Dr. Reid leaning against his desk.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can I see you for a second?"

my heart stutters in my chest. is this about my attitude? he's never asked to see me outside of lessons before.

I frown, making my way to him with a deliberate pace. the tension in the room builds as I watch the last of his students shuffle out of the room. my head turns from the door to him; my breath catches a little in my throat at the set of his jaw. part of me hopes I get yelled at.

"I'm concerned about your participation in this class." he says. his voice isn't cruel, but it is brutally honest— which is worse. participation? I feel my fist clench at my side. my professors don't usually say anything if you aren't doing things up to their expectations; if you aren't, then they give you a bad grade. simple as that.

"is this about me being late?" I ask. he lets out a sigh before answering. he sounds disappointed.

"you're constantly tardy, and when you hand in your homework, you barely seem to have put in the effort. it's messy."

"messy?" I start to get annoyed. I'm only doing this so that I can get my degree. it's a fucking requirement. even though I'm not the biggest fan of mathematics, I still do my best and hand in my assignments on time. plus, the latest I arrive is five minutes-- it's not like I'm stumbling in halfway through the lesson.

"you've never come to office hours to ask for help or explained your lateness, which I, as your professor, would have appreciated." he scolds. honestly, I don't know what to say. my eyes narrow.

"I have my studio class on the other side of campus." I explain. "I should have emailed about that and I'm sorry, but I'm also not being lax about my work."

he goes around to the other side of his desk and glances up at me while he organizes some loose documents to pack away. he looks way too good when he's exasperated: his hands tighten around the papers, his eyebrows come together in this cute way. his tie is a little crooked, too.

"are you struggling with the content?"

"sometimes, yeah. but I can handle reaching out for help if I need it." I reply. he's pissing me off with these questions. I can see from the expression on his face that he's surprised by my reaction.

"really?" he slides some books into his messenger bag. that was definitely sarcastic; I know it was. "because it doesn't really seem like you have."

"I like to find help on my own." I shoulder my bag and cross my arms over my chest. there's no way he's gonna talk to me like that and expect me to not respond in kind.

"I'm reserving a slot on Wednesday evening for you," he looks up and holds my gaze. hazel irises that dare me to challenge him further. "I want you in office hours so that we can figure out how you're gonna catch up before the midterm."

"fine." I turn on my heel and leave. I know I'm not supposed to talk to my professor like that, or even to behave with such apprehension. but something about him makes me angry in the kind of way that settles in my stomach. I hate that he's right. I'm not going to do well on that damn test if I don't get some help.

but that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with it.

when I rush into his office on Wednesday evening, the sun is just starting to set through his window. there's a pinkish glow that smooths over Dr. Reid's desk as he glances up at me. I had to run to get here.

"you're late." he nods to the clock on the wall. I roll my eyes.

"only one minute, though. I had another class."

he sighs and folds his hands on his desk. "how are you doing today, Ms. Y/L/N?" a strangely polite question for the look on his face. he's frustrated with me.

"I'm quite well, Dr. Reid." I smile brightly, slightly excited by the anger on his face, and sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"I didn't know you were interested in art." he says simply. I'm confused for a moment before I remember that I told him that the course before his is a studio lesson.

"I didn't know you cared."

"do you make a habit of that?" he quirks an eyebrow.

"of what?" my expression is saccharine.

"being rude to people who control your grades."

"unless you're considering being unethical in your practices and allowing your personal opinion of me to influence my grade, then no." I counter. he's silent for a moment, taking in my words like they've left a mark on him.

"well, you'd most likely fail if I asked you to leave my office hours right now. whose fault would that be?" he fidgets with his hands and leans forward just a bit, his voice dropping to a lower tone. I bite back a smile.

"you wouldn't."

"and why is that?" he baits.

"because you're not a shitty professor, Dr. Reid," I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. "as angry as you are, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you kicked me— a struggling student— out of here for giving you a little attitude."

"a little attitude?" he scoffs. "you've spent the whole semester completely ambivalent."

"not completely." I shrug.

"Y/N, you draw all over your tests and leave at least one problem half-finished every time. you obviously aren't learning." he chuckles mirthlessly. I concede this point; I like to doodle when I'm bored. and there's absolutely nothing more boring to me than numbers.

"okay," I sit up and rest my elbows on the edge of his desk, staring at him. "then teach me."

Dr. Reid holds my gaze for a long moment. we're suspended, it seems, as his lips part and he finds himself speechless. the way I said the words obviously has another layer to it-- he just has to decide whether or not to take the bait.

"what are you struggling with?" he clears his throat and sits up a bit straighter in his seat. that answers my question, I guess. I poke my tongue between my teeth gently, but then pull out my notebook and flip it to a page with some problems outlined on it.

"these." I toss the thing onto his side and he begins to run through the assignment. I watch him pick up a pen and start to explain the steps, slipping into his usual educational tone. his shoulders relax a little as he writes.

I can't see right from the angle I'm at, so I stand and come around onto his side. I hear him pause his speaking for a moment at my proximity, but he doesn't move away.

"does that make sense?" he asks me once he's finished running through the first problem. he basically did all the work. the professor's head turns to gauge my reaction to the explanation, but his eye line is right at the hem of my skirt-- which is already pretty short. for all his attempts to be subtle, he gulps and looks up at me.

"mostly." I brush a piece of hair behind my ear and pretend to scratch at a spot on my upper thigh, dragging the edge of my skirt with it until he can see the smooth skin beneath, practically begging for his touch. "can I ask you a question?"

"sure." he keeps his eyes almost too focused on mine. I try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. now or never, I guess.

"what's your policy on professor/student relationships?"

"my-- my what?" this time, he's audibly scattered when he turns to me. his eyes are wide, dark. even he can't hide his feelings.

"you know," I run my fingertips over the tweed shoulder of his jacket. I can sense the tension beneath his clothes. "like, your policy on fucking a student."

"I--" his cheeks turn pink. he's flustered, albeit not rejecting my touch. "I've never had to think about it before."

"hmm," I look off to the side as if considering this point. his chair is fully turned to face me now, and I'm standing in front of him, almost completely his for the taking. all he has to do is close the gap. "well, what are you thinking about it right now?"

"it's wrong." he stumbles over the words.

"why?"

"well, I mean, you're a student--"

"for a semester that's almost over." I cut him off. he opens and closes his mouth. I take a deep breath, toying with the hem of my skirt. "I know you've been looking at me during class."

"w-what?"

"you're pretty good at hiding it, but you call on me a lot and you get all messed up when I hold eye contact too long during lectures." I say.

he looks down and back up apologetically. he's just sitting there, lap wide open. so I do what any sane girl in my position would do: I climb into it, straddling him and resting my arms around his neck. he sucks in a breath.

"you pretend I'm such a pain," I lean down by his ear, my core drawing over his pants. he tenses as I speak. "but you like that I'm your little problem."

"Y/N..." he trails off, but his hips are bucking up into mine.

"see?" I look between our bodies at his movements, then at him. I smirk as I look into those lust-darkened eyes. after a moment of him not speaking, I straighten. "look, I'll leave you alone if it really bothers you--"

as I start to get off his lap, he grabs me and pulls me back down. the force hits my center at just the right angle and I let out a slight mewl. he hears the sound and before I can register the pleasure, he grabs my face and yanks me closer to kiss him.

god, he feels so good. I rock my hips against his while our lips pass over each other hungrily. so much tension built up over the past few months, so many thoughts I've had of him, now coming to fruition. it's amazing.

"not so 'wrong' now, is it?" I chuckle against his mouth.

"shut up." he orders. one moment of broken contact to slide my top over my head and throw it on the floor.

I sigh as he starts to kiss across my jaw and down my throat. "I like when you talk like that, Dr. Reid."

one hand grips my hips tighter and he releases a groan against my skin.

"is that why you're such a fucking brat in my class?" he bites my collarbone and I moan. "because you want me to put you in your place?"

"mhmm." I hum. his fingertips move under my skirt, sliding up my thighs and toying with the waistband of my panties. he teases me by grazing my slit over the fabric, inhaling sharply at the wet patch.

"sitting in the back of my room, fucking dripping..." he mumbles to himself as he starts to rub me.

"touch me." I breathe out, trying to gain the friction that I need.

"not if you're gonna be a brat." he removes his hand and I let out a frustrated noise as I try to find the pressure I need elsewhere by grinding down on him. he grunts at the way I pant into his mouth, trying to kiss him with every chance I get. his lips are so smooth and sweet against mine. there's something affectionate about it even in its ferocity.

"I'll be good." I practically beg.

"that's what I thought." he slides his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches me whimper on top of him.

"come on, Spencer..." I use the name for the first time and he grabs my face in his hand, squeezing my cheeks.

"not my name, sweetheart." he stares into my eyes expectantly and I smirk.

"you're fucked up, doctor."

"so are you."

after he says that, he lifts me off his lap and stands up, pushing between my shoulder blades until my face is pressed onto the desk. I let out a needy whine, wiggle my ass back in hopes of finding his crotch, but he's not willing to give me that, yet.

instead, he gently touches my skirt, flipping it up so that he can see my ass. immediately, he starts to knead it. my palms are pressed flat against the desk with anticipation, silently thankful that my panties are still on. I think I'd be dripping down my thighs if they weren't.

"are you gonna be more respectful?" his voice is low, one hand tracing over my back. I shake.

"mhmm."

"I won't spank you if you don't use your words, sweetheart."

"yes." I choke out, no longer wanting to give any sort of resistance. I had no idea there was this side of him, and I love it.

he loves it too, apparently, because his hand comes down sharply on my ass. I yelp at the contact and he runs his fingers over the point of impact, rubbing the flesh gently.

"too hard, baby?" he checks.

"harder." I beg. I can't see his face, but I can sense his smile as if it's my own. his palm hits me again, and I gasp.

"you like being punished?"

"yes." strangled and desperate.

he slips his finger beneath the fabric of my panties, collecting my essence and letting out a quiet moan when he feels me. I push my hips against his fingers, partly expecting him to remove all the pressure, but he doesn't bother waiting.

he slips his index inside and I gasp. starts to push in and out, his silence proving his arousal. I can practically feel his eyes on me. the pace increases a bit and he slides in his middle finger. I buck against the desk.

"oh fuck!" I cry out as he starts to go faster. he curls them against my walls and I arch my back.

"two fingers and you're already breaking?" Spencer chuckles as he moves inside me. he keeps one hand on my ass while he does it, starting to finger me at a ridiculous speed while I pant and moan and cry.

"I--" I gulp down air. "I need you in it."

he bends down by my ear, never breaking his rhythm. my legs are shaking from the force. "you need my cock?"

"yes," I feel myself closing in around him. "god, yes."

"you're lucky I wanna fuck you so bad." he mutters. I grin as I hear the clink of his belt coming undone, the sliding through the belt loops, the sound of him stripping down to nothing. I can feel my excitement on the inside of my thighs, spread around by his reckless fingers as he removes my panties and skirt.

he grinds himself against my pussy, coating himself in me, while he releases low, longing moans. I suck in a breath when the head pushes in, every inch pushing me open a little more. I don't have the ability to form words, so I bite my lip and grip onto the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.

his breath stops for a moment before he groans.

"so ready for me."

he's not even all the way in, and he has to pause to let me adjust. when he taps the inside of my thigh for me to part them more, I do it quickly and beg him to fill me up. I can barely take the pressure between my hips, but it burns in an inviting way.

"keep going." I direct him. he runs his hands over the curve of my waist and starts to thrust into me at a rate that leaves me panting. it's not too fast or slow, just impatient and needy. every sound that spills from his lips turns me on more.

"where'd the attitude go, huh?" he digs his hips into mine. his cock hits my cervix and I squeak against the wood, but he holds my back down. I don't even try to argue with him, too overcome with the pleasure that's coursing through my limbs. he starts to build up his speed. "don't have much to say when you're getting fucked?"

"Dr. Reid--" I moan.

he plows into me so hard, the desk shifts on the floor and he grabs my ass with both hands.

"take it, baby. fucking take it."

I get up on my elbows to look behind me, just to glimpse how he looks as he gets closer. his curls have fallen more in his face, and his shirt is gone. I want to touch him desperately, to feel the lovely skin of his torso and arms and everything else, but he keeps me down for the most part. all I get is the sight of his mouth open and his hips moving quickly against mine.

"look at me, there you go." he grabs my face and holds me there, our eyes locked. mine are welling at the sheer overwhelming pleasure inside, but his are dark and intense. they search mine for something I can only hope to offer.

"that feels so good, Dr. Reid." I pant. he bites his lip as he watches my mouth hanging open in lecherous shock.

"I bet it does," he explores my body. "coming in here, hoping I fuck you like you deserve. you're lucky I'm going easy on you."

"thank you." I whine.

"you might need some extra lessons, yeah?" he grunts out, moving into me with a bruising force.

"yes, please." I whisper. my voice is practically gone at this point, my mind entirely focused on the knot building in my stomach.

"what was that, baby?" he pulls my hair gently.

"yes— fuck— yes, please, Dr. Reid."

"what a beautiful girl." he smirks. I whimper when he runs his fingernails down my ribcage. I can feel it coming from the way he starts to move tumultuously, every thrust pushing harder and seeking more release. it's fervent, how he takes me and grips my hips like the force itself will push him over the edge.

"I'm so close..." I breathe out as I try for as much friction as I can.

"show me," he drops down so his stomach is flush to my back. "show me how you cum, Y/N."

the way he says my name-- husky and warm and full of lust-- causes me to snap. I cry out as he reaches around to clamp a hand around my mouth, climaxing and pulsing around his dick as I drop down against the surface again. I want him to finish inside, so I do my best to keep him here. and his thrusts are getting more staccato as he chases the sensation my walls create.

"can I fill you, angel?" he asks. he's breathing right by my ear, and the feeling is sending shivers down my spine. I love how his weight feels.

"yes." I moan and he slides his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them while he orgasms, jerking into my pussy and letting out unholy sounds of ecstasy. he says unintelligible things in the throes of his orgasm. pounds into me until I'm sure I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

"jesus christ, Y/N." he slows to a stop. when he pulls his cock out of me, the absence makes me whine. I miss his body already.

"oh my god." I clench my hands into fists as I try to catch my breath. I'm still bent over the desk as though I've been completely sapped of all my energy. I suppose I have. he doesn't touch me for a moment in the spirit of letting me recover from the small shudders still running over my skin.

"that was great." he says after we've both had time to fill our lungs. I push myself onto my elbows again.

"correct." I grin and straighten up more until I'm standing. he stares at me, at the cum now dripping down my legs, entranced.

"let me get you something to clean up." he snaps out of it a little. I can't stop looking at him, either, in love with the way he moves and the way he breathes after exerting himself on my body.

"come here." I bite my lip. for some reason, despite what we just did, this is scarier than everything else. he steps closer and I reach up, kiss him softly. part of me worries that he'll pull away and be terrified. maybe that he'll tell me that I've read too much into this.

he's much gentler than before. our first kiss was full of need and primal desire, but this is more affectionate. I remove myself from his embrace.

"okay, you can go now." I giggle. his fingertips linger on my waist and he smiles. I push his shoulder. "I literally have your cum all over me-- go."

"fine." he starts to put his clothes on.

"does this mean I get an A?" I joke. Spencer shakes his head.

"nice try. when we're done cleaning you up, we're gonna sit down and figure this out."

I let out a whine, and he kisses my cheek before looking me in the eyes. "it'll be fun. I promise."

"math is not fun."

"I can't believe I like a girl who doesn't enjoy such a beautiful subject." he rolls his eyes and I giggle. he's perfect.