#I should be working on answering people’s ask now

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

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[goingmerryfics]

Reader fails at flirting - Mihawk, & Crocodile

Content: SFW content, clumsiness, ranting, & bad pick up lines

Notes* Thank you for your patience while I struggled through my writer’s block! This was a request from a looong time ago but I no longer have that ask to reply to it seems. I believe Smoker was also supposed to be here, but I’m just going to upload this and take it easy while I get back into the writing spirit :) 

Mihawk

Not the type for talking, attempts at flirting with Mihawk usually end up with long, awkward silences that you feel the need to fill, which makes you sound even more awkward as you bounce from topic to topic

He was always the first to show up at the Warlord meetings, and since you worked in the building, it gave you an opportunity to chat him up as you pour the champagne for each guest

He only barely glances at you every now and then as you try to get his attention, ranting on about whatever comes to mind in the moment and asking him questions that he doesn’t respond to

You always end up feeling defeated at the end of the day. Always left with the heavy feeling that he just doesn’t like you, no matter what you say

Eventually you decide that you can’t keep pestering him. Next time there’s a meeting, you decide not to shoot into chatter with him when he arrives

You keep your head down, silence in the room. You can feel his eyes on your back as you walk around, watering the plants and doing whatever you can do to stay in his presence without having to talk to him

And then,

“Is something wrong?”

You’re embarrassed by how fast you look back at him. It’s the first time he’s addressed you. You, stuttering like mad, tell him that nothing is wrong

“You didn’t greet me today.”

He sounds… Disappointed. You ask him why he never responded, adding that you thought you had been annoying him, and that you weren’t even sure he knew who you were

Then he says your name- your full one. He starts to repeat information you’ve told him about yourself, a mix of information that you had thrown at him over all the different times you’ve met him. It touches your heart that he remembers it all

“I know who you are very well, actually. If you gave me a moment to think of my answers, I would have been able to share. You speak too quickly.”

He explains it so bluntly, but now that you think about it- you didn’t really give him much time to think before you moved on to the next subject. So the awkward silences were just Mihawk trying to put his words together

He urges you to take a seat beside him, that way he can finally give you the responses you were looking for

“You should try to let the other person respond if you’re going to flirt with them.” 

He says it almost scoldingly, but he’s smirking at you

Crocodile

As a citizen of Alabasta, Crocodile was someone that many people looked up to. But only you were in semi-regular contact with him

Every now and then, he would come dine at your workplace and every single time, you were his server. Your co-workers were always too intimidated to potentially get something wrong- the man was intimidating, after all -so that meant that anytime he was in, you were the one to face him

He always ordered the same thing when he came, which made it easier after a while. You’d already be walking up to his table with the wine he liked while his food was in the oven before he’d even made his order

The problem was that your ridiculous crush on him made you clumsy as hell

The first few times you were safe- the tripping over your feet and dropping plates had only happened out of his view, where it was your co-workers that would laugh or chastise you for not being careful enough

But then it had caught up to you in the worst way

You were taking the wine to his table and, as always, you engaged him in some casual conversation. Something about the weather or asking how his casino was doing

He would always answer shortly. Something of a grunt that either sounded positive or negative, or a short answer of ‘good’ or ‘eh’

You were too busy staring at him and waiting for an answer to notice that you were completely missing the glass as you poured his wine

And in turn, he was too surprised at your new, sudden carelessness to answer

Eventually you’d noticed as the wine started to spill onto the floor. Crocodile got up from his chair as you scrambled to get the spill contained to just the tablecloth, but also trying to be careful of all the glass on the table

The white tablecloth would be stained for sure

Crocodile just watched the whole time, holding his cigar between his fingers

The next few times went similarly. You’d bring the wine, serve his food, and give the bill- and every time, you would do something wrong. 

Forgetting his silverware, serving him the wrong plate, etc.

At least he always tipped you nicely. That never changed

You’d been so determined to make sure everything went right that the next time he walked in, you tried to be extra careful. You brought him his wine and paused, noticing his hand covering his glass.

“Just water today.”

Three simple words that threw you off. Why? What was wrong with the wine? Was it you?

Your on your way back from getting his ice water when a co-worker steps back, bumping into you from behind and sending you off balance, tipping the serving tray and sending Crocodile’s ice-cold water all over him

Your co-worker all but bails out of the dining hall, leaving you slack jawed, staring at Crocodile’s ruined suit. You can’t even muster up the bravery to apologize to the man as the ice cubes slip off of him and onto the floor

Then he laughs. It’s a loud, booming laugh that seems even louder while the room is dead silent. You’re sure you’re going to die there either from embarrassment or his wrath

“I’ve never seen someone trip over themselves so much just to get my attention. It’s flattering.” He says, smirking down at you while you’re still frozen in place. Then he asks you what time your shift is over, and you answer that you’re done in an hour

He tells you to make sure you’re here in 3 hours, that way he can dry off and have a proper conversation with you

You’re left there, confused, wondering if it’s going to be a date or a murder when he returns

[seitmai]

“Mrs. Rogers, you and Steve had to cancel the traditional honeymoon, has it put a strain on your marriage, and will you be taking a honeymoon any time soon?” “Oh, Ben, are you saying this isn’t a honeymoon? I thought all newlyweds took a five-month long zig-zagging trek all across America to kick off their marriage!”

Perfect answer 👌🏻

You nod, trying to ignore the small flutter in your stomach at the mention of Steve's name. It's ridiculous, you tell yourself. You're married to the man, for goodness sake. And you both know it’s a marriage for the stability of this campaign and the future presidency.

Don't ignore the flutter!! Even if you are already married!

As if sensing your presence, Steve looks up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. His face softens slightly, and he excuses himself from the conversation, making his way over to you.

🥰🥰🥰

"You've got this, Steve," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture feels both natural and strange - you're still navigating the boundaries of your unique relationship. "Just remember why you're doing this. Speak from the heart, like you always do."Steve's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flash of vulnerability there. "Thank you," he says, his voice low.

She just saw right through him and knew exactly what he needed to hear 😌

"We could also leverage social media more effectively," you continue, warming to your topic. "Not just posting sound bites, but creating engaging content that breaks down complex issues in accessible ways. Maybe even collaborate with some respected influencers who align with our values." Steve leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I like it. What else?”

I just know he look at her so proud 🤭

“What a surprise! The anit-social, bionic man with a staring problem doesn’t like the idea of pal-ing around with the new Mrs. Rogers! Man, I know you only recently started to like me, but can you get on board with her.” “Who says I like you?” he counters. “Ha ha,” Sam retorts dryly. “You should be so lucky that next time we put you up for president so we could canvas the country for a girl who could put up with you and all your bullshit.”

Hahaha Bucky and Sam are not letting a single chance pass to spat with each other 😂

“You don’t even know, do you?” Sam presses him, his tone incredulous. You hold your breath, straining to hear Steve's response. There's a long pause before he speaks. "It's not that simple, Sam," Steve says, his voice low and weary. "This whole situation... it's complicated." "Complicated how?" Sam presses. "She's smart, she's kind, she's dedicated to the cause. And let's be real, she's not hard on the eyes either. What's holding you back?"

Sam is just the biggest hype man and not only has Steve's back, but hers too

"No," Steve says quickly. "Not fake. Just... I don't know. Forced. This whole situation - it's not the same as the tour for war bonds back in ‘43, but it’s still a production. I never imagined being in a situation like this again." "None of us imagined this, Steve," Bucky chimes in, his tone softer than before.

Bucky is very right 🤷🏻‍♀️

"And she's here now, too,” Sam circles back to you, “and she's trying. You can't keep pushing her away." "I know," Steve says, his voice tinged with frustration. "I see it. She's incredible out there. The way she connects with people, the way she articulates our message, she’s all in and she's a natural." "So what's the problem?" Sam presses. "If I let her in and this doesn't work out..." "You mean the campaign?" Sam asks. "No," Steve says.

Steve is overthinking it, but i feel like that just shows how much he cares 🥺

Another silence falls between you, but it feels almost companionable, and the two of you enjoy your breakfast. Usually people try to fill any potentially silent moment around you these days, and so the reprieve itself is nice, but it doesn’t last long.

If you can enjoy some peace and quiet together that can be more meaningful that always having to have something going on ☝🏻

Red, White & True: Las Vegas & Cleveland (2/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4k Summary: Three months has raced by since you agreed to join the campaign team of Rogers for America as Steve runs for President of the United States of America. You've settled in and are starting to hit your stride campaigning, but what the state of affairs for your marriage?

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 2 - Las Vegas, Nevada]

“Mrs. Rogers!” “Mrs. Rogers!”

You exchange a brief look with your assistant Sophia. She nods to wordlessly confirm that you have a few moments and should engage with the press. Taking a deep breath, you turn and approach the bank of reporters waiting and eager to regale you with questions.

There are a few familiar faces who’ve been consistently covering the Rogers for America campaign, some of them even assigned specifically to report on you - mostly friends, but some that could be categorized in the foe column.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and your husband are in the same city for the first time in eighteen days.” This is one of the faces you aren’t familiar with in the gaggle of press. “Are you looking forward to being reunited as you support him in the first presidential debate tonight?”

Eighteen days… You hadn’t realized it had been that long, but you’ve become a trained professional when appearing in public now, and you don’t let your face betray any shock or unease.

“Yes, we’re eager to spend time together.” Consummate professional that you’ve become, you do play into showing a little bit of surprise. “Has it been eighteen days? Who’s been tracking this? Clearly we need you on our campaign team!”

It garners some good-natured laughs from the group.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and Steve had to cancel the traditional honeymoon, has it put a strain on your marriage, and will you be taking a honeymoon any time soon?”

“Oh, Ben, are you saying this isn’t a honeymoon? I thought all newlyweds took a five-month long zig-zagging trek all across America to kick off their marriage!”

A few more laughs.

“Steve is serious about this campaign, and we both knew the sacrifices we would be making along the way. Our time together is very limited, but I can tell you, without question, that Steve will be as dedicated to his roles and responsibilities as President as you have seen him be to this campaign. One thing we speak about frequently when we do have time together are the incredible people we’re meeting as we travel from state to state and get to talk with you, see what your life looks like in each new place.” This is true. It’s become one of the unspoken safe topics you can bring up at the drop of a hat with each other. “We’re getting the opportunity to experience first-hand that although we’re all so different, there’s so much that unites us as Americans, shoulder to shoulder, regardless of the part of the country we live in.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Sophia steps up and cuts in. “I’m sure we’ll see you all tonight at the debate. A reminder that the Rogers for America campaign will hold a brief press conference ten minutes after the debate concludes. For now, you have to let me get Mrs. Rogers in the car and on the way to the university or we’re not going to beat traffic - and neither will any of you.”

Then Sophia ushers you away, and you slip into the vehicle waiting for you both.

“Good answers,” she says, as the driver pulls away. “You’re really becoming comfortable fielding their questions and directing their energy where we want to see it go.”

You smile at Sophia's praise. She’s genuine but very no-nonsense, so she doesn’t throw out compliments to placate you or anyone else. It’s one of the reasons you promoted her to your assistant. "Thanks. I do feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. Though I have to admit, I was a bit thrown by that '18 days' comment."

Sophia nods sympathetically. "I know. It's been a whirlwind, but you're doing great. The public loves you, and your approval ratings are holding steady."

You lean back in your seat, letting out a small sigh. "Approval ratings. Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life now."

As the car weaves through traffic, your mind drifts back to the past few months. The whirlwind wedding, the campaign launch, the endless string of rallies, interviews, and public appearances. You've barely had a moment to catch your breath, let alone get to know your husband.

Steve. Your husband.

In name and public persona only, it seems. The campaign trails that are being charted and continually adjusted for you, Steve, the VP nominee, and his wife, have all four of you covering as much ground as possible, and there’s rarely any overlap, but it does seem like you’re rarely with the Mr. to your Mrs. It makes things simultaneously more and less complicated. More complicated because the lack of time together means it’s more awkward that you’re still basically acquaintances but have to look the part of happy newlyweds. Less complicated because at least you’re not messing with any deep or complex feelings.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Sophia's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

You straighten up, smoothing down the front of your outfit. "As ready as I'm going to be. What's on the agenda before the debate?"

Sophia consults her tablet. "You have a meet and greet with the VP and a group of the local campaign volunteers. Steve should be arriving about forty-five minutes before the debate starts. Twenty minutes before the debate, you all have a brief prep session with the communications team - updates on the developments over the day and reviewing the message for tonight."

You nod, trying to ignore the small flutter in your stomach at the mention of Steve's name. It's ridiculous, you tell yourself. You're married to the man, for goodness sake. And you both know it’s a marriage for the stability of this campaign and the future presidency.

The car pulls up to the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Nevada, and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the chaos that awaits. As you step out, you're immediately greeted by flashing cameras and shouts from the crowd. You smile and wave, but don't stop to answer any questions as you make your way inside, following someone from the debate logistics team to get to the staging and holding area.

Backstage is a flurry of activity. Campaign staffers rush back and forth, last-minute preparations are being made, and there's an electric tension in the air. Your eyes scan the room, looking for one person in particular.

And then you see him. Steve is standing off to the side, deep in conversation with one of the communications strategists. Even after all these months, the sight of him still takes your breath away. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably handsome in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he listens intently to the woman in front of him.

As if sensing your presence, Steve looks up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. His face softens slightly, and he excuses himself from the conversation, making his way over to you.

"Hey," he says softly as he approaches, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. It's for show, you know, it’s important that even your own campaign staff thinks this marriage is more than surface level, and you stifle the small thrill that runs through you at the gesture. It’s only a gesture.

"Hi," you reply, managing to offer up an encouraging smile. "How are you feeling? Ready for tonight?"

Steve nods, his expression determined. "As ready as I'll ever be. We still have a long weeks ahead, but I think we're in a good position - and that’s what they keep saying across the team at this point."

You nod, studying his face. Despite his confident words, you can see the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. You've learned to read these subtle signs over the past few months, even with your limited time together.

"You've got this, Steve," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture feels both natural and strange - you're still navigating the boundaries of your unique relationship. "Just remember why you're doing this. Speak from the heart, like you always do."

Steve's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flash of vulnerability there. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "I -”

But before he can say the rest of what he was going to, Sophia approaches, tablet in hand. "Mrs. Rogers, we need to go to the reception with the volunteers from the local campaign team."

[SEPTEMBER 7 - Cleveland, Ohio]

The campaign strategy meeting is in full swing, the air thick with tension and the buzz of caffeine-fueled ideas. You're seated at a long table in a nondescript hotel conference room, surrounded by a sea of laptops, notepads, and half-empty coffee cups. The walls are covered with maps, poll numbers, and hastily scribbled strategies.

Steve sits at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the latest polling data. You're positioned a few seats away, close enough to appear united, but not his most trusted. Sam, Bucky, the VP nominee Young and his assistant, the campaign press secretary, the communications director, all sit closer to or directly across from Steve, at the heart of the table. But you are closer than the finance director, legal advisor, speech writers, and the policy directors.

You're seated next Sam on your left with Sophia on your right, taking notes and pulling up memos on her laptop.

Steve is leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the campaign manager, Jake Thompson, deliver his latest assessment.

Jake, a seasoned political operative with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense attitude, stands at the head of the table, remote control in hand as he flips through a report on polling and focus groups that have been conducted over the past two weeks with Gen Z in urban, suburban, and rural pockets of the country.

"As you can see," Jake says, his voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, "this is where we’re making progress. Enough of them are tired of the rhetoric that’s been recycled all their lives, problems that never seem to be resolved because they’re too useful as campaign issues. That’s why an independent candidate is beginning to look a lot more appealing.”

Jake clicks to the next slide, which shows a breakdown of key issues that resonated most with young voters. "Climate change, affordable education, and social justice are their top priorities. They appreciate your strong stance on these issues, Steve, but they're still skeptical about whether you can actually deliver real change."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "So how do we bridge that gap? How do we convince them that we're not just another set of empty promises?"

You lean forward slightly, your mind racing with ideas. This is an area where you feel you can contribute significantly, given your background in non-profit work and your ability to connect with younger generations.

"If I may," you begin, and all eyes turn to you. You feel a flutter of nervousness but push through it. "I think we need to focus on concrete, actionable plans. Not just broad strokes, but specific steps we'll take in the first 100 days. I think it would speak to Millennials as well.”

Jake nods appreciatively at your suggestion. "Mrs. Rogers, did you hack into my laptop sometime in the last 24 hours?” He’s not smiling - he never outright smiles - but he has a proud glint in his eyes as he looks at you. “What you’re suggesting is exactly in line with what I wanted to bring to the table today. We need to show them we're not just talking the talk, we’re ready to his the ground running when they put us in the White House."

Steve nods, his eyes meeting yours with interest. "Go on," he encourages.

You take a deep breath, feeling more confident. "We should consider hosting a series of town halls specifically targeting young voters. Not just to talk at them, but to listen. Let them voice their concerns directly and then demonstrate how our policies address those issues. We could even live-stream these events, make them interactive."

Jake looks intrigued. "That should work. It plays into our strengths - Steve's authenticity and your ability to connect with younger demographics."

"We could also leverage social media more effectively," you continue, warming to your topic. "Not just posting sound bites, but creating engaging content that breaks down complex issues in accessible ways. Maybe even collaborate with some respected influencers who align with our values."

Steve leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I like it. What else?”

Elsa, communications director jumps in, "These are excellent strategies we can absolutely put into play, but we're still facing challenges with this demographic. Many of them feel disconnected from the political process entirely. They see you, Steve, as part of an older generation that doesn't understand their issues."

You watch Steve's reaction carefully. His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods, absorbing the information.

"What do you suggest?" Steve asks, his voice calm but tinged with frustration.

Elsa hesitates for a moment before responding. "We need to make you more relatable to younger voters. Show them that despite your... unique background, you understand and care about the issues that matter to them."

"And how do we do that?" Steve presses.

Jake glances your way before answering. "We think Mrs. Rogers could play a key role here."

You straighten in your seat, suddenly very alert. "Me?" you ask, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Yes,” he confirms. “We have a problem and an opportunity that’s developing. That 18 days comment last week heated things up again with the public perception and scrutiny of your marriage. You handled it exactly as you should have, Mrs. Rogers,” he assures you, “that’s not our concern. But now that someone has brought up numbers for days apart, it’s becoming part of the narrative, and we already had to tame concerns over your sudden nuptials, we don’t want the state of your marriage to be the focus again.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that Steve isn’t thrilled about this either.

“But the opportunity here,” Elsa jumps back in, “is that we can put that to rest and capitalize on what we’re beginning to see as the Mrs. Rogers effect on the campaign trail. Her approval ratings were never bad, but they keep climbing. The public still wonders if Steve is a politician, if he’s ready to be the next President, but they already see a politician’s wife in you, Mrs. Rogers.”

You feel a mix of pride and unease at Elsa's words. On one hand, it's gratifying to know your efforts are making a positive impact. On the other, you can't help but feel like you're being used as a prop.

Even though that is what you are at the most elementary level.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Steve asks, his tone careful but with an edge to it.

Jake leans forward, his expression earnest. "We want to increase the number of joint appearances you two make. Show the public that you're a united front, a team. Town halls, rallies, even some more casual, candid moments. Show the public that you're a team, that you support each other. It'll help soften Steve's image and make him more relatable to younger voters."

You glance at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is impassive, but there is a slight tension in his jaw.

You can see Steve is uncomfortable with the idea, but he's considering it carefully. You decide to speak up.

"I appreciate the strategy, but I have some concerns," you say. "We don't want to come across as inauthentic or like we're using our relationship as a political tool. That could backfire, especially with younger voters who are already skeptical of politicians and doing things for clout."

Jake nods, "You're right to be cautious. We're not suggesting anything overly staged or fake. Just more opportunities for the public to see you two together, interacting naturally."

Steve finally speaks up. "I agree with my wife," he says, and you feel a small, unexpected thrill at hearing him refer to you that way, even though you know it's just part of this gig. "We need to be careful about how we approach this. I don't want to exploit our relationship. But let’s make it work."

Jake wraps up the meeting quickly at that point, instructing his staff to update each candidate’s logistics team over the updated schedule that will play to the ‘Rogers & Rogers Strategy,’ and putting the policy advisors and communications team to work on implementing your suggestions into the direction they were going to propose. As every minute of the campaign season is instrumental, nearly everyone clears out of the room at that point.

You’re at the elevator in the lobby when you realize you left your jacket in the hotel conference room. Sophia says they can have an aide bring it up to your room, but you insist you’d like to stretch your legs a little more before heading up to sleep. As you head back down the hall, you’re relieved to see the door is still open, and you pick up your step. But then you come to an abrupt halt when you hear voices and your name drifts out into the hallway in a conversation between Steve, Sam, and Bucky.

“I don’t like it.”

“What a surprise! The anit-social, bionic man with a staring problem doesn’t like the idea of pal-ing around with the new Mrs. Rogers! Man, I know you only recently started to like me, but can you get on board with her.”

“Who says I like you?” he counters.

“Ha ha,” Sam retorts dryly. “You should be so lucky that next time we put you up for president so we could canvas the country for a girl who could put up with you and all your bullshit.”

Steve chuckles - something you realize you’ve rarely heard him do.

“But it’s you I’m surprised by, Steve,” Sam continues. “Why are you still holding this girl at arms’ length?”

Steve heaves a heavy sigh, and you can just imagine him putting his hands on his hips.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Sam presses him, his tone incredulous.

You hold your breath, straining to hear Steve's response. There's a long pause before he speaks.

"It's not that simple, Sam," Steve says, his voice low and weary. "This whole situation... it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Sam presses. "She's smart, she's kind, she's dedicated to the cause. And let's be real, she's not hard on the eyes either. What's holding you back?"

You feel your cheeks flush at Sam's words, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's not about her," Steve says firmly. "She's... she's great. Better than I could have hoped for, honestly. But this whole arrangement, it just feels..."

"Fake?" Bucky offers, his voice gruff.

"No," Steve says quickly. "Not fake. Just... I don't know. Forced. This whole situation - it's not the same as the tour for war bonds back in ‘43, but it’s still a production. I never imagined being in a situation like this again."

"None of us imagined this, Steve," Bucky chimes in, his tone softer than before.

Steve sighs again. “And I know it’s another thing I’ve chosen that neither of you signed up for, and I appreciate you being here by my side.”

"And she's here now, too,” Sam circles back to you, “and she's trying. You can't keep pushing her away."

"I'm not pushing her away," Steve protests, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"Really?" Sam challenges. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing enough to conveniently keep your distance. She's your wife, Steve. On paper, sure, but she's also becoming a real partner in this campaign. You've seen how she handles herself out there."

You lean against the wall, your heart racing as you listen to the conversation. You know you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but you can't bring yourself to walk away, not when - even if you’re not involved - someone is finally talking about the state of your marriage.

"I know," Steve says, his voice tinged with frustration. "I see it. She's incredible out there. The way she connects with people, the way she articulates our message, she’s all in and she's a natural."

"So what's the problem?" Sam presses.

"If I let her in and this doesn't work out..."

"You mean the campaign?" Sam asks.

"No," Steve says.

And then - because of course it’s that exact moment - a door just a bit further down the opens, and you have to pretend you were not just standing in the hallway eavesdropping on anyone, and you abandon jacket retrieval and pretend you were on your way to the hotel bar to catch a quick nightcap with some of the staffers.

[SEPTEMBER 8 - Airspace over Ohio]

The next morning, it’s wheels up at 7am for the presidential candidate campaign plane, and you’re on it. You’re being sent with Steve to Wisconsin.

As the plane climbs to cruising altitude, you stifle a yawn and make your way to the "war room" - a section of the campaign plane that serves as a mobile strategy center and occasional dining area. The smell of coffee and pastries wafts through the air, a tempting lure after the early morning rush.

Sophia’s intern had already supplied you with your go-to morning drink, but you grab a plate and fill it with some fruit, cheese, bacon, and a surprisingly and delightfully warm croissant. The plane's engines hum steadily as you settle into one of the seats at the table. The early morning sunlight streams through the small windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wood table. You've barely slept, your mind still reeling from the conversation you overheard last night.

You pull out your tablet, intending to review the day's revised schedule, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Steve's words. The weight of them sits heavy in your chest, a mix of disappointment and something else you can't quite name.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice someone approaching until they clear their throat. You look up, expecting to see Sophia or maybe one of the campaign staffers. Instead, you find yourself faced with Bucky Barnes.

"Morning," he says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. "Mind if I join you?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off balance. In all the months of campaigning, you've barely exchanged more than a few pleasantries.

"Of course," you say, gesturing to the seat across from you.

Bucky nods and takes a seat, setting down his own plate of food. There's an awkward silence as he settles in, and you can't help but study him. His hair is short again - the style he’d adopted when he was pardoned not long after the Snap. He's dressed casually in jeans and a dark henley. Despite his relaxed appearance, there's an undeniable intensity about him, a coiled energy that seems barely contained.

"So," Bucky says, breaking the silence. "Wisconsin."

You nod, grateful for the opening. "Yes, big day ahead. Are you joining us for the rally?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I’ll be backstage, but no."

Another silence falls between you, but it feels almost companionable, and the two of you enjoy your breakfast. Usually people try to fill any potentially silent moment around you these days, and so the reprieve itself is nice, but it doesn’t last long. Soon you’re joined by some of the staff - some seeking breakfast, some looking for you or for Bucky. And so the next wave of action for the day begins.

next part: HOUSTON

I KNOW! WE JUMPED FROM THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING TO THE BEGINNING OF SEPTEMBER! But that's by design.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[lara4eclipze]

“Our Spot?”

— ( ⛽ ) “meet me at our spot ” sent 11:48 pm

— ( 🚏 ) fluff , kissing , established relationship, lovey dovey , car rides , swearing , etc

— ( 🌃 ) this has been collecting dust in my drafts , I think if I remember it correctly this was a request by 🫢 anon

the loudness has calmed down , shops closing down and people going home — it was finally night time those who were out are either going to clubs or just wants to explore the place silently

it became a tradition for you and daniela to call each other every night , her overwhelming schedule always results in her being drained and you were her safe haven

overtime the usual call turned into you two meeting in casual spots like the convenience store , the park or even in her studio — yet it didn't feel right , you always felt like you never truly had the time with daniela , the peace and quiet where you both can only hear the beat of your hearts

your phone rings , assuming it was daniela you answered, it wasn't weird for her to call in the crack of dawn to be honest you were used to it

"hi dani how are you?" you ask , your voice was groggy and a yawn slips past your lips as you talk

"I'm good , can I pick you up by 30? , i wanna show you something" daniela explains , she sounded happy and very tired

"hmh- yeah , ill wait for you" you reply stretching out your arms and blinking to adjust your eyes to the light

"okay get ready!" daniela says before hanging up

standing up you wince at how cold the floor is , making your way to your bathroom you brush your teeth and wash your face , throwing on some random sweater and walking to your door

y/n: I'm outside now :)

danii: okay I'm omw!

you sigh putting your hands in your pockets as you wear your headphones, tonight was particularly cold , the winds were way harsher today

"my lips your lips—apocalypse" you mouth out the lyrics , as you see a familiar m3 pulling up you smile warmly

"hii!!" dani quietly screams running up to you with surprising energy , she hugs you and you reciprocate it hugging her back and greeting her too

"soo what were you gonna show me?" you ask intrigued onto what she was talking about earlier

"ill show you just follow me" daniela replies , holding your hands and leading you to her car , as you both sat down she revs it up and drives , fast enough but not too fast to the point of disturbing your train of thoughts

"how was work?" you ask , you still to this day couldn't believe that she was part of katseye yet she is

"you know , practice , eat , sleep" the blonde replies , her hands steering the wheel , she chuckles after

the next few moments the drive was silent the only sound was your heavy breathing and occasional yawn— the car stops at some bridge it was secluded but had an amazing view of the city

"were here" dani says turning off the engine and walking out of the car , she sat at the hood soon to be joined by you

"it's beautiful" you say out of awe , silent and perfectly cold , you rest your head at her shoulders earning you a hum

"I really enjoy this , I never really get a break — when I'm with you I feel like all my worries are gone" daniela says , her voice softening and sounding sincere

"i really love you" she follows, her hands now on your cheeks as she places a kiss on your lips

the kiss was magical , it wasn't sexual but truly her way of showing her appreciation for you — it was perfect

"I love you too" you reply , now with a spot to go to every time it felt official it was officiall

this her spot , or should you say our spot

[chleem]

Flashing Lights #6

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter5 | index | chapter7 soon!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Mid-May 2024

It’s just you and Drew now.  

Laura left after getting the two of you settled in this hotel room, explaining how your stylists would be here in less than an hour, Vogue coming over to film a getting-ready vlog. 

You anxiously stand by the window, looking down to the city. It was beautiful; but your anxiety didn’t let you appreciate it. You wanted a smoke. A drink too. 

The no-smoking sign on the table catches your eye, and you look at the ceiling. Smoking detectors were on it. Fuck. So, you reach for the alternative. 

You pick the room cell up, typing the number to the lobby. 

But Drew hangs it up, then grabs the cell from you. You look at him, pissed. “What? That was important,” you lie, but it was partially true, you needed alcohol to settle yourself. 

“Really?,” he says, putting the cell back. He glares down at you, as if you stole his money or something. “I’m not letting you.”

You let his words hang in the air, sharp and defiant.

Instead, you reach for the room cell again. 

Drew harshly grabs your wrist, which you immediately shake yourself out of. “Hey. What’s your fucking problem?” You ask impatiently. 

“That’s what I should be asking,” he replies. After a few seconds, he talks again. “Why would you go out with him?”

Oh. So he’s asking about what happened last week. 

It was nothing. You met Theo at the grand prix, who was surprisingly friendly. The two of you weren’t alone on the yacht; there was a small party before it. Theo and you just stayed longer, and the media made it seem like it was like that the whole night. 

Of course, you were too drunk to remember the details of what happened when it was just the two of you, but from the pictures; yeah, it was really bad. Your PR team gave you a hard scolding for that, and even fines for breaking one of the terms on the contract. 

You cross your arms, holding your head high. You didn’t do anything wrong; Drew’s intimidating stare won’t break you; nothing will. “I didn’t go out with him.”

“Does he know that?” His voice unable to hid the mockery behind them. 

“Of course.” Lie. Maybe a lie. 

“Y/n.”

“What? I can’t answer for him. But I know it wasn’t a date.”

“Right, two people of the opposite sex alone, on a yacht-“

“Not a date-“

“With wine, table candles, food-“

“Not a fucking date-“

“Touching each other? Smiling like he’s the funniest shit ever-“

“Fucking shut up, Drew,” you say, slightly louder than him. What he’s going on about, is just stupid. You already got scolded by the PR team, you didn’t need another person telling you you fucked up. 

Drew does shut up, but only for a few seconds. “Fine, then what really happened, y/n? Tell me, tell me and I’ll believe it.”

You look at him.

“Why should I fucking tell you?” 

The anger in your voice isn't just directed at him; it's a mix of frustration and confusion, the feeling that you shouldn't owe anyone an explanation, least of all him.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow even harder, his tongue poking against his cheek. You go on; ignoring how you’re filling up his anger meter. “All you need to fucking know is that it wasn’t a date. Fuck, why are you even talking to me about this? It’s not part of the contract, it’s not part of-“

“Contract?” He interrupts, looking at you in confusion and disbelief, as if your point of view was absolutely shit. “What does this have to do with-“

“That’s the whole reason you’re here-“

“What the fuck does the contract have to do-“

“Every fucking thing, Drew. The contract has everything to do with you being here. You don’t even care-“

“I do care,” he answers quickly, but you scoff. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you-“

“Really? You do care? What do you care about?”

“You,” he exclaims, his features softening. 

Bullshit. “Your fucking reputation, you mean?”

He shakes his head, a smile on his lips. You furrow your eyebrows, feeling pissed that he’s laughing. “What-“

“You’re unbelievable, y/n,” he starts, and suddenly, his aura feels cold, different from earlier when it was just pure anger.  “Why can’t you just explain the situation to me? Huh?”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him, lowering your voice. No. You won’t- can’t tell him.

“Okay, because I might not care?” He asks, ignoring what you want to add on. “If I really didn’t, why would I ask?”

Drew’s blue eyes make you want to yield everything to him. There’s a bit of comfort in his eyes, behind all the anger, “because…because you’re just another co-star I meet. You don’t really care.”

You continue to stare into his eyes, challenging him to disagree. 

“But I do.”

He says it so faintly, that it felt like the words were your hallucinations. But he did say it. Well, too bad you weren’t one to be swayed easily by words. “Stop lying, Drew. It just makes you look stupid.”

You brush past him and reach for the room cell. You needed like, five bottles of wine to move past this. To even survive the film festival later. 

But Drew stops you yet again. “Let go of me,” you threaten, shrugging his hands off your wrist. 

He doesn’t budge, even after saying it a second time. 

“Why can’t you can’t understand basic shit?” You snap, finally shaking him off and putting the cellphone back.

If you knew your next insult towards him would end badly for you, you wouldn’t have said it. “You’re so insufferable to be around, you know that?”

Drew stares at you, furrowed eyebrows back in place. 

What was he thinking of now? Thinking about a better insult? Thinking about all your flaws? It’s evident that he wants to say something mean about you. 

“What? What were you going to say?” You ask, getting impatient. “Say it. I’m sure whatever you’re thinking, they have it worse for me.”

His lips form a small frown, but his eyes stay mean, staring down at you. 

Okay. Now this was annoying. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like talking?

“Do you need help forming it?” You tease, stepping closer to him. His eyes flicker fast to your lips, before back into your eyes. “Let me give you a few ideas. Druggie,  coke-head, slut, oh, wait, BBC said something about me once. It was-“

“I don’t think of you that way.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“You think of yourself that way.”

“What?” You scoff yet again. 

“You could be so much better, y/n. But instead, you let yourself rot,” Woah, what is he talking about? “Always getting drunk, smoking your lungs out, and putting on this- this sloppy attitude. You give up on yourself when other people haven’t. Why- why the fuck would you do that? Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?”

His words throw you off track. It’s the first time someone has said this type of stuff to you.

You swallow hard, your throat running dry. For the first time in a while, you feel exposed. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unexpected and hard. You freeze, unsure of how to react, how to process what he’s saying. 

“Why do you make yourself so insufferable?” 

You want to hate him for making you feel this way, for making you feel like you're doing something wrong by existing this way. But you can’t. He’s right, isn’t he? 

Even with the constant buzz stinging your mind, you still refuse to show weakness. You refuse to show that his words have impact on you. “No; you make me insufferable in your eyes. You hate me, you hate how I bring more trouble to you-“

“I don’t hate you-“

“You hate how you’re stuck in this situation with me, but you know that only I can help you out-“

“Maybe, but I realized-“

“You stick around and then act like you care-“

“How many times do I have to tell you I do care about you-“

“You’re just like the rest, Drew!” You yell over him. He shuts up, looking at you with furrowed brows. “The fame, the money, the people I can bring you, that’s what you care! You’re just waiting for your payoff. ”

The contract again. That fucking contract mentioned again. 

You see his Adam’s apple move, his features softening. 

The doorbell rings, probably the stylists. You look away from Drew, hugging yourself tight, to keep yourself together. 

He brushes past you, going to open the door. 

The crew starts filing in, talking and setting up like nothing’s wrong. The noise feels like a wall around you, a barrier between what just happened and the performance you have to put on.

You glance around. Drew’s gone.

He must've left.

——

You tried your best to make Drew’s words leave your mind. 

You drank a bottle and smoked half a vape in a the last few hours while getting ready, and still, his words left a scar on you. You couldn’t believe yourself either, affected by Drew’s fake concern for you. 

“Give it to me, y/n, we’re arriving.”

Laura’s talking about the vape in your hand. You take on last breath, before handing it over to her. “This dress is uncomfortable,” you comment while puffing out the smoke. This dress was very tight. 

“You look beautiful,” Laura says, and a part of you wonders if she actually means it. “Now, the cast is already moving along the carpet, you’re the last one.”

“Where’s Drew?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing that you only attended the Cannes’ film festival to be seen with him. 

“Right… there,” she points out the window. You see Drew, in a black suit that matches your dress, signing and happily taking photos with fans. He looked… fine.

“Ready?” Laura asks, once the car stops. 

It was your first time at the Cannes film festival. You’ve always declined because of your ‘schedule’, but really, it was because of your anxiety. The flashing lights, the disrespectful questions, and audience that have high expectations. These reasons are mainly why you’ve always declined award shows, festivals, or any kind of event that required you to interact with people. “Yeah,” you force out. 

Laura opens the door, and steps out first. You take her hand when getting out, and while adjusting your dress, multiple cameras flash. The industry never changed, has it? 

Once you’re done adjusting your dress, you smile at the cameras, waving at them nicely. The lights are blinding, but you’ve trained yourself to not flinch to them. 

You walk down the red carpet, until you reach where Drew was. Of course he noticed you, all the photographers were shouting, hoping that you would stare at their cameras. 

He says bye to fans, before walking over to you. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, and you don’t either. 

Drew simply takes your hand and puts it on his inner forearm. You purposely grip tight, hoping to cause physical pain to him. 

The two of walk side by side until you reach the middle, stopping for photos to be taken. 

Drew wraps his arm around your waist, standing closely to you. You pretend something is wrong with his collar, smiling while adjusting it. You meet his eyes, and you just smile even more; acting. He smiles at you too; acting. 

Acting. Act. Act. Act. 

He whispers in your ear, making sure to get close enough so photographers don’t catch his lips. “You smell like grapes.” Oh. His breath hits your neck, and you feel your goosebumps rise. 

He moves away, looking at you lovingly; acting. 

You pat his chest and smile at him lovingly; acting. 

The photographers’ camera’s flash doesn’t stop, not even for a brief moment. All eager to capture every movement of this couple. Little did they know, while the both of you posed lovingly next to each other, hours ago a catastrophic fight happened. 

After a few more seconds which felt like minutes, one of the staff informs you to move up the stairs, where your other cast members were waiting for you. 

As you make your way toward the stairs, Drew’s hand hovers close to your lower waist, almost like a protective gesture. The warmth of his palm against your skin is an odd comfort, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the argument, the tension, the walls you’ve built up between you.

When you turn your back to the cameras, the weight of the moment hits you. The flashing lights and fake smiles are just a blur now. You face him, your words soft but certain. “You’re right.”

He blinks, taken aback, and lifts his hand, waiting for you to take it. “What?”

You meet his eyes, swallowing down the mess of emotions swirling inside. For a brief second, you think about pulling away, about keeping the distance. But instead, you take his hand, letting it slip into his.

You raise the hem of your dress slightly, your steps becoming more deliberate as you climb the stairs. “You’re right,” you repeat, your voice steady, almost as if saying it out loud makes it real. “About everything.”

"Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?"

“But, the industry shaped me to be this way. I don’t know any other way,” you confess, looking at the stairs while saying this. 

The two of you reach where your co-stars were, and you let go of his hand. 

The director of this movie, which is about the working class in the 1800s, makes space for you in the middle, urging you to stand next to him.

It was the director’s first work, so he was very eager to have his main leads stand next to him. Not only that, but because of your performance in this film, today, it was nominated for numerous categories.

You do, and smile at the camera with the director’s arm around you. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” the male lead, whispers to you, a smile on for the photos. “You never come.”

“This one’s special,” you reply, referring to Drew. 

He must’ve thought you were talking about the movie, “good thing I persuaded you to take the role.”

The flashing continues, but the staff informs that it was time to head inside. You turn around expecting Drew to wait at the top for you, but he wasn’t.

You hide your disappointment, seeing your co-star offer his hand. “I believe we’re sitting together?”

“Yes,” you smile, taking his hand. 

The two of you walked up the stairs with the rest of the crew, and into the main venue. 

——

The standing ovation lasted around ten minutes. Yet, felt like eternity. 

The sound of clapping fills the room, surrounding you, and for once, it’s not just noise. It’s recognition. It’s validation.

It felt…extraordinary. Like something out of a dream. You couldn’t believe how many you’ve missed out on. You want to soak it all in, to savor the moment, but a part of you can’t help but wish you weren’t alone in it.

Your co-stars would stare or blow kisses at their loved ones, whispering thank you to them. But you? No one. Not even your ‘boyfriend’, who was gone from the start of the night. 

Even when going up to receive awards, you wished you had someone special to dedicate your speeches or awards to. Or someone you could lock eyes with in the crowd. 

You had no one. 

Drew was still gone, and you soon realized, he was gone the entire night. 

——

You push through the door, finally getting it open after multiple tries. 

You immediately fall to the ground, your legs and arms giving up. You laugh, still a bit drunk even after sleeping in the car. 

“Where were you?”

Your blurry eyes squint at the source, and you see Drew. He’s sitting on the couch, half naked and hair still wet. “I should be asking you that,” you smile, the alcohol in your veins making it hard to control your features. “I missed you.”

It wasn’t you talking; obviously the alcohol talking. Drew knew that, because he walks over and stands in front of you. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at his toes. They’re funny. “Hey, your toes are-“

“Where the fuck did you go?” He asks more firmly this time.

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in something between concern and irritation. But all you can feel is the burn in your chest, the strange weight of his question. “Why do you care?”

It comes out cold, defensive, but his eyes soften, just a little, as if he’s already heard the answer, as if he knows the real reason why he does care.

He bends down to grab your arm. He helps you up, placing your arm over his shoulder. You’re too tired to protest; letting him place you on the couch. He walks away, but he comes back with a bottle of water, a trash can, and some pills.

“Hey, drink some water,” he says, his hand going behind your neck, as he helps you sit up. 

His hand is always so warm. Why?

His thumb rubs the back of your neck while you drink the water, surprisingly, you find it comforting. You finish half of it, before handing it back to him. “Wanna tell me where you went?” He asks you much more gentler this time. 

“The afterparty,” you reply, as Drew removes his hand from the back of your neck. The warmth disappears, and you actually feel sad. “Your turn.”

“I stayed in here,” he confesses. His voice turns quieter now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t want to see you.”

Just because of that, he leaves? What a selfish dick. “I didn't want to see you either, but did you see me leave? No.”

“And I’m sorry,” Drew apologies. You look into his eyes, and see the sincerity in them that can’t be faked. 

“I felt so stupid,” you continue, “The only person I knew was you.”

Drunk you could talk about whatever you wanted, and no one could stop you. “I know you hate me, but couldn’t you have stuck around? You only had to watch me, you didn’t need to do anything else.”

A tear falls down your cheek. It feels almost foreign, as if your body is betraying you, allowing a moment of vulnerability you didn’t expect, one that you didn't know you were capable of outside of a scene, outside the cameras.

You quickly wipe it away. “I would’ve never done that to you.” 

And you meant it. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, the only right thing to say right now. 

Silence lingers in the air, the two of you staring down at the floor. 

“It was my first time experiencing a standing ovation,” you start, giving him a soft smile. He sends you one back, a faint, quick smile. “No wonder why people like going to award shows.”

“You’ve never been to one?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“During the first few years. But after that… overdose incident, I wasn’t in the right state to attend public events,” you feel your voice shake; the memories of that night coming back to you. “Not only was I afraid, but so were the executives.”

You’ve never told any in showbiz about your drug overdose incident. Why are you telling him? Maybe, there was just something about Drew that made you want to. 

And sure, everyone knew, from the media, where things are often exaggerated and vilified. But, did anyone bother hearing it from you? 

This incident changed your entire life. To others, it was just hot gossip. 

“Have you ever had a standing ovation for you?” You change the topic, his lack of response worrying you. 

“No; but it sounds amazing,” Drew says. “I’ll…I’ll look for you when I do.”

There's something in his voice, though, something that almost feels like a promise.

“Will that time even come?” You decide to tease him instead, uncomfortable with how cheesy this is going. 

“Sooner than you think,” he winks at you, before glancing down at the pill. “Take one after you shower; you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, before looking towards the bathroom. “I stink, don’t I?”

“Not the worst you’ve stunk,” he comments, and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever,” you get up, but way too fast, making you almost stumble. Drew holds onto your arm, steadying you. 

“Need help?”

“I can manage,” you breathe out, shaking his hand off and walking over to the bedroom. You spot your suitcase, opening it and taking a shirt and underwear. You see the bed, realizing that it’s yet another one-bed situation. You peek out the bedroom door, and Drew immediately turns his face over to you. “Um, you can have the bed if you want.”

Shyly, you close the door, ending the conversation. 

—— 

Drew slept on the couch that night, without any protests. 

-------------------------------

word count: 3.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: a lot to take in for this chapter...phew

i have a one shot idea coming up, so look forward to it! same as usual, thx for reading, and sry for the long update (ignore my mistakes). i try writing as much as i can, but schedule doesnt allow it T_T

ps, is this a safe space? um, i was kinda losing motivation for this series a couple of days ago. but, i saw the taglist, and the ending i planned for this series. so, safe to say i got to writing!

[guppybibi]

Part 1!

Johnny was practically convinced that the clock was broken by this point, because it had no reason to be that slow!

He was ready to clock out and head to the pub around 2 hours ago, so now he's just impatiently tapping the wooden table and waiting to get out.

"John!" His coworker calls out, right. The bet, he had to pay up. A deal was a deal and Johnny is a man of his word. "Right, just a second. Let me get my wallet, lad." He answered, quickly reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet.

"No no, you have got to tell me what happened between the two of you." Johnny raises a brow in confusion, muttering about how giving out context clues should be mandatory under his breath.

"The two of wh—"

"You and the pretty gal! Y/N was it? I checked the record books." They cut him off, continuing their rambling. "You looked like you were about to jump out of your skin when you were talking to her, c'mon open up, man! What were you two talking about?"

Johnny groans at the thought of the moment again, remembering the pure awkwardness and the tension that lingered in the air when Simon's name fell out of your lips.

"It's nothing, none of your business." Johnny replies in a dismissive tone, he noticed their mouth opening and instantly shut them up. "Will you leave me alone if I pay ye?"

Rude, maybe–but it's not nice to force information out of people who aren't willing to. What's this? A fucking interrogation? But..hey! He paid up and they left him alone, a win-win situation.

Johnny knew fully well that your business wasn't his business, and he completely respects that. But Simon's business was his business as well. And you were apart of Simon's business for who knows how long, so he should deserves to get filled in on what happened.

And as if the gods have answered his prayers, it was time to get his ass out of here! Johnny wasted no time and dashed out right after clocking out, he needs to pay his best friend a visit.

Simon was going on about his day, calmly wiping down some bottles while making small talk with the customers when necessary, not really bothering to look up at them. He was so focused on his work that he didn't notice Johnny bolting in and grabbing the closest seat to Simon.

"Simon!" Johnny calls out, slightly startling Simon. An unimpressed scowl was on the blonde man's face..or maybe it was always there. Johnny couldn't really tell with the bright flashing lights here. Whatever, not important.

"Here for a drink, Johnny?" Simon asks, still fixated on getting this one dirty spot of a glass. The Scot nodded, leaning closer to Simon. "Yea, here to talk about somethin' too. Get me some tequila though, just put it in my tab. I think I might have a lot to drink tonight."

The Brit chuckles quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thought you said it tasted like dog piss." Welp whatever the customer says, no? Simon starts preparing the tequila while Johnny spoke.

"It does, but it won't hurt if I try it again. Who knows? I might like it." Alright, he did make sense this time..Simon wasn't going to fight it, he hands over the glass of tequila.

The moment the alcohol got in his mouth, it was practically going straight back out. Johnny had only managed to swallow the liquid out of pure willpower.. "Never mind..it would hurt if I tried it again." He mumbled, wiping his lips and setting the glass aside for now.

"So..have ye been seein' anyone?" Simon, who was mixing up some cocktails now, raised a brow. "No..ain't got the time for it." Simon was wondering where this conversation would end up..

"Really, eh? How about in these past few years?" Simon wasn't sure what Johnny was planning, probably isn't any good. It rarely is.

"Why'd you want to know, mate?" Simon fires a question back, Johnny's shoulders visibly tense up. "Just curious.."

That sounded very typical for someone like Johnny, but there's no doubt that there was something more to it. "Just tell me, mate. It can't be the end of the world."

Johnny sighed, downing the glass of tequila despite the horrific taste. He was going to need a lot more than that.."Fine..I've had this client come in, asking for a cover up tattoo to cover her ex-boyfriend's name. She's a lovely looking lass too.."

Simon listened intently, wondering what this has got to do with him, he let Johnny continue. "I noticed that she had another covered up tattoo close to her more recent one so I asked her what was written on it.."

Again, what has this got to do with Sim—"She said 'Simon Riley' was written on it." Oh. Alright that made sense, not that it made it any better.

Simon tries to recall past memories of his relationships, big and small. It wasn't too hard to remember since memories were stored into his brain like an insanely accurate library. He remembers you, even if he wished he didn't.

"Y/N..?" Simon muttered, eyes wide as if he witnessed a ghost walking through.

...Not exactly the ideal situation Johnny wanted to be in, despite causing it.

[aureatescars]

"Not that I know off." He answers, wheeling himself towards the entrance of the store, Leon by his side. He's glad that Leon doesn't immediately go to push the wheelchair for him, but rather lets him maneuver on his own unless asked for assistance. Sasha still appreciates Leon opening the door for him without him having to ask for it. It feels almost normal like this. Sasha is happy to not have to pull attention to every little thing that gets in his way and judging from the lack of a pointed look or any verbal indication on Leon's part he didn't even really think about doing it either, as if it comes naturally to him by now to accommodate for Sasha.

An odd feeling of warmth overcomes him, knowing that Leon cares enough to account for things like this by now, although it is also slightly tainted by him wishing that it wasn't like this, that things like closed doors and uneven pathing weren't obstacles to overcome. Sasha pulls himself away from those thoughts, focussing on what Leon is saying instead.

He considers it. "An electric screwdriver, a power drill, nails and screws..." He keeps adding to Leon's list, and Leon chimes in with a few more ideas as well. Measuring tape, a level, "...Some work gloves and protective eyewear, too." Sasha gives Leon a pointed look. "I will not have you injure yourself on my watch."

When they come to a halt in the entryway of the store to orientate themselves Leon brings another thing back to his attention. It's easy to forget when it's just them, but Leon's knowledge of Russian is limited and he's relying entirely on Sasha here, and readily, too as it seems. Somehow that makes Sasha feel a little better about himself, like he is finally doing his part in their little arrangement.

"Of course." He says without hesitation, not entirely unaware of the curious and borderline distrustful glances they're receiving while they keep speaking English. But before they seek out an employee to guide them, Sasha takes stock of their surroundings, reading a few signs which are already helpful enough in directing him where to go. "Tools should be this way. Let's go from there."

As they make their way down the aisle to get to the tools Sasha looks up at Leon. "Do you want me to teach you a few more words and phrases?" Sasha knows Leon has some understanding of his native language. He's heard him greet people and thank the staff at the hospital and the clerk at the gas station at the very least. But Sasha wouldn't mind teaching him at all. In fact, he finds he's quietly hopeful that Leon will agree, although he isn't entirely sure as to why.

He isn't exactly sure what kind of reaction he expected, maybe some snide comment, or a scoff, maybe just silence, but Leon demanding his phone from him to then pointedly punch his number into his contacts is not among the things he thought would happen. Sasha blinks up at him, amber eses a more round than before, lips slightly parted in surprise and expression betraying a hint of awe at what he is being told.

He looks down at the phone in his hand while Leon is already moving on with the conversation, as if he hasn't just agreed to keep being a part of Sasha's life even after their current arrangement runs it's course. It means much more to him than even Sasha realized it would, and the feeling of gratitude and warmth only deepens when he presses the call button and a few seconds later Leon's phone buzzes in his pocket.

Sasha ends the call as Leon pulls it out, unable to keep his lips from turning up into a small smile at the raised brow that greets him. Now they're even. If Leon wants him to, he'll offer the same in turn. "Thank you." Sasha says regardless, feeling a lot lighter somehow, as if a weight he didn't realize was there was lifted from his shoulders.

Saha stowes the phone away again, thumb running along its edge for a moment before he pulls himself away to answer Leon, grateful for the change in topic as well. "Can we stop by the grocery store again? I think I want to try and cook something proper tonight. We're missing a few things." He wheels himself over to the cabinet they've stored their meager supplies in, checking them over and making a mental note of all the things they forgot the day before. It's one of the lower cabinets that holds it all, one Sasha can actually reach.

"There is only so much instant soup I can handle." He says conversationally as he looks through the things they brought, and then pauses when Leon moves to put away the dried off bowls. For the first time Sasha notices that most utensils and even some plates and glasses have migrated from the upper cabinets to the lower ones and it can only mean that Leon moved them there after doing the dishes this morning.

Sasha's lips press together for a moment as the warm feeling from before returns and he has to actively pull himself out of his stupor to not get lost in it, feeling foolish that a small but mindful gesture would prove to shake him like this.

Between this and Leon's suggestion to build a ramp to help Sasha navigate the place more easily it is really becoming clear that Leon is trying hard to make this work, and lingering doubts and aches aside, Sasha owes it to him to do the same.

"How many Eastern Slavic dishes have you tried since you've come here?" He asks then and isn't exactly surprised when the number is suspiciously low. Sasha offers a few suggestions as they make their way to the car, feeling out what Leon is interested in trying while keeping the dishes that may be more of an acquired taste to himself for now. They end up sussing out a bit of a meal plan for the next few days as they make their way back into town, and for once conversation flows easily and without any awkwardness dispersed between statements.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Fluffvember day 14 - In the Rain

Ganondorf had to admit, he had not expected to be downright excited to be returning home.

It had been almost a year since the entire family had been together. Ganondorf had been tirelessly working with Merovar, befriending King Ozen, making trade negotiations… all the while he and his children would make sporadic visits to the desert but never together, and he would sometimes swap places with his wife, letting her visit Hyrule while he was in the Gerudo capital.

With the Festival of Colors approaching, it was time to finally change that.

The festival was a delightful time of year, filled with colors and excitement and pageantry, a celebration of the coming spring. It was a pity they could not share such a holiday with Hyrule, as it would be a good means of showing their power and splendor, but honestly he was just as happy to have this celebration at home with no Hyrulian scrutiny.

Well, there was one Hyrulian who would be there. But after nearly a year of getting to know him, Ganondorf didn’t mind.

Speaking of Orik, though, the Gerudo king realized there was an issue. His people were all returning for the festival, a fairly sizable group traveling together, with multiple tents pitched and guards posted as they made camp for the night. Ganondorf had his own large tent, the twins had theirs, and then everyone else generally shared four women to a tent.

Orik sat in the rain alone, cloak pulled over him tightly.

It was nearly midnight. Ganondorf had only noticed because he heard the rain start to fall and wanted to peek outside, sometimes enjoying the sight. He knew for certain Hemisi had to be asleep or she would’ve dragged Link into her and her brother’s tent the instant she saw him outside.

Ganondorf hesitated. He liked the rain but he didn’t want to be out in it. But he sighed, relenting, throwing a cloak on and stepping towards the boy.

“Orik,” he called quietly. “What are you doing?”

The young Sheikah warrior glanced at him, looking very small all of a sudden. He tipped his head apologetically, calmly saying, “This was the best spot for shelter with the rocks sticking out, my lord. I can move, if you like.”

What? “Where’s your tent, boy?”

Orik shifted a little uncomfortably. “I, uh, don’t have one.”

Ganondorf stared at him. This was their second night camping on their journey. What had he done the first night?? And what about— “How did you journey to the desert last time?”

The only other time Orik has been to Gerudo Desert was when he’d been introduced to the entire family after he and Hemisi had started dating, and that has been nearly a year ago. He and Hemisi had traveled together then, had they not? Had he shared a tent with her then?

“I sent Hemisi ahead,” Orik answered. “She could travel with the entourage that way. I… don’t like making a scene.”

Goddesses if that wasn’t the truth. Ganondorf couldn’t fathom it, loving such attention and very much accustomed to it, but he knew by now how shy the boy could be. Sheikah were creatures of the shadows, he supposed. But that meant the kid had been roughing it the entire journey there and back, and this time…

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he asked, “And where, pray tell, did you sleep last night?”

“The grass was really soft, Lord Ganondorf, I promise—”

“Come here,” Ganondorf immediately ordered, exasperated but not surprised. Honestly, this teenager. Didn’t Hyrule supply its soldiers with some basic necessities? Or did Orik not even think to ask? The kid was an independent warrior, he had to be at least, what, sixteen? Surely he’d gotten enough experience traveling that he should know better by now.

Orik could be a mystery sometimes. Quiet and obedient, but able to flip on a moment’s notice and cause chaos. Intelligent and seemingly not innocent of the ways of the world yet simultaneously so naive.

The teenager obeyed without any attempt at insisting he was fine, which was at least a good indication that he’d finally learned not to argue with Ganondorf. He was shaping up to be a good son-in-law, if it did eventually go that way.

Hemisi would be of age in just over a year. What a terrifying thought. But he imagined they’d have the Triforce far before that.

Disregarding such plans for the time being, Ganondorf reached out just as Orik got close enough, pulling the boy under his cloak. The kid’s clothes were soaked.

“Best spot for shelter?” He repeated, feeling Orik shiver a little.

The Sheikah halfheartedly remarked, “For the circumstances, yes. I didn’t say it was a good place.”

Humming a little at the boy’s cheekiness, the Gerudo king guided him towards his own tent. Orik nearly planted his feet in as soon as he realized where they were going, but a firm hand on his shoulder moved him forward.

Once they were inside the tent, Ganondorf slipped his own cloak off and grabbed a blanket. “Strip down, boy, you’re not sleeping drenched.”

The Sheikah watched him a moment, red eyes debating the matter. Ganondorf let him have the moment, but only briefly - if Orik wanted to be treated like a man, he needed to start taking care of himself like one. Why couldn’t he figure that out?

Sighing, the kid pulled off his cloak, and his simple folded tunic. Then he removed his boots, but left his greyish brown trousers on. Ganondorf tossed him a spare pair of Merovar’s, alongside one of his son’s tunics - his own child was bigger than the Sheikah, but it would do. And it was freezing - Hyrule’s winter was still clinging to the land, rain barely warm enough to not be ice.

Orik stared a moment longer, and Ganondorf at least granted him some dignity by turning away for privacy. When he heard clothing stop rustling, he stretched and laid back down on the large bed near the center of the tent; the center itself was dedicated to the small fire, smoke trailing to the opening cut away to sit above the rest of the roof of the canvas. There were enough blankets to even bury the large king of the Gerudo. It would do.

“Come on,” he bade, patting the bed as he turned to see the boy. “Get in bed.”

Ganondorf nearly laughed as he got a good look at Orik. The boy truly looked like a child dressed in oversized clothing, and the mild alarm at his suggestion was evident.

“Lord Ganondorf—”

“Are you arguing with me, child?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Orik’s protest stammered to a halt, but he didn’t quite look ready to give up yet. Ganondorf didn’t fault him - he too would argue over being coddled and cuddled.

For a moment, a small part of the Gerudo king wondered what it would be like, for his own father to hold him. But he pushed the thought away. He’d never known the man and didn’t need to.

Orik found his voice. “I promise I’ll be okay outside, my lord. It’s not my intent to inconvenience you so much.”

“I will decide what’s inconvenient to me,” Ganondorf fired back easily. You’ll have to try harder than that, kid.

Orik floundered again for a second, biting his lip. He seemed to be moving from surprise and mild alarm to guilt and worry, maybe even fear.

That put the Gerudo ill at ease. Taking a gentler tone, he said, “Orik, you know you’re safe here with us, right?”

Orik’s eyes widened further, catching the implication, and he hastily corrected, “Y-yes, my lord, I would never dare imply that you make me feel uncomfortable in such a manner!”

Thank Din. Fine. Not an issue, then. “Then get in bed, child. It’s cold and your lack of foresight will get you ill. I’m not having you be sick for the duration of the festival.”

Orik shifted his weight a little and then sighed, finally relenting. Ganondorf moved the blankets, letting the teenager settle on the mattress, still very obviously shivering. Slowly, the Gerudo king relaxed in the bed, stretching a little. When he saw how stiff Orik was, he hesitated again.

Having grown up in a culture of women made Ganondorf naturally far more physically affectionate. His people were very open in how they showed their care. Ganondorf had little use for such actions prior to getting married, but now he was very accustomed to it. He figured by now that Orik knew he had to be on good terms with the family, though the circumstances tonight were unusual - Ganondorf was not in the habit of letting a teenager who wasn’t his own stay with him. Nevertheless, if he left Orik to his own devices he knew the kid would go back outside and that was not an option.

Perhaps Sheikah were just cold and aloof to their children.

Ganondorf was not a Sheikah, though. So he wasn’t going to leave the kid just freezing. He cared about him too much at this point.

Sneaky little brat, worming his way into the Gerudo king’s heart. Honestly.

“If you ever wish to join this family you’d better get used to this, because I can assure you Nabooru will cuddle you to death,” he quipped mildly. “And Hemisi is far worse.”

Unexpectedly, Orik giggled at the words, relaxing a little, and it made Ganondorf smile.

Thank the goddesses this was their last night before reaching the desert. He could only be so affectionate to the kid. But…

You know damn well this isn’t going to be the only time.

No, perhaps not, he mused as Orik carefully tried to maneuver himself to be more comfortable, close enough to feel Ganondorf’s body warmth without being quite in reach.

He heard the child yawn, shivers lessening a little, and he relaxed, falling asleep.

XXX

Link listened as the rain grew heavier on the tarp above. The small fire was nearly burnt out, simmering with the occasional pop as a raindrop leaked in through the opening overtop. He felt a little uncomfortable, stiff in an awkward position as he tried to be as unobtrusive in the bed as possible.

Lord Ganondorf had insisted this was how the family would treat Link, if he were to ever…

Merovar’s words echoed in his mind, speaking of how Queen Nabooru loved him, how Lord Ganondorf…

Well, it was downright ridiculous to let his mind convince him the Gerudo king consort didn’t at least like him considering what he was doing. Ganondorf was not a very accommodating man, demanding others bend to his own will. He was stubborn and did not suffer fools. Link sometimes wondered why he was trying so hard to befriend King Ozen, considering…

Well. Link was just a guard. He knew nothing of politics. But what little he’d observed, he wasn’t entirely sure King Ozen was someone Ganondorf would respect. But he supposed that didn’t matter - one did what one had to do that their own kingdoms survived.

He was just grateful he was able to meet all of them.

But more to the direct issue, Link had never really slept in the same bed as anyone. Many years ago, in the orphanage, he’d slept on the floor with the other kids, but never shared a mattress. So while he was blessedly warm, he was… he didn’t know, he didn’t want to bother Lord Ganondorf by trying to move or stretch, and what if he had to get up or turn or sneeze or anything like that? Would the man sleep through it?

Almost as if to answer his question, the Gerudo king let out a loud snore. Link jumped, completely caught off guard, and then he almost laughed.

When he wiggled a little, though, he felt Ganondorf stiffen. Link, in turn, stiffened even more.

Sighing, he resigned himself to just not sleeping. He tried to enjoy the warmth, at least, and somehow the weight of Ganondorf’s arm over his side was grounding. Sometimes anxiety got the best of Link at night, making it difficult to sleep well, but for whatever reason that wasn’t quite the case tonight.

Instead, Link found himself thinking about what it would be like if he could just have moments like this more often. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as uncomfortable or awkward. Or maybe if it was during the day instead…

Oh stop it. No one is going to hold you just for the sake of it.

Well. Hemisi did. Link liked snuggling with her. But the King and Queen of the Gerudo?

Link knew it was silly to wish for such a thing. But being stuck in this situation, he…

He shook his head. Maybe just think about something else. There was no point mourning a childhood without parents.

But he steadily relaxed in the bed, nodding off just as the sun started to rise.

And, a few days later, when he was bedridden with sand fever, as lucidity finally came back to drag him into the daylight, he felt a warm arm around him, heard a heart beating against his ear. Link moved a little, not bothering to worry about waking anyone, just letting himself be comfortable as Ganondorf readjusted in the bed alongside him, holding him close. In that early dawn light, Link felt safe and loved and he smiled, ignoring how his eyes stung a little, chalking it up to the fever, and snuggled with his guardian.

[lawofangie]

just assume

it seems like some of you don't understand how the law of assumption works, so let me be the one to make a few things clear. i apologize if these seems repetitive, there just truly isn't anything much to the law. i struggle to understand how much more explicitly the only rule has to be stated in order for you guys to grasp this.

first off, the law of assumption is about making assumptions. as in, you have to assume in order for the law of assumption to work for you. this should be an obvious one, but for some reason many of you don't understand this.

i blame it on all the misinformation and lack of critical thinking skills, because it is quite literally in the name. the law of assumption will not work if you are not assuming. a law about MAKING ASSUMPTIONS will not work if you are not MAKING ASSUMPTIONS.

what is an assumption? something you believe to be true without proof. so, you must believe you have your desires without proof in order to manifest.

asking me why you don't have your desires makes absolutely no sense if you understand this concept. there's no point. you're basically asking me why something you believed to be true is happening. the very obvious reason is that's just the way the law works.

the law of assumption is completely indifferent to whatever you want to manifest, your current circumstances, your feelings, etc. it is simply a law that states whatever you assume to be true will be true.

the law is completely neutral and indifferent, so is the world you're living in. absolutely nothing has any meaning or significance until you assign significance or meaning to it. if this was not the case, you would not be able to assume absolutely anything you want, and nobody would be able to come to their own conclusions, have different perspectives, and be different people.

you quite literally become who you are based off of your world views and upbringing. everyone is inherently shaped by their assumptions. everyone has been assuming for their entire lives. assuming is absolutely nothing new. you're just being shown that there is a different way to use your ability to assume.

this means that absolutely anything that happens is on you. the law has no bounds, no exceptions, no excuses, etc. again, it is simply a law that stating whatever you assume to be true will be true. you are the reason you don't have what you want yet, because you fail to follow one simple instruction: make an assumption.

instead of assuming, you approach manifestation with fickle beliefs and a need for validation. then you wonder why you don't have what you want.

you look around for and stressing over the appearance of something you're explicitly being told you have to assume is already there in order for it to materialize. you're failing to meet the singular requirement of the law: decide you have it already.

you can't not follow instructions and then wonder why something didn't work for you. in any context, that makes absolutely no sense. the answer is right in your fucking face, you did not assume. you spent your time waiting something to happen. don't you know what that implies? if you had your desire, why would you be waiting for something to show up? oh, right, because you don't have your desire. you decided it wasn't there, now you're waiting for something else to happen.

you're looking around expectantly for validation when you're literally being told that you have to be your own validation. you're being told that you are the only necessary validation, but you fail to accept that.

you guys seriously fail to understand that the law isn't about making things show up, even if that technically is the end goal. it's about assuming. your assumptions just also have the ability to change your life for the better, you're being shown how to utilize that ability.

you need to take the initiative and stop looking to your own reflection to show you something you aren't showing it. why would any mirror reflect something it isn't being shown?

you don't get what you want, you get what you assume you have. that's the whole point. you assume in your favor in order to have what you want.

you either have it or you don't. there is no in between. you either assume or don't, the law doesn't care. nobody cares. stay stuck and life will move on without you. nobody is coming to save you.

it's in your best interest to assume you have your desire, but nobody can force you to. this is something you have to grasp on your own and apply on your own. all we can do is help you achieve that.

you can continue to look outwards if believing in yourself and having some fucking confidence is too difficult for you, but you'll eventually realize (if you haven't already) that it's to no avail. it doesn't work.

you will never have what you want if you don't assume you already have it. the law of assumption will never work for you if you don't assume.

if you have an understanding of the law, please, do yourself a favor and learn to follow instructions. don't waste your time asking stupid questions.

[sunny-knight]

Oh right. The other one.

CW: Undertale rant/analysis

Ive played Undertale- hundreds of times. and lately ive reflected on how the game is supposed to make you feel IN THE MOMENT- since ive kinda forgotten a lot of that. Because of the aforementioned ✨“hundreds of times”✨

Everything ofc still feels just as captivating, but nothings surprising because im not playing it from the perspective of someone who has absolutely no idea whats going to happen next. Sometimes I overlook and forget how the little details are supposed to make you feel/think about the characters. Like how Undyne is implied to be an abusive boss. After you get to know her, then replay, you hear how Papyrus talks about her at first, and see their interaction as you enter Waterfall, and you completely understand!

But BEFORE- youre like “oooohhh she’s threatening him-“

On this topic, I rewatched some playthroughs, and saw their first reactions to geno papyrus death, and I realized. that this room placement. IS SO COOL!!!!

Normally its like- yep! I just befriended/beat papyrus, time to continue on my way- oo hi sans! sure, ill go to Grillbys with you! Even on replays, you’re not really excepting him in any room hes in, im just like “oh yep, theres the man.”

But when you kill Papyrus for the first time, usually on a geno route. That same thing kicks in. You’re not predicting him to be there cause youre focused on the room youre in currently, but when you GET THERE youre like “oh yeah and thats where Sans is” but he’s NOT THERE and you stop for a millisecond and go “oh, no yeah, that makes sense.”

…the silence doesn’t help either.

Its worse that he’s all over the underground too, not just in the start of Waterfall. Even not seeing him in front of the mtt resort is just a slap in the face 😭

If youve gotten to the phase of killing people on purpose to see what will happen, youve also gotten to the phase of KNOWING theres gonna be consequences, so Sans not being there shoudnt hit as hard as it does BUT IT DOES (at least for me)

The typical reactions to Monster death in general that you cant avoid are Undyne and Sans’ speeches, and neutral run phonecalls. DIALOGUE. things that appear because of what you did. But with Sans its not what he does or says (up until the judgment hall) its what he doesn’t do.

He doesn’t bother to show up, to say anything to you because what is there to say??? Ignoring how personal it is for a sec- Sans knows this isnt your first time playing, but doesn’t comment on it (much). Right now he still believes the anomaly just wants to be happy, so gives the benefit of the doubt.

That is until you kill the dude that is impossible to kill on accident, or argue in self defense.

Now Sans knows the anomaly just wants to know what will happen. Doesn’t care if its bad or not, they’re just curious, so theres no point.

STILL he wants them to reset and do something ELSE so he halfway pleads with them in the judgment hall to rethink what they’ve done. The fact that he asks an answerable question feels important to me, like hes searching for something, ANY reason. But maybe hes trying to make you see that- there was no reason. Youre DUMB and you should RESET because- WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THIS????

What I also find really powerful even on replays, is the silence after he drops lines like this. Especially the judgment hall question. Sometimes I do sit there and soak in the silence like- “jesus. Yeah, why DID i do that?”

My main point of this entire thing is, I LOVE this game, I LOVE Papyrus and his impact on the game even when he isnt there, and I wish I could play it for the first time again, and fall in love with it all over again, but alas, hitting myself with a rock to screw up my memory only works 17% of the time,

so im happy enough sticking with changing my perspective, and taking a moment to remember what it felt like to accidentally kill toriel and realize your actions have consequences, to beat Undyne the Undying, to hug Asriel, to hear that Undertale was getting a “sequel”, and to hear that dreaded line, “Then why did you kill my brother.” all for the first time again.

[solaiced]

CASE 30: GETO SUGURU'S HANDS, BRING FORTH WEALTH (AND PLEASURE!).

!content!: geto is mean, implied emotional manipulation but it’s subtle (so you don’t love me type shi), hand kink, hand worship, cult leader geto, reader is obsessed with her boss(as you should), and not beta’d.

wc:1,1k

solace: with this, ends the kinktober prompts of 2024, im not posting day 31 because i’m kind of embarrassed. hope people enjoyed, because i have a new project coming soon in december! anyways, here’s geto.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Geto's hands are incredibly soft, even if he works in a manual environnement. He treats his hands with the utmost care and uses all sorts of stuff to make them nice to the touch. Which is why you love them. Everyday, You hold his hand, feeling his warmth radiating from the fresh.

"Why do you like my hands so much?" Your master asks, one day, as youre tracing the veins and folds of his left hand, like a child discovering their new toy.

Your eyes gleam when you look up at him to answer, "they’re a contrast to you. You're kind of harsh, unlike your hands." You noticed your slip up too late, and Geto strains a smile.

"Really? Well, I can show you how soft I can be." His right hand leaves his book and he turns to you, lifts your chin and kisses you, exploring your body with his gentle touches. He slips a hand under your shirt, squeezing your freed boobs.

"Sugu, don't squeeze so hard!" You scold, lips twisted to avoid an embarrassing sound to be let out. Geto only chuckles.

"Right. I gotta be soft." He cooed in your ear and kissed your cheek, the corner of your lips and finally, your lips.

You moan, arching into your master's soft, comforting hands.

When Geto pulled away, he pressed his fingers to your mouth, eyes lidded low.

It was a silent command. Suck. And so you obeyed. Your mouth opened, inviting the two digits inside.

You feel his flesh between your teeth harming him would be easy, yet you hollow your cheeks and shut your eyes. The fingers reach deeper, soon hitting the back of your throat.

Geto chuckles as you gag, "you can take it." When you nod, he smiles and wipes away a stray tear. "I love when you're so obedient. Makes it easier for both of us. Doesn't it, sweet dove?" You nod again, opening your eyes to admire his fox-like features. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on your lips.

"Mast—Suguru, I.." You stop, suddenly shameful, but your master pressed, “Say it, dove, no shame here." He's so gentle you couldn't help but follow, no longer embarrassed.

“I want to worship your hands, Sugu." You wrap both hands around his, kissing his fingertips.

“You aready are.” Geto removes his hand, to your dismay. "But, you can worship them another way." That piqued your interest, and you make sure you look like you're zealous to hear.

“Take off your clothes and sit on my fingers.” An order you comply to immediately, like a mindless puppet, peeling off your clothes and revealing the body you gave to him willingly. He owned it, along with your thoughts and actions.

"Good girl." His dark eyes observe your movements, beckoning you closer with his fingers. "Come, now, dove. Make me proud, him?" Geto smiles as you kneel before his hand, the other resting on your hip.

You hover above his fingers and yelp when he brings you down, shoving two fingers immediately.

“Fucking hell. " He swears, taking a layer off his gojo-kesa, cheeks flush. You swallow, clenching each time his eyes flickered to yours.

"You said you wanted to worship my hands... " He encourages, letting you take his free hand.

"’V course." You wiggle your hips and gently kiss Geto's hand, happily holding it the way you wauld a gift. He chuckles at your eagerness, the hand stuck under you moving. Its thumb caresses your stiff clit. You let out a mewl, dropping your head and stiffling the next noises.

Geto tuts, thumbing your bottom lip. “I want to hear you." When your eyes meet his, it's almost like your pupils were heart shaped. You love his hands, you love him so much....

“I love you too, dove.” Shit, you said it outloud? Whatever. All you need is him. You bring his hand to your cheek, nuzzling it.

"Thank you." You sigh, rolling your hips to feel the digits deeper.

Geto couldn't take it, he had to take you. He was so hard, every movement on his cock burned.

“Dove," He breathes. "I think you've done enough. Come worship my cock." You bite your lip, nodding eagerly.

His fingers slip out of your warmth, tongue lapping up the leftover juices as he undoes his clothes, just enough so that he could feel air on his dick.

"Sit, now." Your masters orders, patting his lap, but you're hesitant, nervous. He doesn't understand.

“What’s the reluctance? You no longer want to serve me?” Geto questions, cocking his head to the side.

“Suguru, I dont think I’m prepped enough..." You swallow the lump in your throat fearfully.

"Yes, you are. Don't underestinate

yourself. You're insulting me. " He grits out, frowning. "Sit." And so you did. It was smoother than expected.

The entry, of course, the rest was just Geto bouncing you on his cock while he spewed out half degrading half praising words in your ear.

Your mouth was agape, drool spilling out of the corners, as your breasts bounced with you.

“Fuck... this little dove is such a good slut for Master, hm? Yeahh, worship my fucking cock, bitch." Geto snarls before kissing you, holding your head with the hands loved so much.

His other hand was nestled between your thighs, stimulating your attention whore of a clit, always demanding pleasure, as Geto said.

He spoke to your pussy as much as he did to you, cooing at the filth and sloppiness of your tight cunt, wrapped so good around his cock, that he thought he was in heaven, each time he closed his eyes.

"M. Master... Are y-you... Satisfied?" You whine loudly when his fat tip slammed against your g-spot after asking. “F-fuck…”

"Very. Do you-ah, do you want your reward?" He grabs your chin and makes you nod, moaning at your helpless expression. "Of course you do. Take all of it, baby." Geto's hips thrust up unexpectedly as he came, bringing you with him in bliss.

“Ff-fahh!” You curse, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Meanwhile, your master was struggling to keep conscious, noises filtering through his gritted teeth, soft hands grasping your hips roughly. It proves you right. His actions were harsher than his gentle hands.

Geto flops back exhaustedly, breathing heavily. You will yourself tomove, pull off and lift your hips, but Geto stops you, shaking his head and he pushes you onto his chest by placing a hand on the small of your back. Your hands come to balance yourself, one of each side of Geto's head.

"What is ...What is it, Suguru?" You breathe, grounding your ass on him while he moans and tries to cease your actions.

"Don't move. Take your reward." Geto sighs, eyes still closed.

“But... we didn't use a con-"

"Shut up" He cut, irritated.

You pout and huff, “I was right.”

“About what?" He grunts.

“You are harsher than your hands." You proudly plant a kiss on his cheek, smug.

[georgiapeach30513]

Peach! Mrs. Pasta here...checking in for the second time in a few days!

Normally I just lurk in and smile to myself when I see your posts and banters with your followers. But tonight I just couldn't resist...

Ramen, bless him, is getting really good at the non-specific, vague-turnaround, deflective answers to personal questions! I'm impressed.

Also...Nobody keeps their hands more to themselves than Ramen does when he's around a lot of salty things. Is he on a low-sodium diet? Is that why he exercises such great self-control when it comes to these things? TBF, he's very gentlemanly when it comes to being around women, especially costars/colleagues.

I can see (most) people on here are either tired, upset, tired, over it, or a combination of both. I can understand that, especially for the mods that run these blogs. I notice that for a lot of people, separation of professional and personal for their favorite celebrity can be a difficult task. I don't blame anyone for feeling that way, it can be hard to "not think about THAT" when you just want to enjoy "THIS". I will say this though.

Something I have found time and again to be true, is that IF something/someone/someplace is meant for you, things will fall into place. If something is NOT meant for you, no matter what you do, things tend to fall apart. You can try and put it back together, but then something else falls. This has happened to me personally recently, where I was in a situation where I wanted to make something work because I thought I had no other choice and I didn't really want to rock the boat further and go searching for something else. Unfortunately, the more I tried, the more I compromised and kept on staying, the worse it got. I'd fix one thing, another would break. I'd get over one hurdle, another inconvenience would pop up. Finally, I decided to take matters in my own hands and started actually listening to what the universe was trying to guide me towards. It was very hard for me to do this, as I'm more of a logical/rational person, than a spiritual one (I don't really like reading signs or feeling energies to tell me what to do)...But I tried a different approach, and started asking the universe, "If this isn't right, what should I do?" And I would listen and wait, and then tangible things would happen, and then I started making different decisions and taking different approaches. Almost immediately, things started changing for the better. I'm in a much better place now (figuratively and literally).

Just some food for thought: Let things play out. They will. And hindsight is always 20/20. Think about it. I believe Anne's blog has a library that can be helpful for those interested. If all else fails, keep coming to Jen's blog where she posts stories, baking, and general hilarity to keep everyone's spirits up. You are truly a beautiful soul, Miss GeorgiaPeach! <3

Mrs. Pasta! Welcome back. Clearly, your presence has been much needed this past week. Which I do say that there is a reason one shouldn’t consume too much sodium. I suppose were all bloated, and now need to fast.

Ramen is quite smart. He’s playing it coy and vague, non-definite answers. He’s doing good, despite a quick facial change with some questions. It’s funny to watch.

For someone that is quite a gentleman and claims to love PDA his hands do seem quite to himself. But it is a family movie after all, wouldn’t want to be too obvious, I suppose.

I think a lot of people are tired, and more so tired of ongoing arguments that suck the life out of the fandom, much like an overly salted diet. So maybe it’s just the influx of salt that has everyone red in the face? But this is why I implore anyone to curate the space that you want. Filter tags, block blogs, unfollow blogs, create the space that you watch to see with personalities that jive well with your own.

The universe is quite a tricky lady. She usually makes way for things that are for you. Usually when you try to fit a square peg in a round hole, you’re met with resistance. You can sit there, and smile you’re doing it, but others around you will eventually be able to see that you are in fact creating a bigger problem with an impossible task. I’m glad you were able to get to a better place once you listened, and were aware that what you’re forcing isn’t for you.

I do think that hindsight is 20/20. There always seems to be something poking around that pops up at the last minute. Eventually things either fall into place, or you’ve created a big mess. @anneslibrary is a great well of information. And of course @annislittleshopofhorrors herself is a peach in her own right. You are a beautiful soul from the inside out as well, Mrs. Pasta. Take care, and never feel afraid to pop on by when you can.

[ragnarokhound]

I think the best titans tower scenario is one where tim gets a good look at jason in his new and improved robin outfit and gets so hard so fast he’s lightheaded, immediately derailing jason’s plans for the beat down because Jason’s going “what kind of FREAK”

anon, i love this for you, and i like the way you think lmao

like, i'll be real, the OG robin costume is goofy as hell on Jason in the TT sequence, but at the same time? Can we not simply appreciate a well-built man in booty shorts and pixie boots. Let he who is free of sin be the first to condemn Dat Ass. Especially when it's flexing that hard to beat up a guy i, personally, like to headcanon as having a giant mcfreaking crush that unfortunately did Not die with Jason lololol RIP to Tim Drake

(btw i am imagining Jason tearing off his infinitely more sensible Red Hood fit and then upon getting this reaction from Tim, has to pause because 'i'm wearing this to make a statement here. this isn't about that. why is this doing it for you, kid' and Tim just has to sit there stewing in his own humiliation like 'can you just kill me now? let's go back to the part where you were beating me up to teach me a lesson oh god wait no don't do that, fuck--' and Jason's like '🧍i'm gonna go actually, you made this weird. beatdown cancelled' and Tim, with his gloves over his face just muffles out a 'thanks, see you never' and throws himself out the window)

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Genuine question for those of you who say that you want the dissolution of all states. What do you envision in place of states in terms of:

Logistics (i.e. making sure every area has the basic resources it needs in order to function and people not die for lack of water, food, fuel, medical supplies, etc.) Like not assigning these things necessarily but literally just getting them to various far-flung places.

Security (how do you prevent people from outside the area coming in and taking everything including resources, land, people, etc.) How do you prevent authoritarian groups coming in and occupying your formerly peaceful, non-hierarchical society?

Supporting people outside of affinity networks or within rigid social systems (a lot of disabled people, queer people, and other people on the social, familial, and religious outs are gonna die without some kind of appropriate systems in place to meet these needs.)

Addressing major environmental challenges that require cooperation over vast areas of land, if not global cooperation.

Rule of law, especially when it comes to human rights, freedom of movement, freedom of religion/culture, dispute resolution between governing bodies of whatever variety that doesn't involve war, etc. but also just like, basic laws governing interpersonal relationships (preventing rape, murder, theft, etc. and addressing the aftermath of those things in a humane, just way.)

Peaceful transition from states to whatever it is you imagine taking their place, without hemorrhaging lives from the most vulnerable populations.

And like, there's more that I'm sure I'd have questions about too, but these concerns are so basic that I just cannot continue the conversation without knowing what the plan is for these essential tenets of an organized society.

Don't get me wrong: I don't love states and wish we had a better system too. I am also painfully aware that states are failing many if not most of these all the time. However, what I would need to know is how what you are proposing is better than trying to improve what currently exists and isn't going to come at the cost of catastrophic loss of human life, human cultures, animal life, and land destruction. And not in a pie-in-the-sky way, a realpolitik way.

[deoidesign]

Can you make a tutorial on how you world build and make ocs? I can't seem to make any people in my brain, but then when I try to come up with environments jobs, beliefs and little details to slowly come up with someone, I think: well I don't really know how people have influenced the world- it's a weird loop

To be honest, I don't think I can! Writing is an extremely personal process. The way I write is directly related to how I process things, what I find important in stories, years of my own analysis of my and other's writing, etc... The way you write will be unique to you, as well. But I can explain how I personally think of it.

The short answer:

Write. Write anything and everything, it's a tool to explore your ideas. Analyze your own writing, and write more. Then, as you discover which ideas you want to develop, write more to explore them more. You won't know what you want otherwise!

The long answer:

I think this kind of loop is common. It's easy to feel like everything needs to be done "at once," because our job as writers is to make elements logically fit with each other for our readers. But as you've discovered, developing multiple elements simultaneously isn't really possible, or at least is extremely difficult.

Personally, when I think of writing, I break it into three major elements; characters, world, and plot. As much as possible every scene explores one or more of these, and as much as possible these three things tie back into what I personally consider most important: theme.

Everything I do is in service of the themes I want to present. Without them my events feel aimless. It can take a while to discover them, but they're the core of my work. You will have to discover what you feel is the core of yours. Analyzing other media helps with this too.

Concepts in your brain exist in a state of infinite potential. But when you start writing you have to start making choices, which removes potential as you move forward... But you have to move forward anyways. If there's ideas you want to explore later, you can always explore them later.

What this ends up meaning, to answer your question, is that I don't think of my characters as "people in my brain" or my worlds as something people have influenced... Not at their core, at least. They are tools that I use to represent specific ideas. Obviously they're also my blorbos, but mostly they're serving a specific narrative purpose.

So above all else... Write. Write, and discover what you're writing about, and then start over and write with that in mind. Keep doing this. But you have to write!

[hauntingblue]

Gear 5 luffy's laugh is so contagious I just hear the drums and go insane how does this work. What did he do to me