#Peek into Investor’s Rights

[barcadlyservices]

Blog Posting Date : 01 Jan 2024 Disclaimer- For Educational Purpose Only, Should not be considered as a Investment Advice “The Conviction Club” Knowledge Series Post For the past 2-2.5 years, FIIs have sold a lot. Even after that we did well because of strong DII flows, thanks to domestic flows.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in Skinner boxes

Enshittification is the process by which digital platforms devour themselves: first they dangle goodies in front of end users. Once users are locked in, the goodies are taken away and dangled before business customers who supply goods to the users. Once those business customers are stuck on the platform, the goodies are clawed away and showered on the platform’s shareholders:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Enshittification isn’t just another way of saying “fraud” or “price gouging” or “wage theft.” Enshittification is intrinsically digital, because moving all those goodies around requires the flexibility that only comes with a digital businesses. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can’t rapidly change the price of eggs at Whole Foods without an army of kids with pricing guns on roller-skates. Jeff Bezos, grocer, can change the price of eggs on Amazon Fresh just by twiddling a knob on the service’s back-end.

Twiddling is the key to enshittification: rapidly adjusting prices, conditions and offers. As with any shell game, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Tech monopolists aren’t smarter than the Gilded Age sociopaths who monopolized rail or coal — they use the same tricks as those monsters of history, but they do them faster and with computers:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

If Rockefeller wanted to crush a freight company, he couldn’t just click a mouse and lay down a pipeline that ran on the same route, and then click another mouse to make it go away when he was done. When Bezos wants to bankrupt Diapers.com — a company that refused to sell itself to Amazon — he just moved a slider so that diapers on Amazon were being sold below cost. Amazon lost $100m over three months, diapers.com went bankrupt, and every investor learned that competing with Amazon was a losing bet:

https://slate.com/technology/2013/10/amazon-book-how-jeff-bezos-went-thermonuclear-on-diapers-com.html

That’s the power of twiddling — but twiddling cuts both ways. The same flexibility that digital businesses enjoy is hypothetically available to workers and users. The airlines pioneered twiddling ticket prices, and that naturally gave rise to countertwiddling, in the form of comparison shopping sites that scraped the airlines’ sites to predict when tickets would be cheapest:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/27/knob-jockeys/#bros-be-twiddlin

The airlines — like all abusive businesses — refused to tolerate this. They were allowed to touch their knobs as much as they wanted — indeed, they couldn’t stop touching those knobs — but when we tried to twiddle back, that was “felony contempt of business model,” and the airlines sued:

https://www.cnbc.com/2014/12/30/airline-sues-man-for-founding-a-cheap-flights-website.html

And sued:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/06/business/southwest-airlines-lawsuit-prices.html

Platforms don’t just hate it when end-users twiddle back — if anything they are even more aggressive when their business-users dare to twiddle. Take Para, an app that Doordash drivers used to get a peek at the wages offered for jobs before they accepted them — something that Doordash hid from its workers. Doordash ruthlessly attacked Para, saying that by letting drivers know how much they’d earn before they did the work, Para was violating the law:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/tech-rights-are-workers-rights-doordash-edition

Which law? Well, take your pick. The modern meaning of “IP” is “any law that lets me use the law to control my competitors, competition or customers.” Platforms use a mix of anticircumvention law, patent, copyright, contract, cybersecurity and other legal systems to weave together a thicket of rules that allow them to shut down rivals for their Felony Contempt of Business Model:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Enshittification relies on unlimited twiddling (by platforms), and a general prohibition on countertwiddling (by platform users). Enshittification is a form of fishing, in which bait is dangled before different groups of users and then nimbly withdrawn when they lunge for it. Twiddling puts the suppleness into the enshittifier’s fishing-rod, and a ban on countertwiddling weighs down platform users so they’re always a bit too slow to catch the bait.

Nowhere do we see twiddling’s impact more than in the “gig economy,” where workers are misclassified as independent contractors and put to work for an app that scripts their every move to the finest degree. When an app is your boss, you work for an employer who docks your pay for violating rules that you aren’t allowed to know — and where your attempts to learn those rules are constantly frustrated by the endless back-end twiddling that changes the rules faster than you can learn them.

As with every question of technology, the issue isn’t twiddling per se — it’s who does the twiddling and who gets twiddled. A worker armed with digital tools can play gig work employers off each other and force them to bid up the price of their labor; they can form co-ops with other workers that auto-refuse jobs that don’t pay enough, and use digital tools to organize to shift power from bosses to workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

Take “reverse centaurs.” In AI research, a “centaur” is a human assisted by a machine that does more than either could do on their own. For example, a chess master and a chess program can play a better game together than either could play separately. A reverse centaur is a machine assisted by a human, where the machine is in charge and the human is a meat-puppet.

Think of Amazon warehouse workers wearing haptic location-aware wristbands that buzz at them continuously dictating where their hands must be; or Amazon drivers whose eye-movements are continuously tracked in order to penalize drivers who look in the “wrong” direction:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/17/reverse-centaur/#reverse-centaur

The difference between a centaur and a reverse centaur is the difference between a machine that makes your life better and a machine that makes your life worse so that your boss gets richer. Reverse centaurism is the 21st Century’s answer to Taylorism, the pseudoscience that saw white-coated “experts” subject workers to humiliating choreography down to the smallest movement of your fingertip:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

While reverse centaurism was born in warehouses and other company-owned facilities, gig work let it make the leap into workers’ homes and cars. The 21st century has seen a return to the cottage industry — a form of production that once saw workers labor far from their bosses and thus beyond their control — but shriven of the autonomy and dignity that working from home once afforded:

https://doctorow.medium.com/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk-463e2730ef0d

The rise and rise of bossware — which allows for remote surveillance of workers in their homes and cars — has turned “work from home” into “live at work.” Reverse centaurs can now be chickenized — a term from labor economics that describes how poultry farmers, who sell their birds to one of three vast poultry processors who have divided up the country like the Pope dividing up the “New World,” are uniquely exploited:

https://onezero.medium.com/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs-b2e8d5cda826

A chickenized reverse centaur has it rough: they must pay for the machines they use to make money for their bosses, they must obey the orders of the app that controls their work, and they are denied any of the protections that a traditional worker might enjoy, even as they are prohibited from deploying digital self-help measures that let them twiddle back to bargain for a better wage.

All of this sets the stage for a phenomenon called algorithmic wage discrimination, in which two workers doing the same job under the same conditions will see radically different payouts for that work. These payouts are continuously tweaked in the background by an algorithm that tries to predict the minimum sum a worker will accept to remain available without payment, to ensure sufficient workers to pick up jobs as they arise.

This phenomenon — and proposed policy and labor solutions to it — is expertly analyzed in “On Algorithmic Wage Discrimination,” a superb paper by UC Law San Franciscos Veena Dubal:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4331080

Dubal uses empirical data and enthnographic accounts from Uber drivers and other gig workers to explain how endless, self-directed twiddling allows gig companies pay workers less and pay themselves more. As @brianmerchant@mastodon.social explains in his LA Times article on Dubal’s research, the goal of the payment algorithm is to guess how often a given driver needs to receive fair compensation in order to keep them driving when the payments are unfair:

https://www.latimes.com/business/technology/story/2023-04-11/algorithmic-wage-discrimination

The algorithm combines nonconsensual dossiers compiled on individual drivers with population-scale data to seek an equilibrium between keeping drivers waiting, unpaid, for a job; and how much a driver needs to be paid for an individual job, in order to keep that driver from clocking out and doing something else. @ Here’s how that works. Sergio Avedian, a writer for The Rideshare Guy, ran an experiment with two brothers who both drove for Uber; one drove a Tesla and drove intermittently, the other brother rented a hybrid sedan and drove frequently. Sitting side-by-side with the brothers, Avedian showed how the brother with the Tesla was offered more for every trip:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UADTiL3S67I

Uber wants to lure intermittent drivers into becoming frequent drivers. Uber doesn’t pay for an oversupply of drivers, because it only pays drivers when they have a passenger in the car. Having drivers on call — but idle — is a way for Uber to shift the cost of maintaining a capacity cushion to its workers.

What’s more, what Uber charges customers is not based on how much it pays its workers. As Uber’s head of product explained: Uber uses “machine-learning techniques to estimate how much groups of customers are willing to shell out for a ride. Uber calculates riders’ propensity for paying a higher price for a particular route at a certain time of day. For instance, someone traveling from a wealthy neighborhood to another tony spot might be asked to pay more than another person heading to a poorer part of town, even if demand, traffic and distance are the same.”

https://qz.com/990131/uber-is-practicing-price-discrimination-economists-say-that-might-not-be-a-bad-thing/

Uber has historically described its business a pure supply-and-demand matching system, where a rush of demand for rides triggers surge pricing, which lures out drivers, which takes care of the demand. That’s not how it works today, and it’s unclear if it ever worked that way. Today, a driver who consults the rider version of the Uber app before accepting a job — to compare how much the rider is paying to how much they stand to earn — is booted off the app and denied further journeys.

Surging, instead, has become just another way to twiddle drivers. One of Dubal’s subjects, Derrick, describes how Uber uses fake surges to lure drivers to airports: “You go to the airport, once the lot get kind of full, then the surge go away.” Other drivers describe how they use groupchats to call out fake surges: “I’m in the Marina. It’s dead. Fake surge.”

That’s pure twiddling. Twiddling turns gamification into gamblification, where your labor buys you a spin on a roulette wheel in a rigged casino. As a driver called Melissa, who had doubled down on her availability to earn a $100 bonus awarded for clocking a certain number of rides, told Dubal, “When you get close to the bonus, the rides start trickling in more slowly…. And it makes sense. It’s really the type of shit that they can do when it’s okay to have a surplus labor force that is just sitting there that they don’t have to pay for.”

Wherever you find reverse-centaurs, you get this kind of gamblification, where the rules are twiddled continuously to make sure that the house always wins. As a contract driver Amazon reverse centaur told Lauren Gurley for Motherboard, “Amazon uses these cameras allegedly to make sure they have a safer driving workforce, but they’re actually using them not to pay delivery companies”:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/88npjv/amazons-ai-cameras-are-punishing-drivers-for-mistakes-they-didnt-make

Algorithmic wage discrimination is the robot overlord of our nightmares: its job is to relentlessly quest for vulnerabilities and exploit them. Drivers divide themselves into “ants” (drivers who take every job) and “pickers” (drivers who cherry-pick high-paying jobs). The algorithm’s job is ensuring that pickers get the plum assignments, not the ants, in the hopes of converting those pickers to app-dependent ants.

In my work on enshittification, I call this the “giant teddy bear” gambit. At every county fair, you’ll always spot some poor jerk carrying around a giant teddy-bear they “won” on the midway. But they didn’t win it — not by getting three balls in the peach-basket. Rather, the carny running the rigged game either chose not to operate the “scissor” that kicks balls out of the basket. Or, if the game is “honest” (that is, merely impossible to win, rather than gimmicked), the operator will make a too-good-to-refuse offer: “Get one ball in and I’ll give you this keychain. Win two keychains and I’ll let you trade them for this giant teddy bear.”

Carnies aren’t in the business of giving away giant teddy bears — rather, the gambit is an investment. Giving a mark a giant teddy bear to carry around the midway all day acts as a convincer, luring other marks to try to land three balls in the basket and win their own teddy bear.

In the same way, platforms like Uber distribute giant teddy bears to pickers, as a way of keeping the ants scurrying from job to job, and as a way of convincing the pickers to give up whatever work allows them to discriminate among Uber’s offers and hold out for the plum deals, whereupon then can be transmogrified into ants themselves.

Dubal describes the experience of Adil, a Syrian refugee who drives for Uber in the Bay Area. His colleagues are pickers, and showed him screenshots of how much they earned. Determined to get a share of that money, Adil became a model ant, driving two hours to San Francisco, driving three days straight, napping in his car, spending only one day per week with his family. The algorithm noticed that Adil needed the work, so it paid him less.

Adil responded the way the system predicted he would, by driving even more: “My friends they make it, so I keep going, maybe I can figure it out. It’s unsecure, and I don’t know how people they do it. I don’t know how I am doing it, but I have to. I mean, I don’t find another option. In a minute, if I find something else, oh man, I will be out immediately. I am a very patient person, that’s why I can continue.”

Another driver, Diego, told Dubal about how the winners of the giant teddy bears fell into the trap of thinking that they were “good at the app”: “Any time there’s some big shot getting high pay outs, they always shame everyone else and say you don’t know how to use the app. I think there’s secret PR campaigns going on that gives targeted payouts to select workers, and they just think it’s all them.”

That’s the power of twiddling: by hoarding all the flexibility offered by digital tools, the management at platforms can become centaurs, able to string along thousands of workers, while the workers are reverse-centaurs, puppeteered by the apps.

As the example of Adil shows, the algorithm doesn’t need to be very sophisticated in order to figure out which workers it can underpay. The system automates the kind of racial and gender discrimination that is formally illegal, but which is masked by the smokescreen of digitization. An employer who systematically paid women less than men, or Black people less than white people, would be liable to criminal and civil sanctions. But if an algorithm simply notices that people who have fewer job prospects drive more and will thus accept lower wages, that’s just “optimization,” not racism or sexism.

This is the key to understanding the AI hype bubble: when ghouls from multinational banks predict 13 trillion dollar markets for “AI,” what they mean is that digital tools will speed up the twiddling and other wage-suppression techniques to transfer $13T in value from workers and consumers to shareholders.

The American business lobby is relentlessly focused on the goal of reducing wages. That’s the force behind “free trade,” “right to work,” and other codewords for “paying workers less,” including “gig work.” Tech workers long saw themselves as above this fray, immune to labor exploitation because they worked for a noble profession that took care of its own.

But the epidemic of mass tech-worker layoffs, following on the heels of massive stock buybacks, has demonstrated that tech bosses are just like any other boss: willing to pay as little as they can get away with, and no more. Tech bosses are so comfortable with their market dominance and the lock-in of their customers that they are happy to turn out hundreds of thousands of skilled workers, convinced that the twiddling systems they’ve built are the kinds of self-licking ice-cream cones that are so simple even a manager can use them — no morlocks required.

The tech worker layoffs are best understood as an all-out war on tech worker morale, because that morale is the source of tech workers’ confidence and thus their demands for a larger share of the value generated by their labor. The current tech layoff template is very different from previous tech layoffs: today’s layoffs are taking place over a period of months, long after they are announced, and laid off tech worker is likely to be offered a months of paid post-layoff work, rather than severance. This means that tech workplaces are now haunted by the walking dead, workers who have been laid off but need to come into the office for months, even as the threat of layoffs looms over the heads of the workers who remain. As an old friend, recently laid off from Microsoft after decades of service, wrote to me, this is “a new arrow in the quiver of bringing tech workers to heel and ensuring that we’re properly thankful for the jobs we have (had?).”

Dubal is interested in more than analysis, she’s interested in action. She looks at the tactics already deployed by gig workers, who have not taken all this abuse lying down. Workers in the UK and EU organized through Worker Info Exchange and the App Drivers and Couriers Union have used the GDPR (the EU’s privacy law) to demand “algorithmic transparency,” as well as access to their data. In California, drivers hope to use similar provisions in the CCPA (a state privacy law) to do the same.

These efforts have borne fruit. When Cornell economists, led by Louis Hyman, published research (paid for by Uber) claiming that Uber drivers earned an average of $23/hour, it was data from these efforts that revealed the true average Uber driver’s wage was $9.74. Subsequent research in California found that Uber drivers’ wage fell to $6.22/hour after the passage of Prop 22, a worker misclassification law that gig companies spent $225m to pass, only to have the law struck down because of a careless drafting error:

https://www.latimes.com/california/newsletter/2021-08-23/proposition-22-lyft-uber-decision-essential-california

But Dubal is skeptical that data-coops and transparency will achieve transformative change and build real worker power. Knowing how the algorithm works is useful, but it doesn’t mean you can do anything about it, not least because the platform owners can keep touching their knobs, twiddling the payout schedule on their rigged slot-machines.

Data co-ops start from the proposition that “data extraction is an inevitable form of labor for which workers should be remunerated.” It makes on-the-job surveillance acceptable, provided that workers are compensated for the spying. But co-ops aren’t unions, and they don’t have the power to bargain for a fair price for that data, and coops themselves lack the vast resources — “to store, clean, and understand” — data.

Co-ops are also badly situated to understand the true value of the data that is extracted from their members: “Workers cannot know whether the data collected will, at the population level, violate the civil rights of others or amplifies their own social oppression.”

Instead, Dubal wants an outright, nonwaivable prohibition on algorithmic wage discrimination. Just make it illegal. If firms cannot use gambling mechanisms to control worker behavior through variable pay systems, they will have to find ways to maintain flexible workforces while paying their workforce predictable wages under an employment model. If a firm cannot manage wages through digitally-determined variable pay systems, then the firm is less likely to employ algorithmic management.”

In other words, rather than using market mechanisms too constrain platform twiddling, Dubal just wants to make certain kinds of twiddling illegal. This is a growing trend in legal scholarship. For example, the economist Ramsi Woodcock has proposed a ban on surge pricing as a per se violation of Section 1 of the Sherman Act:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/print/volume-105-issue-4/the-efficient-queue-and-the-case-against-dynamic-pricing

Similarly, Dubal proposes that algorithmic wage discrimination violates another antitrust law: the Robinson-Patman Act, which “bans sellers from charging competing buyers different prices for the same commodity. Robinson-Patman enforcement was effectively halted under Reagan, kicking off a host of pathologies, like the rise of Walmart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

I really liked Dubal’s legal reasoning and argument, and to it I would add a call to reinvigorate countertwiddling: reforming laws that get in the way of workers who want to reverse-engineer, spoof, and control the apps that currently control them. Adversarial interoperability (AKA competitive compatibility or comcom) is key tool for building worker power in an era of digital Taylorism:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

To see how that works, look to other jursidictions where workers have leapfrogged their European and American cousins, such as Indonesia, where gig workers and toolsmiths collaborate to make a whole suite of “tuyul apps,” which let them override the apps that gig companies expect them to use.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

For example, ride-hailing companies won’t assign a train-station pickup to a driver unless they’re circling the station — which is incredibly dangerous during the congested moments after a train arrives. A tuyul app lets a driver park nearby and then spoof their phone’s GPS fix to the ridehailing company so that they appear to be right out front of the station.

In an ideal world, those workers would have a union, and be able to dictate the app’s functionality to their bosses. But workers shouldn’t have to wait for an ideal world: they don’t just need jam tomorrow — they need jam today. Tuyul apps, and apps like Para, which allow workers to extract more money under better working conditions, are a prelude to unionization and employer regulation, not a substitute for it.

Employers will not give workers one iota more power than they have to. Just look at the asymmetry between the regulation of union employees versus union busters. Under US law, employees of a union need to account for every single hour they work, every mile they drive, every location they visit, in public filings. Meanwhile, the union-busting industry — far larger and richer than unions — operate under a cloak of total secrecy, Workers aren’t even told which union busters their employers have hired — let alone get an accounting of how those union busters spend money, or how many of them are working undercover, pretending to be workers in order to sabotage the union.

Twiddling will only get an employer so far. Twiddling — like all “AI” — is based on analyzing the past to predict the future. The heuristics an algorithm creates to lure workers into their cars can’t account for rapid changes in the wider world, which is why companies who relied on “AI” scheduling apps (for example, to prevent their employees from logging enough hours to be entitled to benefits) were caught flatfooted by the Great Resignation.

Workers suddenly found themselves with bargaining power thanks to the departure of millions of workers — a mix of early retirees and workers who were killed or permanently disabled by covid — and they used that shortage to demand a larger share of the fruits of their labor. The outraged howls of the capital class at this development were telling: these companies are operated by the kinds of “capitalists” that MLK once identified, who want “socialism for the rich and rugged individualism for the poor.”

https://twitter.com/KaseyKlimes/status/821836823022354432/

There's only 5 days left in the Kickstarter campaign for the audiobook of my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon's Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they're DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

Image: Stephen Drake (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Analog_Test_Array_modular_synth_by_sduck409.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

 — 

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

 — 

Louis (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chestnut_horse_head,_all_excited.jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A complex mandala of knobs from a modular synth. In the foreground, limned in a blue electric halo, is a man in a hi-viz vest with the head of a horse. The horse's eyes have been replaced with the sinister red eyes of HAL9000 from Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.'"]

[undercovercameron]

hole in one

summary: you're a server at the island club, and you may or may not have a favorite customer.

notes: i'm back baby! haven't written anything in a good while but i suddenly had this image of a girly reader and a flirty golfer rafe with that season 3 buzzcut... i HAD to make a pun with this title and i'm so glad i did. also i always write rafe a little more attentive and well-meaning than he is, so take this headcanon of nice rafe with a grain of salt-- and this shit is hella dirty so please enjoy and let me know what you think ;) (also im coming back to edit this fully in a little bit but i wanted to post just to prove i still love and use this account kajddjd)

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 4453

Some things in Rafe’s life were simple pleasures. 

A cocktail during dinner, a night where all the TV he watched was reality shows, a cigarette on a night out. The silence of his childhood home. 

Golf, coincidentally, was also one of those things. The course he frequented was just a ten-minute drive from his house, and he had priority parking. As a donor and a club-member of course. The drinks were cheap, the company was even cheaper, and he had a killer swing. There was rarely an afternoon out on that green that he didn’t enjoy. He felt closest to peace when all he had to work for was getting that tiny white golf ball sunk into a hole. 

They were often sweaty putting sessions, as the North Carolina heat in the summer was no joke, but the traveling drink cart was a brief respite from that. 

“What can I get you?” You ask, bright and long-lashed. Your hair was done in a tight updo, your makeup was flawless, and not a single spec of dirt or turf lay on your uniform. You took pride in your appearance and the effects it had on the loose wallets of the Outer Banks’ finest real estate investors and offshore bank account holders. Most of all, you enjoyed a certain someone’s attention. 

Rafe peeks under the overhang of the cart and stares at your selection. He stands with his hands on his hips, gold rings flashing in the hot sunlight. You take a look at him for the first time today, eyes taking over his bent form. He has gray slacks on with a dark blue polo stretched over his well-built back, unbuttoned to show the tiniest glint of blonde chest hair and his gold chain. He spared no expense when it came to his appearance, you’d come to notice. 

“I think,” he starts, standing back up, and fixes you with his blue-eyed stare. It makes you hold back a shiver despite the heat. “A double tequila soda.” 

He gives you a once-over, admiring the way your skirt hugs your waist and the sparkle of your earrings. He always likes when the girls have their hair up— gives him a sneak peek of what it’d look like if he pulled it. 

“Three limes? Just how you like?” You ask, breaking his focus, and reach for a plastic cocktail cup. You have a freckle behind your ear, he notices. 

“Exactly right,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, and his face splits into a grin when you glance at him and blush. He could be back with his friends from highschool, talking shit about their shitty swings or increasingly high scores, but he’s not. He’s right here, watching closely as you carefully measure the ice and pour a perfect double shot. 

“How’re you guys playing today?” You ask, a humiliating attempt at small talk, and you feel sweat bead on your lower back. 

“Shit, honestly,” Rafe laughs. “These jack-offs couldn’t get a hole-in-one if it was right in front of their fucking faces. And I’ve been distracted all day.” He looks down at you over the bridge of his nose, liking the way you tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Heat getting to you?” You squeeze the final lime and turn away from the cart, holding it out with a polite smile. He takes it carefully. 

“Something like that,” he says, cocking his head, and takes a sip. Tart. Just how he likes it. “Hey.” He digs a hand into his pocket and the tips of your cheekbones heat again for some reason. “Keep the change.” He hands you a fifty. 

You take it between hesitant fingers, peering up at him. 

“The drink is $6, Rafe.” 

He always does this. Pays cash with big bills and tells you to keep the change. He gave you a twenty for a packet of peanuts one time. “I don’t know if I can legally take this.”

He just shrugs. 

“Consider it a personal donation.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“Makes me feel better. I think you deserve a little extra for your services—it takes a lot of work to look that good for a bunch of old geezers in sweater vests and loafers. I know I appreciate it.” He turns and starts off towards his group, yanking his sunglasses out of his shirt and jamming them onto his face. “I like your bra, by the way. ‘S my favorite color.”

You glance down the collar of your shirt, heart thumping, and look back up. 

That stupid fucking swagger he has. He’s going to throw out his back walking around like a peacock like that. 

You tug your shirt up, hiding the red bra you’d chosen for today, and hop back on the cart. Off to another hole where another old man will look down your shirt and ask for his Manhattan with two cherries instead of one. 

You think you’ll either quit this job or start wearing a fucking monk robe. 

The next time you see him is back at the club. Your boss had you on pool bartender duty, opposed to the drink cart you favored, and you were a little out of your element. 

The customer demographic was different, which you enjoyed, but they all seemed to want a lot more and a lot quicker. There was no loitering around to small talk; you had to work quickly and attentively to earn these housewives’ measly two dollar tip on margarita pitchers. 

You had spilled raspberry purée on your company-approved golf dress more times than you could count in your six hour shift. Near the end of it, however, Rafe had made his way to the end of the bar and watched as you ducked to put away the umbrella toothpicks and quickly and secretly downed a shot of Tito’s. Drinking on the job. Hm. 

(It’s not that you like to be drunk at work; it’s more of a little ‘fuck you’ to your boss, you think.)

“Hi,” you say on an exhale, coming over and wiping the already-spotless counter with a black rag. “What can I get you?” You have dangly earrings on today, and a different shade of lipgloss than he is accustomed to.

“Two grapefruit High Noon’s.” He folds his arms and leans on the counter, so close he could smell your perfume. “I could report you for that, you know,” he says, voice as low as a whisper. You peer up at him, lips pursed, and scan his face. No ill intent. Just an easy smile and dirty eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” You reach for the fridge underneath the mixing mats and pull two cold cans from the shelf. You sit them on the counter and stare up at him. “You’re a real upstanding customer, huh?”

“Mhm.” He twists his pointer-finger ring mindlessly. “You owe me.” The corners of his lips quirk up. 

“Oh, do I?” You ask, giving him your best ’I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look. You know he likes that. 

The fact is that you and Rafe had countless conversations exactly like this one. Whether it be at the drink cart, on the way out of the building, or back inside in the restaurant bar. He always somehow leaned over you, smiling like the flirtatious bastard that he was, and making you feel like he’d like nothing more than to take you to his car and show you how much he actually enjoyed being served by you. That’s how you imagined him in bed, at least. Proving a point. 

He takes the two cans in one hand and straightens up, fixing you with a dangerous look. 

“Your shift ends in ten minutes, yeah?” He asks. 

“Yes.” You square your shoulders and stare back. 

“Good. I’ll take you home. Well, mine.” He backs up closer to where his friends are sitting at a covered patio table, mischievous smile flashing white in the sun. 

“I have a car, you know,” you say, leaning on the counter with folded arms. You ignore the hot rush of blood in your veins from his words. “And I have to shower.”

“What makes you think I don’t have a shower?” He purses his lips, faking the wildly confused look, and turns back around to his friends. 

You just sigh, exasperated with him, and work on cleaning up your station. God, it has to be him? The boy you had a crush on in elementary school? You’ve had plenty of hookups in your adult life, but none as close to home as this one. (Literally. You live down the street.) You feel his eyes on you as you scrub a particularly defiant streak of Grenadine from the counter, and feel his gaze on your back when you turn around to get a fresh rag. It makes your face burn hot. 

You know he’s not talking about just hanging out at his place. He probably has a huge shower, for God’s sake, and probably a humongous bed. California king if you can guess. 

You bet he tastes like summer.

After your replacement comes to the bar, you take your lanyard to get into the staff locker room from a hook under the bar and make your way slowly through the gaggles of people to your designated locker. It takes a brief conversation with your boss Angela about if you left the tip jar or took the contents to finally shoulder past the last group of people. 

You tug your bag from the hook, a change of clothes and your shower stuff already packed (as you had been planning to go to the gym after work). You now know you have other forms of exercise coordinated. You give yourself a final look in the little mirror on your locker. Here goes nothing. 

Rafe is waiting outside the swinging door when you push past it, button up shirt and shoes haphazardly thrown on. He immediately takes your bag from you and slings it over one massive shoulder, starting for the exit. 

“I can carry my own things, Rafe,” you say, slightly out of breath with the effort it takes to catch up to him. 

“Yeah, well, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He casts a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised seriously. You roll your eyes. 

His bedroom door pushes open and you stumble back, hand tight on his bicep as he walks you further. His hand circles your waist as he ducks to kiss you again, mouth hot and commanding over yours. 

He tastes exactly how you imagined. 

His room is bright with sunlight and slightly messy when you glance behind him, but you’re pretty fucking sure you won’t be focused on how his room is decorated when he keeps grabbing at you like this.

The back of your knees hit the bedspread and you fall into a sitting position, posture curved up into his as he leans and holds you by the side of the neck. You make a pleased noise into his mouth and tug at his shirt, suddenly irritated that he is wearing so many clothes. You snake a hand up his shirt and claw at his skin with your sharp nails. 

“Save that for my back,” he breathes, and your fingers fumble to unbutton his shirt as you finally pull it down and off his body. You rejoice at his newfound lack of clothing and smooth a hand over his chest, eyes trained on his toned and tan stomach. 

He’s huge like this, up close, and the warmth radiating from his skin makes your heart jump into your throat. Your fingers splay across the middle of his abdomen, just appreciating the way he breathes under your touch, and you lean back up for his mouth. 

He threads his fingers in your hair and pulls your face so hard to his own that your neck smarts. Between your legs throbs. You protest, grabbing at his wrist, but settle when he shuffles closer to the bed and tilts you back into the sheets.

“Spread your legs for me,” he murmurs. Your back meets silk, and he lifts your open legs up and around his hips as he settles between your thighs comfortably. Right where he should be. 

The feeling of his heavy weight where you’ve been needing it makes your back arch. He breaks away from you and slides a hand down your chest, laying the route that his mouth will take. 

“You smell like cherries,” he says as he presses his mouth to your collarbone and sucks. 

“I know.” You shudder through a laugh and bring your hand up to the back of his head as encouragement. “Spilled Grenadine.”

He hums noncommittally and shoves the hem of your dress up past your hips and to your midriff in one fluid motion. You wriggle for a second, so exposed so fast, but sigh contentedly when his lips meet your stomach. His mouth is so unexplainably hot, and as his tongue meets you your whole body erupts in goosebumps. It sends a shiver down your spine. It’s even better than you imagined. 

“Knew you’d taste so good,” Rafe practically moans, eyes darting to yours, and his fingertips curl around the waistband of your underwear as you watch. Your cheeks flush at his word. You’re honored to be the recipient of words like his— it’s not often Rafe finds himself giving someone a compliment. He lays a final kiss on your stomach and surges back up towards your chest. He mutters gibberish to himself, probably something like “I hate this fucking dress” and yanks your dress up past your tits. 

His fingers find your left nipple and squeeze as his tongue finds the other. You arch again, unused to the sensation, and let loose a groan. His fingers are so soft and light, but his teeth nip. 

You make a noise of surprise, eyebrows furrowing, and tug at the short, blunt locks of his hair. 

“Impatient,” he reprimands, tongue rolling as he glances up at your pink face. You’re strung so tight you might snap. “Needy.” He releases your nipple with a pop. Your lips are so pink and shiny, he just has to kiss you again. You whine into his mouth when he comes back, fingernails scratching at his scalp, and your legs wind around his waist. 

But he lets go of your hip with his left hand and creeps closer to the crotch of your underwear, fingertips dancing. Your grip on his hair tightens. Between your legs pulses with heat and need, hot on his clothed crotch, and he knows he could calculate your BPM just by laying with you like this. 

“Rafe,” you breathe, staring up at him as your chest heaves. 

“Relax,” he shushes, ducking down to press a kiss to your neck, and you gradually relax the muscles that lock your legs to his abdomen. “There you go.” You think you hear a “good girl” fall from his soft lips but it’s in that moment that he pushes past the cotton and digs his hand into your underwear. 

You immediately spur into motion, back arching and mouth dropping into an ‘O’, and he just bites his lip and watches. You’re so responsive, and it makes his dick fucking ache. 

“Thought about this? Hm?” He pants, releasing his bottom lip from between his teeth, and grins. “So wet, this pussy’s been begging for me for weeks.”

You struggle to nod, movement interrupted by the slew of noises and ramblings of “please” and “yes” and “Rafe” falling from your lips. His middle and ring fingers push past the slick resistance your pussy gives him, and you go silent and slack-jawed as he pushes all the way to the hilt.  

And he’s got big fingers. You wonder if they’re the same size as his dick. If so, you might be in trouble.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you nearly cry, head falling back into the sheets, and you’re slammed back into reality and consciousness of your surroundings. The coolness of the AC makes your nipples peak again, and the sweat on your lower back cools almost as soon as it’s created. But Rafe makes you hot. Your chest and cheeks are flushed a bright pink, and your lips are swollen into a bigger size and slick with his saliva and your own. We don’t even have to discuss how flushed the other parts of your body are—he already knows. 

His fingers curl slightly up and to the right, and your abdomen jerks at the unfamiliar feeling. You curl up slightly, eyebrows furrowed, and try to catch a glimpse of his large hand in your underwear. God, you wish you could take a picture. You lock gazes with him momentarily but fall back down at the look in his face. It’s nearly animalistic. 

“Rafe, please,” you beg, grabbing onto his wrist with both hands. You meet his eyes. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling his fingers out, and clambers off of you for a second. You sit up, quickly ridding yourself of the dress bunched up to your shoulders, and watch as he rips his shorts off and nears the bed. You don’t even have enough time to gape at the size of him before he’s grabbing your bicep and jerking you onto your stomach. 

You have half a mind to protest his man-handling of you but stay silent as you look up at the angle he positions you. 

There’s a full length mirror opposite this side of his bed, and you just stare at the pair of you as you catch your breath. 

“Like it, huh?” He asks quietly, dipping down and pressing a kiss to your hair. His hand finds your neck and he moves you to face the mirror head on, watching your face closely. You really like the feeling of his fingers around your throat. He can tell, now; your shoulders relax and your lips move into the shape of a smile when he squeezes. 

“You always keep this here?” You ask, head falling onto your folded arms when he releases you to just admire your body. His fingers trace your spine and the curve of your ass, never losing focus. 

“I moved it this morning,” he murmurs, gaze never straying from you. 

“Oh, so you knew you’d be fucking me tonight.” Your face splits into an easy grin, head tilting mischievously. His eyes find yours in the mirror, and he bends again to press his mouth to your lower back. 

“Always teasing me.” His voice is muffled by your smooth skin. He can’t get enough. “Knew it’d happen sometime soon. You can’t stay away forever, you know.” He straightens up but doesn’t find your eyes in the mirror. His large, warm hand maneuvers your hips into a tilted position, and you move up onto your feet. He has you flat on your stomach on the bed, but your ass and legs hang off and the soles of your feet just barely press flat into the floor. “Knew this pussy would get me at some point.” He smacks at an asscheek lightning fast; and your whole body jiggles with the force of his hand. You squeak involuntarily.

A large hand grabs at your shoulder as the other one jerks himself steadily. Once, twice, three times, and then he’s spreading you open and pushing into you. 

Your spine stretches and relaxes when he gets halfway in, and your thighs start to shake when you’re filled all the way to the hilt. 

“Shit, Rafe, you’re fucking big,” you complain, but the tail end of your protest bleeds into a desperate whine. Your fingers grip the sheets tightly, eyes squeezed shut, and your head falls onto your folded arms. “Please,” you say, reaching back to frantically find his hips. “Go slow.”

“Stretching you out, hm,” Rafe comments, breathing hard already, and relieves the pressure by sliding almost all the way out. His tip almost breaches the seam of your slit but he pushes back in, pulling your asscheek away with a thumb to watch. “Fucking sexy.”

You squeeze around him like a vice, but the intrusion is welcome. You will yourself to relax and accept his huge fucking dick, and the thought of yourself getting fucked by him sends a gush of slick between you two. 

“There you go,” Rafe sighs, and pulls out only to fuck back in to you quickly. You cry out, fingers squeezing extra tight on the sheets, but you will yourself to look up.

His chest is flushed in the mirror as his chain swings in the open air, and the pure concentration and pleasure on his face prompts a pleased noise from your throat. You tentatively jerk back into him and his head whips up in the mirror, blue eyes meeting your own. 

“Oh, yeah?” He mutters, teeth catching his lip, and his hips snap into yours. Your mouth drops open only momentarily before you close it and tilt your head to the size coyly, biting your own lip and pushing back into his hips. He watches you carefully in the mirror with squinted eyes, half-impressed and half-challenging. “You think you can take it?” His fingers squeeze at your shoulder tight. 

You just silently nod. Cocky. 

His emotionless gaze locks with yours and his blood pumps hot in his veins. He’s going to make you eat your words. 

His hips surge forward in a suddenly-steady rhythm, skin slapping skin ringing out in the room. You just stare at him, defiant, and push back with every thrust he gives.

Rafe grunts and lets go of your shoulder, replacing his touch with an arm slung around your neck and the other hand between your legs. His warm fingers nudge your clit, finding it immediately, and his hips snap punishingly quickly into yours. 

It’s brutal, having him like this. You hope you bruise. But you challenged him, and somebody has to lose. Except it’s not really a loss when Rafe fucking Cameron is genuinely fucking you into next week. 

“Shit,” you exhale, choking on the inhale that accompanies it, and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers rub you in circles. “Fuck, Rafe, that’s so good.” Something hot coils tight in your stomach and your thighs suddenly warm almost in preparation for the wave of sensation. 

“Yeah?” He pants, hot in your ear. “You like that?” His chest sticks to your sweaty back, gluing you together as his strong hips and legs pound you into the mattress. You stay strong, along for the ride, and provide all the verbal encouragement he needs. Your stomach feels hotter and hotter and your throat runs dry. 

“I love it,” you whine, head tilting up as if you’re praying he won’t stop. “Fuck me like this forever.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, too lost in the squeeze of your pussy around him and the warmth your body grants him. You pulse even more, so close. 

You gather some strength and struggle to push up into an elbow, head tilting further and further until you can feel his forehead brush the crown of your head. Your muscles strain. 

“Just like that. Just like—God, shit, right there.”

You squeak when the hot coil in your abdomen snaps and you fall twitchingly onto your stomach. His fingers rub quickly at your clit and you feel suddenly a hundred pounds lighter, eyes rolling back into your head. It’s so fucking good you wonder how you’ll ever masturbate happily again. Your fingers don’t compare in the slightest to this fucking dick. Your chest heaves with the effort it takes to fill your lungs with clean air, and your legs start to shake miserably underneath him. Your thighs feel like jelly and you barely did anything. 

“Please, Rafe,” you beg, turning your head to the side to look innocently up at him. “Give it to me.”

“Yeah?” He pants and leans down to kiss you messily. You groan into his mouth and push back once more into his hips. Your pussy is still buzzing with feeling, and it fades slowly into a pleasant ache the more he fucks into you. “You want it on your back or in your mouth?”

You blink wildly and push onto your palms, signaling that you want to turn over. He pulls out but jerks himself steadily until you scramble onto your knees in front of him, face level with his pelvis and tongue out. You look up at him with the most earnest and well-meaning eyes, and he just has to close his eyes when the tip of his dick finally meets your tongue and he fills your mouth. His chest loosens with the most pathetic noise he’s ever made, a mix between a raw groan and a whimper. Your soft mouth accepts him and cleans his dick, humming contentedly, and when he catches his breath and manages to open his eyes you’re staring up at him, an immensely pleased look on your face. 

You crawl closer and lift onto your knees, arms coming around his neck and pulling him to you. You press a kiss to his mouth. He can almost taste himself on your tongue, and he smoothes a hand down your side to grab onto your asscheek as you just kiss him. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly to give your face a once-over. “You haven’t even showered yet.”

“And whose fault is that?” You sigh, exasperated. “Someone couldn’t make it up the stairs without shoving his hands up my dress—we barely even made it to the bed.” You smooth a hand down the back side of his head, liking the way his hair feels. 

Rafe just purses his lips. 

“Sounds like a really cool guy to me.”

“Mhm,” you say, rolling your eyes, and sit back on your heels. 

This room is a mess.

The corner of the well-made bed’s sheets and bedspread is yanked from the far corner and lies bunched up in the middle, dark with sweat. It smells like sex in here, the ceiling fan doing nothing to mitigate it, and your work dress is hung haphazardly on the closet door handle. With a dark Grenadine stain down the middle. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Rafe says, interrupting your inner monologue. His warm hand comes to rest on your thigh. 

“What?” You ask, eyebrows drawn. 

“Don’t even think about putting on clothes.”

You scoff.

“Like those would do me any good right now.” You wind your arms around his neck and smirk up at him. “I still haven’t even shown you what’s in my bag.”

His smile grows. 

“What’s in your bag, baby?”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.3

Hii guys, I hope you enjoy this part, here's part 2 if you've missed it.

- Austrian Gran Prix 2023 -

As you step into the Austrian Grand Prix, your heart pounds with a mix of excitement and nerves. The roar of engines, the buzz of fans, and the vibrant energy of the paddock are almost overwhelming. You take a deep breath, trying to soak it all in.

"Y/N, I have to go back with the team to arrange some details," your dad says, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Do you want to stay at the motorhome or wander around?"

"I'll go for a walk, but I can be back for lunch if you want to have lunch together," you reply, not wanting to intrude but hoping for some time with him amidst the chaos.

"I'm not sure if that'll be possible. I have to talk with some investors over lunch," he answers, sounding apologetic.

"Oh, it's okay, Dad, don't worry. Maybe another day," you say, trying to hide your disappointment with a forced smile.

He nods, giving you a quick squeeze on the shoulder before hurrying off. You watch him disappear into the crowd, a mix of longing and understanding tugging at your heart. With a sigh, you turn and start to wander around, deciding to make the most of the day on your own.

You stroll through the F1 paddock, marvelling at the impressive setups, the gleaming cars, and the intense focus of the teams. It's thrilling to be so close to the action, but after a while, you find yourself gravitating towards the F2 and F3 areas. Franco had mentioned he'd be here for some tests, and the thought of seeing him brings a flutter of excitement.

As you make your way through the less crowded F2 and F3 paddocks, you notice a few drivers chatting and mechanics working on the cars. The atmosphere is slightly more relaxed here, and you feel a bit more at ease. You walk around, peeking into garages, hoping to catch a glimpse of Franco.

Suddenly, you feel two hands cover your eyes from behind. "Guess who?" a familiar voice whispers playfully in your ear.

A grin spreads across your face. "Hmm… is it… Lewis Hamilton?" you joke, playing along.

Franco laughs and removes his hands, spinning you around to face him. "Close, but no," he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You chuckle, feeling a little shy but happy to see him. "Hey, Franco! I was hoping to find you here."

"Well, here I am," he says, flashing you a charming smile. "Wanna walk around with me? I have a bit of time before I need to get back to the car."

You nod eagerly, and the two of you start strolling through the paddock together. Franco points out different things as you go, sharing little tidbits about the teams and the cars. He's animated and funny, making you laugh with his impressions of some of the more eccentric engineers and drivers.

"So, how are the tests going?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Franco shrugs, a hint of a sheepish smile on his lips. "Not too bad, but not great either. I'm still getting used to some of the adjustments they made to the car. It's all about finding the right balance, you know?"

You nod, hanging on his every word. "I bet you'll figure it out. You're a great driver."

He glances at you, his smile softening. "Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot coming from you."

You blush at the compliment, looking down at your feet for a moment. "So, what's next for you? Are you hoping to move up to F2 next year?"

Franco's eyes light up at the question. "That's the plan. It's tough, though. There are a lot of talented drivers all fighting for the same spots. But if I keep pushing and show them what I can do, who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky."

"I hope you do," you say earnestly. "You deserve it, Franco."

He grins, giving you a playful nudge. "You're making me blush, Y/N. Keep this up, and I'll be too flustered to drive."

You laugh, feeling more at ease with every passing minute. "Well, we can't have that. You need to be in top form for your sprint race."

"Exactly," he says, his tone teasing. "And I should probably head back soon. Gotta get in the zone."

You nod, feeling a little disappointed that your time together is coming to an end. "Good luck, Franco. I'll be cheering for you."

He smiles, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. "Thanks, Y/N. It really means a lot to have you here. Maybe we can hang out more later if you're free?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," you reply, your heart fluttering at the thought.

Franco winks at you before turning to leave, his confident stride carrying him back towards his team. You watch him go, a smile on your face and a warm feeling in your chest, already looking forward to the next time you see him.

After Franco heads back to his team, you decide to wander around a bit more before making your way back to the F1 paddock. The air is filled with the sounds of engines revving, and the scent of fuel lingers in the air. It's all so thrilling, and you find yourself smiling at the sheer energy of it all.

As you walk, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the paddock, causing papers and debris to scatter. Something light and red flutters through the air and lands near your feet. You look down to see a Prema Racing cap lying on the ground, the wind continuing to tug at it.

Instinctively, you bend down to pick up the cap. Just as you stand back up, you hear a voice behind you.

"Hey, thanks for grabbing that!"

You turn around and feel a jolt of surprise. Standing in front of you is the boy from the Barcelona Grand Prix, the one who nearly ran you over with his scooter. He’s wearing a Prema team jacket, his brunette hair slightly tousled from the wind. His brown eyes are bright as he steps closer, taking the cap from your outstretched hand.

"You're welcome," you say with a smile. "It was about to fly away."

He looks at you more closely, squinting a bit as if trying to remember something. "Wait a minute… Have we met before?" he asks, a curious smile playing on his lips.

You can’t help but laugh. "Yeah, we did. Barcelona, remember? You almost ran me over with your scooter."

His eyes widen in realization, and his cheeks flush a deep red. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry about that!" he exclaims, clearly embarrassed. "I was in such a hurry, I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to—"

You wave a hand, cutting off his apology. "It’s fine, really. No harm done. Just gave me a bit of a scare, that’s all."

He rubs the back of his neck, still looking sheepish. "Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I’m Oliver, by the way. Oliver Bearman." He extends his hand with a friendly smile.

"Y/N," you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but gentle, and there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes you feel at ease.

"Nice to officially meet you, Y/N," Oliver says, grinning. "I promise, no more scooter incidents."

You laugh again, enjoying his company. "I’ll hold you to that."

Just as you’re about to say more, a voice calls out from behind Oliver. "Bearman! We need you over here, now!"

Oliver turns his head towards the source of the voice, one of the Prema team members waving him over urgently. He gives a quick nod before turning back to you. "Looks like duty calls," he says with a small sigh. "But it was really nice running into you again, Y/N."

"Yeah, you too," you reply, feeling a bit disappointed that your conversation is being cut short. "Good luck with everything."

"Thanks," Oliver says, flashing you one last smile. "Maybe I’ll see you around this weekend?"

"Maybe," you say with a nod, hoping that you do.

He gives you a small wave before jogging off towards his team, putting the cap back on his head as he goes. You watch him for a moment, still smiling from the unexpected encounter.

As you turn back towards the F1 paddock, your mind buzzes with everything that’s happened today. From spending time with Franco to running into Oliver again, it feels like this weekend is already full of surprises. You can’t help but wonder what else might be in store.

With a renewed sense of excitement, you make your way back to the hustle and bustle of the F1 paddock, eager to see what the rest of the weekend will bring.

Here's part 4

[ggomos-maribat]

1 | in which Tim Drake tries to propose to the PA

Part 1 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Bruce tried not to flinch as he sat down on his swiveling chair. He had twisted his ankle from pursuing Penguin's goons the previous night but had to cover it up for work. Sure, he was used to hiding injuries and slipping into his CEO persona, but that didn't mean his muscles weren't sore and beat-up. 

Just in time, his PA entered the office, carrying a stack of folders and a hot mug of coffee. "Here are the partnership offers I filtered from the initial pile." She placed the papers atop his desk. "I've also noticed that there is a defect in the new prototype of the research department that they are yet to attend to." 

Bruce frowned. "But isn't the demo and meeting for it scheduled today?" 

"Yes, that's why I've convinced the head supervisor to push it back to next week after they deal with the defect," Marinette reported. "I've also postponed the investors meeting to tomorrow since there was a delay in the materials." 

She lowered her voice as if relaying a secret. "I noticed you have difficulty walking today, Mr. Wayne. With your modified schedule, all your work can be done here at your desk. If there's other legwork to do, I'll take care of it." 

Somehow, in perfect timing, Marinette always managed to accommodate the times when he was injured. Bruce didn't know if he was getting bad at hiding it because of his old age or if the girl's intuition was just crazy sharp. Maybe it was both. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Marinette. I appreciate it." 

She opened up the first folder in front of him and transferred the mug to an electric warmer. "Another skiing accident?" 

"Not as bad this time. Just a twisted ankle." 

Next, she lowered the blinds just to allow just a peek of the sunlight and prepared a snack tray on a circular table beside his desk. Bruce never communicated the particulars about his preferences and he wasn't actually picky about his office space (unlike his son-slash-co-CEO). But this PA of his, just somehow knows. Like Alfred-levels of expertise. It creeped him out a little if he were to be honest. 

She clasped her hands behind her back. "Anything else, Mr. Wayne?" 

"None at the moment, thank you." 

She raised an eyebrow. 

. . . Which drew out a sigh from him. "Fine. Can you maybe help limit Tim's caffeine intake today? He had too many cups last night and he didn't listen when I told him to take the time off today." 

"Of course, I'll do that right away." She nodded in satisfaction. 

When she left, Bruce pulled up a tab on his computer to search for the legal documents, wondering if there was etiquette about an employer legally adopting their employee. 

***

Marinette entered the office of Tim Drake after receiving a greeting from Tam at her desk beside the door. The young PA kept her hands behind her back as she approached the boy who was glued to his computer screen. Upon closer look, she could see the heaviness under his eyes, accentuated by the dark circles on his pale skin. 

"I looked into your request of acquiring a commission piece from M.D.C.," Marinette told him. 

There was only a slight shift in his exhausted expression—a downturn of the mouth—before his scratchy voice replied. "I thought they don't accept commissions anymore." 

"Yes, but I re-visited our correspondence and apparently they still make pieces for selected clients." She took a deep breath. "And I got you an in." 

The clicking of the mouse suddenly paused, followed by the widening of Tim's red-rimmed eyes. He practically crawled out of his seat to kneel before Marinette to take her hand in his. "Please marry me." 

Marinette gently pulled away. "Sorry, Mr. Drake, my contract with Mr. Wayne prohibits me from marrying or getting into a relationship with any of his children." 

"Why?!" Tim cried out.

"Perhaps he precisely predicted this kind of situation." She smiled apologetically. "And by my guess, I think he wants to adopt me first and not marry into the Wayne family." 

Not that she actually wanted to be the newest addition to her boss' family. 

With a pout, Tim retreated back to his chair while muttering about Bruce's adoption addiction. But in a second, he brightened up once more as he seemingly remembered the new opportunity he gained with M.D.C. "I have to compile my requests for the clothes!" He furiously tapped at his keyboard.

Marinette's heart went out for Tam. It looked like Tim wasn't getting proper work done that day again. 

"I will forward the list to M.D.C. as soon as it's ready," she assured. 

And while the co-CEO was immersed in researching designs in his half-conscious state, Marinette brought out the mug from behind her back and exchanged the coffee on his desk with decaf: a custom brew which was guaranteed to help him sleep for the afternoon. 

In triumph, she exchanged thumbs-ups with Tam through the glass window of the office. 

***

Marinette kept a watchful eye on Bruce's office to keep anyone from entering and disturbing the boss. But when she peeked into the room to deliver more files to him, she saw Bruce facing the open window and talking softly with Superman himself, who was at the other side of the glass. 

Fortunately, neither of them seemed to notice her. She closed the door slowly and leaned her back against it, wondering if she should be guarding the door with her life. At the strike of bad luck, one of the company executives was heading straight towards the direction of the office. 

He shot her a look as she blocked the way. Head to toe. "Mr. White," she greeted slowly.

"I have some papers Mr. Wayne must sign urgently." He narrowed his eyes. 

"Sorry." She forced out a smile. "Mr. Wayne is a little . . . preoccupied at the moment. Why don't I take those papers off your hands and I'll have him sign them later?" 

The executive clutched the stack tightly as if it were some precious treasure. "No, I need to have them signed now. If you can let me in, I'm sure Mr. Wayne won't mind a short interruption." 

He stepped to the side but she moved in his way just as swiftly. Marinette sighed inwardly. This is beyond my paycheck. And judging by how White went here on his own, it must be some fund-farming project proposal Mr. Wayne would never agree to. 

"Get out of my way!" He cried out. "Who do you think you are?!" 

"I apologize, but Mr. Wayne is meeting an important guest. Under no circumstances must he be disturbed," she told him firmly. "I'm certain the papers can wait. He's not going anywhere." 

"Listen here," Mr. White spat out. "I have more authority over you. You will do as I say right now!" 

"Mr. White—"

"I will tell Mr. Wayne how incompetent you are! Rude to company executives! How dare you speak to me like this?!" Marinette stared with disinterest as his neck turned red and his forehead threatened to pop a vessel. 

"What is going on here?" 

Marinette felt the door open behind her to reveal Bruce, looking at White with clear exasperation. What she didn't expect was a bespectacled man emerging from behind her boss clad in business clothes. 

"Mr. Wayne!" The executive squeaked. "I need you to sign these—"

"Did you not hear my PA?" Bruce punished him with a cold look. "I was receiving a guest. And you had the nerve to cause a commotion right outside my office." 

"But—" 

"Leave. Now." 

Mr. White scurried away, tail between his legs, as other passing employees whispered to each other. Marinette stepped aside to give way to the two men. 

Bruce cleared his throat. "Thank you for your time, Clark. I'll get back to you soon." 

Superman—Clark—responded with a nod and a gentle smile before excusing himself out of the area. Marinette watched his back whilst he left. If anyone looked more attentively, they'd notice that the button-up and slacks Clark was wearing was too tight for his size, pointing to the fact that they were Bruce's and not his. 

"Marinette, if you can keep quiet about . . ." Bruce trailed off, face twisting as he tried to pick his words carefully. She, of course, would know that no guest had entered his office despite Clark Kent exiting it only a few moments ago. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. I won't tell anyone about your affair with Mr. Kent," she promised before walking back to her desk. 

"Thank you . . . Wait, my what?" 

[genericpuff]

So Webtoons is getting sued by a bunch of law firms in class action lawsuit. Saw it on reddit. Apparently they lied to shareholders about revenue which is like one of the worst things I could imagine doing to your shareholders. Then their stock dropped again. Wow....wonder how this is gonna effect readers going forward or how they're gonna be more exploitative in the future. Not saying the down of Webtoons has begun but I wonder if it's gonna be the start of it.

Yep, I've been following this since the initial investigations began.

All that said, we likely won't see anything of this for a while, if anything even comes of it. The reality is that Webtoons... really didn't actually lie about being bad at making money. It's literally outlined in their IPO documentation:

So these lawsuits, at least in my opinion (*I AM NOT A LAWYER NOR AM I ANYONE WHO HAS ANY EXPERIENCE PLACING WALL STREET BETS, TAKE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY WITH MOUNTAINS OF SALT) is less about Webtoons 'lying' to shareholders and more so about them kicking the debt down the road which these lawyers want to try and hold them accountable for. It's not uncommon for startups to seek out private and/or public funding to help them stay out of bankruptcy, but such practice is incredibly shitty because if a company was already near the point of bankruptcy to begin with, what exactly is going to change to ensure that they actually make that money back with an additional net gain for those investors?

So in that sense, either something will come of this, or it won't, nothing's really a guarantee as of now. It's just as common for startups seeking public investments to get sued within their first 1-2 years because a company not returning on their initial investments within 3-6 months is a prime cut for lawyers to drool over. Despite their attempts to be honest about their earnings, the vast majority of Wall Street investors are paranoid little fuckers who invest in whatever's new and exciting with the hopes that it'll turn them a profit quickly and without headache. Unfortunately, Webtoons isn't a company that's known for having huge profit margins, which these investors would have realized if they knew anything about this industry or at the very least, bothered to read the fine print that Webtoons was obligated to lay out for them in their documentation. At best the majority of them saw Webtoons' offering that covered buzzwords like "content generation" and "AI" and went "yes please, I love money!" without realizing that webtoons, as a medium, have some of the highest production expenses to lowest-paying demographics out there and therefore companies like Webtoons aren't going to be a short-term gratification. It's more like waiting it out for the "next big thing" that will make that stock valuable again, a massive gamble that isn't guaranteed to payoff. And that's just the game of Wall Street in general.

That said, it's because of how difficult it is to directly monetize digital comics that Webtoons often has to rely on selling merchandise and IP rights in the hopes they'll land a whale - but even their pre-existing whales like Lore Olympus and Let's Play have either nothing to show for themselves, or have left the platform entirely. Of course, they'll vaguely claim that two of Netflix's highest-performing projects came from their platform, but any peek at an aggregated Top 10 list will prove that that is simply not true, and at best, they're referring to True Beauty's live action adaption, which is simply not even close to breaching that list of all-time top-performers (except probably in Korea but this is Goldman Sachs and their American investors they're trying to convince), All of Us are Dead (see above, same situation as True Beauty), and Heartstopper which is... not even an Originals series. Of course, that didn't stop Webtoons and Tapas from boasting about Heartstopper's Netflix adaption and its success on the platform, but literally none of its success is exclusively owed to either of those platforms, Alice Oseman flies solo and if anything, Heartstopper never would have gotten to the point it's at if it were tied down to a Webtoon Originals contract.

So in a sense, until anything comes of these lawsuits, they're more so just lawyers jumping on their own investment opportunity - the opportunity to get settlements from Webtoons for both their clients and themselves by extension. At best what they feasibly have against Webtoons is the company getting way too high on their own supply without anything to feasibly show in terms of profit for their IP's. Considering how many IP's they sold to television and film production studios back in 2019-2022 when they were at their peak over the lockdowns - a peak that is long in the rearview mirror - they are incredibly behind in actually paying off those promises. Even in a recent meeting they held just the other day with Goldman Sachs, they're quoted as saying: "When Rachel Smythe was a graphic designer in New Zealand, 4 or 5 years ago, and she had a story to tell, we enabled her to not just tell it in one part of the world, but globally. She became a NYT Bestselling author, she is rumored to be releasing soon as a major animated release."

When even the company that hosts Lore Olympus as its prize pig can only say that its long-anticipated TV production that both Rachel and Webtoons have been assuring people on repeat that the show is "still happening" and that what they've seen so far "looks amazing" is simply 'rumored to be releasing soon'... I don't even have the words to describe how embarrassing that is for them. Never mind the fact that Lore Olympus has been over for months and both it and its creator, Rachel, have been falling into the pits of irrelevancy. They don't have any other home-runners to bet on, they're just continuing to bank on Rachel as their own example of someone who "got big" even though it was years ago and that fame is now shrinking with the passage of time, you can even see the performance of the series dipping in its own front-end metrics over time. They are trying so hard to convince people that they're worth investing in when the one thing that actually DID have that kind of allure has now come and gone.

Never mind the fact that again, most Wall Street investors probably don't even participate in webtoon culture so the name "Rachel Smythe" isn't some golden ticket to fortune. Lore Olympus might get a bit more of a reaction, but it's going to be a lot more mixed due to how divisive the series became in the end, and general audiences who are new to Webtoons as a public company (and the medium as a whole) are still not so likely to know what the fuck that means or why it's significant. The best time to pull the "we have Rachel Smythe!" card in the public investing pool was, like many other things Webtoons has fallen behind in, years ago. Now it's clear Webtoons thinks that Rachel is their own personal J.K. Rowling, but they forgot the part where Rachel is creating for an incredibly niche and historically unprofitable medium that is nowhere near as big as what Harry Potter was back in its prime, and - personally speaking - that Rowling and Rachel are both, well... terrible at what they do.

Webtoons also has the added burden of not being a startup company. They're not some grassroots Silicon Valley tech startup run by a bunch of friends "with a dream", they're an extension of an industry that thrives overseas but barely has any infrastructure to support it here. They've been bankrolled for years by an overseeing tech company - Naver - but have consistently failed to get out of the red and so of course, now they're turning to public investments to help them out and subsequently, are passing that debt off to the next highest bidder, which is Wall Street. They had nearly a decade to figure their shit out here in the West and while they had their opportunities to thrive, those opportunities have come and gone, a lot of doors have closed and now this all feels like their own attempts to rip those doors back open again.

There is a LOT to insinuate already that Webtoons - a Korean-hosted platform - wasn't ready to enter the Western market and this fumbling of their public stock image is yet another great example of that. Even outside of Webtoons, other Korean-run platforms like Tapas have relied on private investments to keep them afloat (and still do, Tapas is still operating privately) and have routinely struggled to get a real foothold in the greater Western industry despite how much they hyped themselves up as the "next big thing". They're all playing the same game over and over again expecting better scores even though the playing fields are entirely different than what they've come to expect in Korea, where much of the entertainment industry is built around webtoons, much like how our entertainment industry in the West is built around comic giants like Marvel and DC (and even those giants are faltering as we've been seeing over the past several years).

Anyways. I don't know if this lawsuit is gonna go anywhere, there's a lot to the legal process that could lead to a variety of different outcomes, but at the very least, their plummeting stock value and the lawyers circling them from above is yet another notch on their belt of fuck-ups over the past few years. I know it's easy to say this in hindsight and I'm not the kind of guy to say "I told you so", but considering I've been following along with the bullshit of these major platforms for years and knew as soon as Webtoons was rumored to be going forward with an IPO that it would lead to disaster, I'm pretty confident in saying, "No really, I told you so." And I don't entirely blame the investors for that (except for the ones that clearly didn't read the fine print) - I also blame Webtoons for that, because they are a chronically unprofitable company run by a bunch of clowns who manufactured their own demise by getting in WAY over their heads and clearly don't even have a concept of a plan let alone an actionable one.

And that sucks, because the people who stand to get hurt the most are the ones who were made those empty promises years ago, long before the platform entered Wall Street - and that's the creators who were promised that their livelihoods would be secured and their work would be protected.

I will forever bully and make fun of Webtoons for everything they've done in and to this industry. I hope at the very least those investors learned an expensive lesson, and that the damage these lawsuits have already caused to Webtoons' public image - regardless of whether or not these lawsuits win - empowers others who have been screwed over by them to speak up and make their moves. They are not a monolith. They are a brittle business operating from the trunk of a clown car on their way to becoming a penny-stocks sham.

Fuck Webtoons <3

[moonchildstyles]

announcement/sneak peek

ahhhhhhhhh I'm so excited to be announcing another series for you guys! imdoing this a little different in that im not quite as far written out this time as I usually am but that does open up the possibility of you guys kind of helping me mold and shape some of this story! there might be moments where something you might message me or comment that could inspire something for an upcoming part! while im a little nervous that im not as preplanned out as usual, these possibilities make me so excited!

but anywayyyyyy starting August 18th I'll start posting the new series here on Tumblr! im still working on naming it so shfhusfhsuhf but its a bodyguard h fic! y/n is a tabloid bunny/socialite who's father believes she needs more guidance in the form of a security detail and harry has been tasked w the job! I also have a Pinterest board up for it that you can take a look at if you want to get an idea of what I have in store and what kind of characters we have! below I have a sneak peek for you guys!

On my patreon rn though, there is an extended sneak peek up and the new series will begin being posted next Friday, August 5th! they will be getting early access of 2 weeks before Tumblr and will get the first chance to help me plan some of the unfinished parts of the story! if you're at all interested in taking a look at the story a bit early or what to get involved some, pleaseeeee WAIT to sign up for patreon until august 1st! that way, it'll keep you from getting charged back to back right away!

super excited to be posting this as this is the most ive posted series wise like ever so thank you guys for taking the time to read nad be supportive and yeah! thank you!

lmk if you have any questions or anything!!

—————

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbowed propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed in tact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and, we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind he back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused n her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll who's only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

[mayajadewrites]

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Story Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Thirteen: Ready

When you wake up Levi is no longer next to you. You see the imprint his body left, his spot still warm when you move your hand over it. You yawn and remember its Monday and it's time to get back to reality. 

You pad to your room to start getting ready, hearing Levi in the kitchen. You've never been up when he makes his morning tea, so you lean your elbows on the railing to watch him.

He doesn't notice you're watching him, thank God. You watch as he steeps his tea, his hair a bit damp from his morning shower. He's wearing a white t-shirt and his dress pants, his biceps perfectly pooling out of the sleeves. 

He takes a sip of his tea, nodding in approval. Then, he grabs another mug. He pours the tea from the kettle to the mug, your mug. Your eyes grow wide as you almost run to your room, trying to pretend as if you didn't just watch an intimate moment.

Levi knocked with his index finger, to which you let him in. "I had a feeling you would wake up when I got up." He handed you the mug. "Get ready fast, we have an important meeting today." 

You nod and take the mug from his hands, letting your fingertips glide across his. He turns away and closes the door behind him.

You finish getting ready, your outfit consisting of a pencil skirt that hugs your curves just right,a blouse tucked in with balloon sleeves, and a pair of heels.You lift your hair to put on your jewelry, to which you're reminded of last night. "Fuck." You sighed, turning to your closet. You find a cute turtleneck and a pair of slim dress pants that are equally as nice on your figure as the skirt. You slip on a pair of flats and pull your tote bag over your shoulder.

When you see Levi at the door, you see a peek at a bruise you left for him. It's nothing major so no one will notice.

Hopefully.

_________________

"How was the conference?!" Eren and Mikasa walked to your desk. "Mr. Ackerman looks super tan, and so do you!" Eren said.

"It was boring, but nice to be in the sun for a few moments." You nod, opening your laptop. "How was your week without me?"

"I certainly missed you." Mikasa gave you a warm smile. She has a face similar to Levi's, her eyes just a bit bigger. "Leaving me with all of these men..." 

"Hey, you had Hange!"

"They don't count. They can be just as disgusting as the men that work here." 

You watch Levi glare at Eren and Mikasa as he walk into his office, immediately shutting the door behind him. 

"What's his deal?" Eren tilts his head.

"He's moody. It runs in the family." Mikasa laughs. 

You hear a ping from your laptop, informing you of a message.

Levi Ackerman: My office. Now.

You gulp and close your laptop, making your way to his office only a few feet away from you. 

"Something wrong, Mr. Ackerman?" 

"I just wanted to prep you on our meeting today." He gestures you to sit. "This is a big deal we could have, meaning we can build luxury housing downtown. But it would be affordable housing, and it would be staying at the same rent until the tenant moves out." 

"That sounds really nice." You nod. "Are the investors not nice people?"

"They are... they just, have other people that want to build. So we need to make sure we secure that deal." 

"Got it." You stand up from your seat. "I'm sure you'll do great, Levi." You could tell he was visibly nervous.

He only nods, motioning his head towards the door so you can leave. 

The meeting is after lunch, so you sit and chat with Hange, Erwin, Eren, and Mikasa during your meal time. 

"You tan so well!" Hange looked at your skin up close. "And your skin, wow, almost no pores!"

"Four-eyes, can you please look up what personal space is and then practice it." Levi entered the room. You watch as he steeps more tea before turning your focus back to the conversation. 

"I'm just saying! Did you get any good info from the conference?"

"It was quite boring." You sip your water. "I'm glad it was in Mexico, though. The sun is different there."

"I bet." 

Levi quietly exits the room without a word.

"Did you see the hickey on his neck?!" Eren half whispered, half yelled.

You froze. How the fuck did he see it?

"Maybe it was from Petra. She's always gawking at him when he walks by. Maybe he finally gave her a chance." Eren nudged Mikasa with his elbow. "He's your cousin, ask him!"

"Eren you seem to forget that I'm not nearly as nosy as you are. That's his business. If it's Petra, good for him."

You ate your salad, not wanting to make any remarks towards the conversation. Could Eren put 2 and 2 together as to why you're wearing a turtleneck and Levi has a hickey? 

No. But Erwin and Mikasa definitely can.

When you look up, Erwin is already staring at you. He's smirking as he takes his last sip of his coffee before washing his mug in the sink. "I'll see you after the meeting." He waved goodbye to the table.

_________________

The investors meeting went perfect, and Ackerman Inc had a new client and a new project for affordable housing. You took notes as you always do, observing Levi as he presented. He's so poised and professional, the words coming out of his mouth sounding so... beautiful together. He's very charming, when he wants to be.

"Hey," Erwin gently pulled on your forearm. "Can you come to my office for a minute?"

"Yes, sir." You nod, following Erwin. You turn around and see Levi watching you leave, his eyes slowly dragging up from your ass to your eyes.

"I know what's going on." He closed the door gently behind him. "Levi tells me everything, but I want to make sure you're okay."

"What did he tell you?"

"That you two made an arrangement. He pays you a bit more on the side for spending time with him."

"Mhm." You nod.

"Are you okay with that? Levi is a rather cut and dry type of man." 

"Yes. We both win in the end."

"He likes spending time with you." Erwin crosses his arms over his chest. "He hasn't said that to me out loud, but I know he does. So whatever you're doing, great job. He's a bit nicer when he's here." 

"I'm just... being his assistant, I guess." You shrug.

"I know that hickey was you, by the way." Erwin said as you opened the door to leave. "And you must have a pretty big mark since you're wearing a turtleneck."

"See you later, Mr. Smith!" Your cheeks burn red as you leave his office.

______________

"Let's celebrate tonight!!" Hange put her fists in the air. "We got our biggest contract yet! Drinks on Levi!" 

"I didn't volunteer for that. But sure, a couple of rounds on me." His voice was low as he leaned on the doorframe of his office, looking onto the floor of people.

"Really, Mr. Ackerman?! Are you gonna come out with us?" Armin smiled as he grabbed his bag.

"I'll make an appearance later."

"Let's plan to meet at 730 at the new bar down the street - I think it's called Trost?" Hange pulled out their phone. "Yeah, Trost. See ya'll there!" 

"Levi, are you seriously going?" You say as the elevator descends. 

"Yeah, I'm in the mood to celebrate." His eyes are glued to his phone when the door opens. You see Petra at the front desk, not a hair out of place. You can't help but feel some sort of way when you walk by her knowing that she's drooling over Levi.

He's not yours though, so no reason to get upset.

"Have a good night, Mr. Ackerman!" She waved. "You too!" She said your name with a smile.

Levi didn't say anything though, he just watched as the valet pulled up with his car and he opened the door for you. You took his hand, his thumb gently rolling over your knuckles. It was a fast, soft touch, but it made your heart skip a beat.

"Are you coming tonight?" Levi asked as he pulled out of the parking garage.

"Yeah, might as well have a bit of fun, right?" 

"Mm." He nods, resting one hand on the wheel while the other lays on his thigh. You can't help but wish his hand was on you at this moment. "Well we should celebrate. Because of everyones stats, the clients were impressed. I've been bugging Jaeger for months to get his shit together, so I'm glad he pulled through when we needed it the most."

After you got home, you looked over your closet, not sure of what to wear. You settle on a black satin midi skirt with a slit on the side, paired with an off the shoulder black sweater and a pair of platform heels. You pile on the makeup on your neck, making sure its barely noticeable. It'll be dark anyways. You styled your waves and accessorized with small chunky gold hoops and a necklace with your initial on it. Then, you grab the bag Levi got you in Mexico. Your fingers hover over the embossed 'L'. 

"Are you ready?" Levi leaned onto your doorframe. He looked... handsome. Casual handsome, but so, so handsome. He's wearing a black t-shirt, but it's textured so it gives it some life, and black jeans. He paired it with black loafers that looked like they have never been worn. Your eyes scan his body, just as his do yours. You watch his eyes devour your curves - that he can see anyways - all the way down to your shoes. The slit in your skirt exposes your thigh, which is undoubtably Levi's favorite part of your body.

He loved the way your thick thighs felt on his legs, around his waist, against his head - everything about them. Especially the plush, sensitive skin on the inner thigh. His eyes quickly jumped back to yours as he cleared his throat, waiting for your answer.

"Ready." 

[paperweight91]

I shall prompt you with a GIFt!

Ahhhh Siri, you know how much Lloyd always brightens my day! I hope you like it 😏

You woke up to the sound of something rustling. As you blinked away the fog of sleep you realized that the sound was someone rummaging in your kitchen. You sat up stock straight in bed, fully awake. You felt your heart beat race in your chest as the rustling got louder, closer maybe? It was starting to sound more like frustrated searching.

You looked to your bedside table for anything you could use as a weapon. Of course you had left your phone charging in the living room. Your mom was always telling you to be more thoughtful about having your phone nearby. You could hear her voice in your head now as if she was right in front of you. “The city is no place for a lady to be alone. You have no idea who could be lurking in your building! You promise me now you’ll keep your phone on you at all times.”

You huffed as the closest thing to a ‘weapon’ you found was a particularly high heel you planned to wear this weekend. What the hell were you supposed to do with this?

Suddenly the noise in your apartment stopped. Silence was all you could hear. Maybe the burglar had given up that you had anything good?

That hope was quickly dashed when the door to your bedroom swung open with a bang. Instinctively you curled in on yourself and held up your hands. Cowering beneath your blanket.

“There you are pumpkin!” You knew that voice. But it couldn’t be…

You peeked up at your midnight intruder. “Lloyd? What, what are you doing here?” He didn’t answer just looked around your room, searching for something, you still weren’t sure what.

Your boyfriend had broken into your house in the middle of the night. Not only that but,

“Wait, Lloyd, oh my God. Is that blood? Are you hurt?” You were up and bounding over to him before you could stop yourself. Checking over his face and arms. He had clearly been in a fight. Lloyd preened under your attention, but quickly stopped your efforts to check him over.

“I’m fine. You got a first aid kit around here?” He scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to look around your bedroom. He seemed paranoid, like he was afraid there was someone lurking in the shadows.

You pulled him back into the living room and sat him on your sofa as you ran to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. This was all so odd. You and Lloyd had only become serious recently, and you weren’t even that serious. You hadn’t even given him a key to your house.

As you walked back into the living room, to see Lloyd lounging on your sofa the thought echoed in your mind, you hadn’t even given him a key yet. “So uh babe, what happened?”

You approached Lloyd cautiously, suddenly concerned that there was so much more to the man you were dating than you ever realized.

He squinted as he looked up at you. The joyful expression at seeing you having faded into something much more sinister. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” He huffed, snatching the first aid kit from your hands. You flinched, as ice cold fear started to drip down your spine. Lloyd had always been so loving and kind, the man in front of you seemed completely different.

“It was a bad day at the office, Pumpkin.” He had turned his charm back on, as he cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his hands. He winked as he finally looked up at you. His face fell once again as he saw the terror written clear as day across your face. “What baby? You really thought that I was just an investor? You gotta know by now that was a line.”

The hurt flashed across your face, “Lloyd, what’s going on? Are you in danger? And uh how did you get into my apartment?”

He smirked as he stood, towering over you. “Oh Pumpkin, you really are gullible aren’t you?” He stalked into your kitchen, pulling himself out a glass and filling it with some of the whiskey you kept around for when your dad visited.

Your mind was spinning. But you still couldn’t put all of the pieces together. Lloyd wasn’t who he said he was, he broke into your apartment, and now he was staring at you like an animal ready to devour its prey.

“I think you should leave now Lloyd.” Even though you tried to be strong, firm, your voice came out with a wobble.

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat Lloyd sauntered over to you, “I don’t think so sunshine. I think you’re my prize for a bad day. And you’re gonna show me all the ways you can take care of me aren’t you baby?”

You gulped as he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you close. The look on his face left no room for argument. And judging by Lloyd’s injuries, he was likely the winner in his fight. You did not want to test him tonight.

“I’m sorry babe. You know me, I get so squeamish. I just got scared.” You were proud that you were able to keep the tremble out of your voice.

Lloyd was proud that you were doing exactly as he said.

“That’s my good girl. Now take me to bed, Daddy’s had a long day and needs some TLC.” He turned you towards your bedroom, all you knew for certain is you were in for a long night.

[maybege]

217 with paz pls🥺

Home Is Where The Heart Is

Summary: You visit Paz at one of his conference after not having seen him for a long time.

Pairing: sugar daddy!Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 9.1k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom!Paz, sub!Reader, a whole lot of size kink, hints of exhibitionism, unprotected sex, idiots in love, kind of a fake relationship agreement not really a sugar daddy arrangement, lots of checking in and pausing due to size difference (Paz’s BDE is real), crying during sex (from pleasure not pain, Paz makes sure of that), just pure fluff and happiness but also they are idiots in love so remember that

Prompts: #3 “I'd hold onto something if I were you.” + #32 “I just wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it.” + #217 “Can you help me with this zipper?” + “There we go.”

Thank you, anon and @adancedivasmom for sending in these prompts! I know it has been a very long time in the making but inspiration strikes when it strikes and I wrote over half of it in the last 48 hours. It drifts from fluff to pure filth back to utter fluff and I just love how idiots in love I can put in with these two. They have the most unconventional relationship (again, a reminder that this is not an actual sugar daddy dynamic, it is just a kind of very unusual meet cute) so of course they will also have an unusual way of perceiving and revealing their feelings for each other. You can find the Masterpost to this AU here (including some hcs). I really had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you have a lot of fun reading it as well. Pretty please let me know what you think in a comment or a reblog, they really do mean the world to me and motivate me so much when it comes to writing and sharing my little brain babies. ❤️

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

gif by @bernthality

“How is my favourite cat?”

“She is busy knocking over the flowers you sent over.”

Crash!

You sighed.

“Maybe we should really invest in these break-safe vases your sister recommended,” you murmured, trying to sit up so you could peek over the edge of the sofa. Safe enough, Snowball was sitting on the sideboard in the entryway, peering down at the shards as if it was as much a mystery to her as it was to you.

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” Paz chuckled, rubbing his chin, “I will text her tomorrow.”

The sound of his laugh seemed to get Snowball out of her thoughts and she bounded for the sofa you were currently laying on. With a loud meow, she jumped onto the armrest, laying low so she could butt her little face next to yours, in plain view of the camera.

“Look who has come to say hello,” you smiled, tilting the phone so he could see her more clearly. Your other hand reached up to scratch her little chin.

“New York’s most important cat,” he agreed and you hoped the phone would pick up the purr she let out as she leant into you.

“She misses you,” you murmured, “She hardly stopped staring at the door yesterday.”

As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You had sworn to yourself, in the early days of your fake relationship or whatever it could be called, that if there was one thing you would do it was to lift Paz up. And if that required you to hide how much you missed him (ridiculous amounts, really) then so be it.

“I miss her too,” he sighed, “And you.”

“How is the trip so far?” you asked, trying to sound more chipper, “Are the investors as happy as you’d hoped?”

“They are as boring as I expected them to be,” he shrugged before a slight smile formed on his lips, “But I cannot wait for the shareholder’s dinner on Saturday. Are you still planning to come?”

“Of course, I am,” you said indignantly, sitting up at the, “We haven’t seen each other in three weeks!”

Paz laughed, “I am sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean any offence,” his face softened, “Briggs will pick you up on Friday for the flight so you have time to relax. There shouldn’t be a lot of appointments I made sure –“

“Mr Vizsla? There is – oh.”

You could see one of his assistants in the background, clearly only now releasing that he was in a private conversation. There was a quick flash of displeasure on Paz’s face that disappeared as soon as you noticed it and you were sure that it was only because you knew him so well by now that you had recognized it.

“It’s all right,” you soothed him, already seeing the apology on his face. He had once said he hated goodbyes, especially because they were never his choice, and you could see it now, too, the way he seemed to be searching for the right words to appease you.

“I will see you in a few days,” you smiled, “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he sighed, “Give Snowball some kisses from me, yeah?”

*

You spent the week feverishly preparing for your trip. It was funny to think that the part of your relationship that you found the most luxurious was the one that was actually at the core of your arrangement. Paz was lonely and on many occasions, his advisors advised, would work in his favour if he had a female companion to fulfil the picture of the man who had his life together. So somehow your accidental match on a drunken night had led to you being his travel companion. And the platonic companionship had quickly developed into something … not quite platonic.

To think that a stupid drunken idea by your friend had led you to sit on your bed, surrounded by the prettiest dresses you had ever seen and contemplating which one to take.

The doorbell rang you out of your thoughts and you laughed when Snowball skittered over the wooden floorboards to greet her second favourite man in the world.

“Briggs, you are early,” you greeted the older man with a smile and no venom in your voice. If there was one person on Paz’s team that made you feel welcome, it was him. Paz’s most trusted advisor and, quite tellingly, also yours.

“Good morning, Miss,” he nodded at you, straightening his tie before bending down to pet a purring Snowball, “Good morning, Miss Snowball.”

“You know you can call me by my name,” you reminded him as you made your way back to your bedroom and your half-packed bag.

“Old habits die hard, Miss,” the older man called from the living room, “Are you quite ready? I have arranged a car to take us to the airport, it should be here in five minutes.”

You rushed into the bathroom and picked up your already prepped toiletries bag and stuffed it into your suitcase. It might just be a weekend trip but if there was one thing you had learned when travelling with Paz Vizsla for business it was that it was always safe to pack two fancy outfits for every occasion – just in case.

“Five minutes should be enough,” you answered, “I got most of the packing done yesterday, I just need your help with something.”

When you popped your head through the door, you spotted Snowball rubbing herself against Briggs’s legs as the man primly sat in an armchair. He turned to look at you and the two dresses you were holding up. “Which one do you think –“

“The dark blue one,” the man decided with a nod, already knowing what you were going to ask, “Mr Vizsla has his dark blue tie with him, that should harmonize nicely.”

“Thanks,” you sighed a breath of relief, carefully folding the dress on the very top before closing the bag, “I can always count on you to make the best choices.”

“And to be on time,” the man added, standing up and running his hands over his jacket, “Which means that we should get going if do not want to miss our plane.”

*

The conference meeting Paz was attending took place on the coast, in one of those fancy beach hotels that looked like it was a luxury that had survived from the last century. It was stunningly beautiful and you found yourself admiring the golden accents and hand-painted wallpapers before you could even start to really appreciate the tastefully quiet piano player in the corner.

“Welcome, are you checking in?” the receptionist greeted you as another employee loaded your suitcase on a golden luggage trolley.

“Uh yes, I am here to join Mr Vizsla,” you answered, always feeling a little nervous when you had to make your connection to him known.

Recognition dawned on her face. “Ah yes,” she typed something into the computer before handing you a key card, “Mr Vizsla told us to be expecting you. Here’s your key card, you’ll need it for the elevators and all the amenities which you will find on the second floor. Just around the corner here,” she leant towards you and pointed towards a little nook, “take the elevator up to the eighteenth floor and you will find your room on the right side of the hall. Do you need anything else?”

You nodded, taking the card in hand. “That would be all for now, thank you.”

“Should I have your bags brought up?”

“That would be kind, thank you,” you smiled at the young man who hurried your bag away.

Briggs, who waited behind you for his turn to check in, cleared his throat. “Mr Vizsla is still in some talks, I’m afraid but if you like I could organize a dinner reservation for you.”

Shame filled you when you remembered what time it was. You hadn’t even thought about food. “I think, I will be fine, Briggs, thanks, I will just get some room service.”

The older man nodded, “Then a very good night, Miss. I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Briggs.”

*

The suite Paz stayed in was, not to anyone’s surprise, absolutely gorgeous. The bedroom was large and the bed the largest you had ever seen. You smiled when you saw one side completely untouched – your side – and his clothes neatly folded on one of the armchairs. The wall opposite the bed was dominated by a flat-screen TV and the little desk by the window could barely be seen through piles and piles of paperwork.

After tipping the bellboy, you immediately took off your shoes and buried your toes in the soft cream carpet. You always dressed for comfort when it came to travelling but there was still nothing better than unpacking your suitcase and putting on your pyjamas for a comfortable night in.

You had just checked your cameras at home (Mrs Marigold had been so kind to volunteer and check in on Snowball every day) and made sure that Snowball was comfortable and taken care of when your phone vibrated with a new message.

Paz: Talks take even longer than expected. Don’t wait for me.

Then,  just a moment later, another message popped up.

Paz: I am glad you are here.

You: Should I order some food for you? Gonna get some room service.

Paz: Got dinner here but I can recommend the tacos on there, had them yesterday and they were delicious.

You smiled at the screen, sending him a quick heart emoji. Already feeling closer to the. And so, you ordered yourself the tacos, watched reruns of The Nanny and lounged on the bed, already knowing that tomorrow you would wake up with Paz beside you.

*

You flinched up, eyes wide open as something woke you. You just didn’t know what. It took you a moment to realize you were in a hotel room and not at home. Someone was beside you and your heart stopped in fright for a second before it resumed beating in your chest.

It was Paz.

“I’m sorry,” the man whispered in the dark, scooting behind you, “I missed you.”

You smiled, relishing in the heat of his body against yours. He was shirtless and his mouth on your shoulders made you giggle. But your smile faded when he shifted away from you and the bed lifted with someone taking their weight off it.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, reaching your arm behind you only to find cold sheets.

“I need to shower,” he grumbled, “I stink.”

“Don’t go,” you pleaded, “We can shower tomorrow.”

You could hear the grin in his voice, “We?”

The blanket was lifted again and he was back behind you, so close not even a sheet of paper would have found space between your bodies. In the back of your mind, you wished you weren’t as tired, that you could appreciate his presence more. But then his arm wrapped around your middle and his breath fanned over your neck and you felt the happiest in weeks.

“Yes,” you murmured, closing your eyes again and allowing your body to drift back to sleep, “We.”

*

It was barely light out when you woke again.

“Paz?” you asked, sleepily, reaching for him only to find the space beside you empty. Again. You sat up, afraid that perhaps all of it had been a dream. What if Paz hadn’t come last night? What if something had happened?

Blinking, you finally found your focus and heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Moments later, Paz came in, a towel wrapped around his hips and you bit your lip. In the curtain-clad twilight of the room, it seemed he had not noticed yet that you were awake, sneaking his way to the wardrobe and taking out a new dress shirt.

You let your eyes roam over the broad expanse of his back, how the muscles bunched and flexed as he moved through the room. There was that spot just under his shoulder blade that you loved to run your hands over and if he just turned around – ah yes, there was that tattoo that you traced with your fingers.

“I thought we would shower together?”

Paz looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours and even in the dim light, you could see the smile on his face. He let the shirt fall and with two big steps, he was at the end of the bed, crawling towards you as you let the blanket fall from your chest and wrapped your arms around his neck. He breathed in deeply, his nose running over your jaw. And then his lips were on yours and you got to kiss him for the first time in weeks.

You hummed, smiling against him as your fingers played with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, still a little damp from his shower. His mouth was gentle on yours and the stubble on his chin let you know he hadn’t shaved today.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” Paz whispered between kisses, his mouth wandering to your jaw. You closed your eyes, your arms loosening around him as you tilted your head to the side to give him more access. “Did you miss me too?”

“Uh huh,” you brought out, his large hands cupping your face, his entire hand spanning your jaw to behind your ear, “Missed you so much.”

“Can’t wait for the dinner tonight,” he said, turning your head so he could kiss you on the mouth again, his tongue slipping between your lips. You shuddered, your fingers combing through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. You loved seeing him in his professional get-ups with his hair slicked back and his sharp-cut suits. But there was something to say about how different he looked when he was just freshly showered. He looked much lighter, brighter and overall softer. Like a truer version of himself that you knew he hid when he attended meetings like these.

“Briggs helped me choose the dress,” you murmured, leaning more and more into him, “You will love it.”

“I’ll be sure to thank him,” he whispered back, pulling you against him and leaning back until you straddled him, “I have a meeting this morning as well. I am afraid I won’t have more time for you until tonight.”

“When will you need me?” you asked, taking in how soft he looked. There was no frown between his eyebrows, and he looked so … peaceful and relaxed.

He was silent for a moment, his eyes fluttering as you traced your finger over his jaw. “I always need you,” he whispered and closed his eyes, turning his face to the side and pressing a kiss to your palm, “I swear I don’t know how I ever got through these things without you.”

“I am sure you did fabulously,” you assured him with a smile, kissing the corner of his mouth, “And it will all be over tonight.”

“It will all be over tonight,” he repeated in a murmur, “And then I can show you how much I missed you.”

*

Hours later, the ringing phone woke you from your dreams.

“Hello?” you asked groggily into the speaker, feeling even more tired than when Paz had left you this morning to attend the very last meetings.  

“Good morning, Miss, this is the reception calling,” a woman chirped from the other end, “Mr Vizsla asked us to remind you of your spa appointment in an hour.”

You huffed with a smile. That was so typical of him.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “I really would’ve forgotten about it.”

“Would you like to order room service for breakfast?”

“Uh, yeah,” you asked, looking frantically around for the menu, “I, uh, I don’t know what I want yet …”

“May I suggest our breakfast special?” the woman on the line suggested candidly, “It has some fresh pressed orange juice, coffee, pastries and eggs however you want them.”

“That sounds good,” you nodded, “Could I have them scrambled please?”

“Of course, I will have it brought up shortly.”

*

When the afternoon was nearing its end, you felt more relaxed than ever in your life.  

Paz had booked what felt like the entire spa menu for you and after all kinds of massages, treatments and relaxing sauna visits, you felt like you were living on a cloud. But truly the best thing about your spa visit was that it distracted you from the entire day you had without Paz. Because as soon as you opened the door, you were greeted with your very favourite sight.

Paz Vizsla was clad in only briefs as he unglamorously hopped into a new pair of slacks.

His face turned up and a blinding smile came onto his lips. A smile you could only reciprocate.

And before you knew it you hurried into his arms and he hold you against his chest, stumbling from how his feet were tangled into the piece of clothing but you couldn’t care less when he kissed you like a man starved.

“Remind me to never go this long without seeing you,” he grunted between kisses, “I always hate it.”

You couldn’t answer from how his tongue was playing with yours, your core clenching at how close he was. Stars, you wanted to do other things than preparing for dinner.

And it seemed that Paz wanted that too because his hands cupped your ass, pushing you against him and there was definitely a prominent bulge pressing against your hip.

“When’s the dinner start?” you asked breathlessly, running your hand over his warm chest before tracing your fingers over his lower stomach.

Paz’s hips surged forward, urging you to touch him and you could feel your cheeks and frankly your entire body heat up with want. “Too soon,” he answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling you between his legs. His hand shifted to your hips and he looked up at you.

The bathrobe you had worn to the spa gaped open at the neck and you watched him tug at the fuzzy belt with a smirk. The cool air caressed your bare skin and could feel your nipples harden under Paz’s admiring gaze.

You lifted your knee to the bed right next to his hip, hoping to look as enticing as possible. “Don’t you think we have enough time for a –“

“I am not going to have the first time I fuck you in weeks be a fucking quickie,” Paz complained, though his hands did pull you closer for a minute, “I want to take my time with you, make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good.”

“I could make you feel better.”

“Paz,” you whined when he pushed your leg off him, making you stand again, “Please.”

But the large man was not to be swayed, even with his erection too prominent to ignore, “Not yet, sweetheart, just let us get through this dinner first.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

You pointedly looked at his crotch.

“Don’t you worry,” he grinned, “I am going to take care of that and then I am going to take care of that tuxedo Briggs got me to bring.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me for it.”

And the sad truth was: You did.

*

“Can you help me with this zipper?” you asked, turning your back to a just-emerging-from-the-shower Paz, “I can’t reach it.”

Paz did not let you wait, immediately stepping behind you, the heat of his body radiating onto your back. “You look so beautiful,” he said, his fingertips grazing your bare skin before getting a hold of the zip. It was a dark blue silk dress, one that accentuated and hugged your curves and made you feel irresistible with the deep back and swooping neckline.

“We’re in partner look,” you joked, glancing at the dark blue tie he was wearing, “You look very handsome, Mr Vizsla.”

He grinned, turning you around, “And I am sure no one will notice when I am accompanied by a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

And you were proven right because the first words you heard when you entered the hotel’s restaurant that had been booked for the occasion were: “Mr Vizsla, what a beautiful companion you have brought with you this fine evening.”

“Mr Organa,” Paz greeted the man in front of you, “A pleasure to meet you again.”

He introduced you to him and you shook the man’s hand, reciprocating his friendly smile. “I do hope we get to talk again, Mr Vizsla,” the man said when the bell rang, “But now I think it is time to eat.”

Spending the evening with him once more reminded you of how much you loved him – even when you tried your hardest not to. Paz made sure to scoot as close to you as possible, his chair touching yours and it did not take long for his arm to settle comfortably on the back of your chair.

He laughed with his business partners, talking numbers and making jokes and it took everything in you not to spend the entire time just staring at him like a love-struck teenager. Mrs Organa, who was fortunately sat next to you, involved you in a conversation about the most recent restoration projects of a Mr Boba Fett and so you spent the evening with Paz’s fingers brushing your shoulder and the occasional kiss on the cheek and talking to an incredibly interesting woman.

And still, all you wanted was for Paz and you to be alone.

“When do you think it would be not too early to go?” you asked him teasingly as the dessert was served. It was a delicate chocolate-y creation, served on a giant plate with what looked to be mango sorbet beside it.

His arm left your shoulders but his hand immediately landed on your knee, fingers drifting even higher. Paz chuckled, “I’d suggest now but the way you’re eyeing that chocolate soufflé has me thinking otherwise.”

You glared at him for his joke but the man just grinned, his dark eyes twinkling with joy as he took a bite of his own portion. The conversations around you continued and you watched as almost everyone went out to the dancefloor and the lights dimmed on the dining tables.

But all you could do was admire Paz out of the corner of your eyes. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair as he observed everyone and even when he was lacking any tension in his shoulders or on his face, he looked so much in control of everything.

Stars, he was handsome.

His hand crept up on your thigh and you shifted, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks as he planted a kiss on your bare shoulder. “What are you thinking about, love?”

You loved when he called you that.

“You,” you replied, tilting your head to the side and smiling when his hand came up to turn your face towards him, pulling you in for a kiss.

“What are you wasting your precious thoughts on little old me?” he teased you, his big hand cupping the side of your neck.

“Old? Maybe,” you grinned, “But little? I don’t think so.”

He growled playfully, surging forward to kiss you again. Hard. His teeth grazed your bottom lip and you opened up for him, letting him control the kiss. When his free hand slipped down your side, his fingers passing your chest dangerously close, you squeezed your thighs.

“Paz,” you whimpered against his neck, gasping for breath, “I haven’t felt you in weeks.”

He growled, his hand landing dangerously high on your lap before discreetly squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his fingers so close to your core you were surprised the fabric of your dress did not come back with a wet spot. “Believe me,” he said, “I am more than aware of how long it’s been.”

Eternally grateful that the other guests had left your table to join the dancefloor, you opened up your legs the tiniest bit for him, needing his fingers just that much closer. Way closer than they were now. The grin on Paz’s face made your heart (and pussy) pulse and you swallowed thickly.

“I just missed you so much,” you said quietly, trying to bite your lip seductively.

“Did you now?” he leant forward, his nose brushing against yours. His fingers flexed, brushing higher on the inside of your thighs.  

“Uh huh,” you nodded eagerly, cupping his cheek to hold him closer. The stubble was rough under your fingertips and you remembered that time he ate you out in his city car in bright daylight. Stars, the things this man did to you ….

Paz chuckled darkly and kissed you again, soft and gentle while his fingers brushed over the thin fabric of your panties. His teeth tugged on your bottom lip just as your hips bucked against his hand and all shame left you.

If he wanted to fuck you out in the open you might just allow it if it meant you could finally feel him again.

But suddenly Paz was standing up and you were standing up and he was holding your hand, thick digits wrapping around your wrist as he dragged you towards the exit. You stumbled after him, a little confused but more excited than anything.

“We’re leaving now,” he grumbled, pushing the elevator button, “Waited weeks to see you again, I am not waiting any longer.”

The doors opened and Paz let you in first. You watched as he pressed the button at the very top and then turned to you. The look on his face made your breath catch in your throat. He had his hands in his pockets and the dark suit looked so good on him and then he had that slow smile on his lips as he approached you.

Your back bumped against the wall of the small room and your hands behind your back grabbed onto the waist-high bar they had installed on each wall.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his big hands caging you in, “I'd hold onto something if I were you.”

“Paz,” you said, your voice barely a whisper between the two of you.

“What?” he mocked you, his nose dragging along your shoulder, “All speechless now that you finally have my attention?”

You did not reply, probably proving his exact point but stars you were so turned on you just did not know what to say. Especially not when his large hand drifted along your thigh before grabbing your knee and lifting it up to his hip. He slotted his body against yours and his bulge pressed against your core. XXXX

“Don’t worry, I won’t take you like this,” he assured you, slowly grinding against you, “Can you tell me why?”

You whimpered, trying to move against him to get that pressure on your clit that you so badly wanted but his hips had you pinned in place.

“Tell me why first,” he instructed, “Then I’ll let you move.”

“Because-cause it’s too big,” your cheeks felt flush with warmth, “You don’t fuck me without preparation because you – you don’t want to hurt me.”

“Good girl,” he grinned, showing his teeth before using those same teeth to drag down the strap of your dress. Your head fell back and you regretted wearing a bra that night because it meant your nipples were rubbing against the lace instead of the cold fabric of Paz’s dress shirt.

The elevator pinged and you froze, your eyes immediately flitting to the little number over the door. This was not your floor.

Paz had a steel grip on your knee, preventing you from taking it from his hip. You could hear the door slowly opening and your heart raced for reasons other than the sheer excitement that Paz caused in you.

You watched as the dark-haired man slowly turned around, uncaring about the mess of his hair or your half-naked form in his arms.

“Take the next one,” he said and pressed the button for the doors to close. Then he leant back to you, one hand cupping the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over your jaw, while the other wandered from your knee to your hip, gripping at the naked skin.

You did not even catch a glimpse at the people he had spoken to. Paz’s body was completely shielding you from their view and somehow that did not help the wetness between your thighs.  

“I swear sometimes all I could think about was what it would be like to fuck you again,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss just underneath your earlobe, “

The way from the elevator to your room was a blur of wet kisses, wandering hands and hot skin. Somehow, Paz managed to find the key card in his jacket and you both fell into the room more than you walked, refusing to let go of each other.

Paz walked you back to the bed, one hand reaching for the lube on the nightstand while the other opened his belt. Your breathing felt heavy and you were sure your panties must have been completely drenched at this point. Your hands found the hem of your dress and you pulled it up to your hips, not having the patience to get completely undressed.

Stars knew you had the time tonight. You could take it off later.

Paz pulled out his cock and you watched mesmerized as he put a generous drop of lube in his palm before wrapping his hand around his shaft. The cocky smile on his face told you that he had caught you watching but you were. At this point, your relationship with Paz was nothing new – especially not your physical one – but his size always left you feeling nervous.

He was not only long but also thick and while you knew.

“Could stare at your pussy all day long,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around his shaft before rubbing his fingers carefully over your folds. You squirmed, the lube making you feel. One finger entered you and shortly after another one.

Paz pumped his fingers inside you slowly, his eyes mustering your face for any sign of pain but all you did was whine, trying to push your hips against his. Your walls clamped around him and when his thumb rubbed over your clit ever so slightly, you swore you already saw stars.

“Feels like you are ready,” he determined, the pace of his fingers picking up before slowing down again. Until they barely moved.

“Oh, stars why’d you stop?” you threw your head back, arching your back so you could take them deeper, “Don’t stop, Paz.”

A third finger appeared at your entrance and Paz pressed a kiss to your hip. “It never gets old,” he murmured against your skin, “Watching you take my fingers.”

“Would be much rather taking your cock right now,” you replied breathlessly, moaning when he pushed his fingers a little deeper.

Paz did not answer in the form of words but he pulled his fingers out and stood up. Having him look down on you gave way to another rush of wetness from your core. He looked so dishevelled and sexy, half-dressed with his cock hard as a rock.

“Spread ‘em for me,” he growled, taking his cock in his hand while the other pushed on your inner thigh. He stepped closer between your legs, his hand warm on your thigh.

“Good girl.”

Your walls clenched around nothing at his praise.

The feeling of his cock against your pussy brought back that little nervous voice in the back of your head. What if he would not fit?

But Paz knew how to calm you down. The heat of his body against yours paired with his forearm resting next to your face and his fingers tracing your hairline as he looked at you was the perfect combination for you to focus just on him. On the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his heavy breathing in your ear, the scent of his cologne in your nose.

When the tip of him pushed inside you, you gasped. He was bigger than you remembered and you were thankful for the amount of lube and your wetness that eased his movements.

Your breathing got faster and you could feel your walls stretch to accommodate his size. Paz’s fingers and you. His brows were furrowed and though his eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, they always met yours and you knew, you just knew, he was trying to see if he hurt you.

It felt like he was pushing all the air out of your lungs and you found yourself holding your breath, feeling his small thrusts stretch your walls more and more. Your belly fluttered and you felt so close to him that it made your heart sing.

“How – how much more?” you asked in a gasp, pushing your chest against his shirt to get some sensation on your nipples.

The large man looked down between you, his hand absentmindedly coming up to pinch your nipple, making you squeeze around him. 

He chuckled, his nose brushing against yours when he looked up again, “It’s barely in, love.”

Your smile fell and panic took over for a solid second. You could see the moment Paz took in your change of heart because his smile faded as well and his hand came up to cup your jaw. “What is it, love? Are you all right?”

“What – What if it is too big, Paz?” you asked shyly.

Paz frowned, though you did not get the feeling that it was because he was displeased with you, and slowly pulled out. “Then I will make it fit,” he said, “Or I will make you come on my tongue. Whatever you want, my love.”

You whined, immediately missing the feeling of him inside you. He peppered kisses along your neck, his hands under your dress, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. His eyes focused on your core and the sparkle you saw in there made your heart flutter and your pussy clench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you tried to give him more space. “I want you to make it fit,” you decided, feeling a little embarrassed at sounding so needy, “Please.”

Paz hummed, “Always so polite.” His shoulders pushed against the back of your knees as he looked at you. His eyes were so intense and, at that moment, you were convinced he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Deep breaths,” he reminded you, his thumb circling your clit as he rubbed his cock all over your folds, “I know you can take it. You know you can take it.”

You nodded, more to assure yourself than him. Because he was right. You had taken him countless times before and you could take him now. And if you couldn’t then it would not be the end of the world.  

Noticing you relaxing back into the sheets, Paz rested more of his weight on you. “Do you remember our safe word?”

You nodded quickly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“I do,” you confirmed, “You won’t hurt me, Paz.”

“I know how stubborn you can be,” he reminded you gently before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “I want you crying because I gave you too many orgasms, not because I am hurting you.”

You smiled at his comment but that smile quickly turned into a silent Oh when he circled your clit with his cock. Then he tapped his shaft against your pussy again and again and again. He felt hot and heavy and the wet sounds only spurred on the fire inside you. Stars, you wanted this man so bad.

The change in position helped a lot because this time he got the tip inside you like it was nothing.

“You are doing so good for me,” he murmured, his hips moving against yours in slow and small thrusts while his finger kept playing with your clit, “You are such a good girl for me, love, you deserve the world.”

There was nothing you could answer. Your throat was full of words but all you got out were breathless gasping sounds as you felt him get deeper and deeper. In your search to hold on to something, anything, you found his hand. You gripped his fingers so tightly, you were afraid to hurt him but Paz only squeezed back, his dark eyes searching yours and probably finding nothing but utter devotion in them.

Just like his.

His lips landed on yours so gently, it distracted you from everything. There was nothing but you and him and the way you felt so connected.

“Feel that?” he asked you quietly, his breath mingling with yours. You blinked, not really knowing what he meant. Paz smiled, his eyes softened when he laid his hand on your lower abdomen. “You took it all, sweetheart, you took all of me.”

“Oh,” you murmured, a little astonished, “Really?”

He laughed, “Really, love. How are you feeling?”

You thought for a moment, trying to take in all that you were feeling. “Full,” you answered truthfully, “But good.”

“Good, huh?” Paz started to move again, slow at first, making sure there was enough wetness and not a single trace of pain on your face, “It feels good to have me fill you up like this, huh?”

You nodded, too shy to repeat his words. Something was just how filthy he could get. And how he loved to fluster you with his said filthy words.

“Fucking dreamt of your pussy gripping me,” he grunted in your ear, his pace picking up, “Next time I am taking you with me. There is no way I am going to fly anywhere again without you sitting in my lap and taking my cock like a champ.”

“What – what about your advisors?” you asked, your body moving up the bed with the force of his thrusts.

“They can watch for all I care,” he murmured, “I already know the only one who can make this pussy stretch is me. I am the only one that can make you feel like this, aren’t I? The only one who can make you come and still beg for more.”

You nodded helplessly, feeling like you were about to burst at the seams. And then Paz changed the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly and you were done for.

“P-Paz, fuck, I’m –“ you gripped his shoulders, the tingling in your belly getting stronger and stronger, “Paz, I think I’m coming.”

Normally, that would only get him to move quicker, to have his fingers work on your clit in a way that was sure to get you over the edge before he came inside you. So, what you expected from your breathless announcement were Paz’s encouraging words while he slightly pinched your clit and bit your lip. What you didn’t expect him to do was simply stop his thrusts with an uttering of “Not yet you aren’t.”

Completely dazed, you looked at him as he pulled out. “Stand up,” he instructed. His voice was stern but not unkind and you blinked, watching him take off his tie and quickly unbutton his shirt. Your body ached with the lack of him and you weren’t sure if it was a tremble in your muscles that only you noticed but stars you felt like you were shaking.

Paz completely undressed and you tried your best to put your weight on your legs, your hands gripping the edge of the bed. But sitting up after having your thoughts fucked out of you by one Paz Vizsla seemed to be a bad idea because it just wasn’t working.

Paz seemed to notice your struggle, his hands pausing on his belt and he tilted his head, watching you fall back on the bed with a sigh.

“Do I need to call you Bambi?” he teased you, his hands coming up under your elbow and gently helping you up, “Or are you that fucked out already?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to think of a good reply. Only you could not come up with one because, stars, did he look good and, stars, did it feel good to be fucked by him. And it felt good to be with him and to touch him and to be touched by him and –

He stepped closer until his chest was pressed against yours, not saying anything. Your hand gripped his forearm and you waited with bated breath as he leant slightly over you. His fingers brushed over the nape of your neck, down your back until he found the zipper of your dress and slowly pulled it down, his hand tracing over your spine in the process.

When he reached the end, you shimmied your hips, the dress pooling at your feet. His eyes roamed over your figure, noticeably stopping at the way your panties were still pushed to the side.

“Beautiful,” he said, more to himself than to you but it warmed your heart nonetheless. Wordlessly, he helped you out of your underwear as well, his hands caressing your skin every chance he got. You had never felt so desired in your life.

His hand closed around your elbow and he started moving across the room.

“What are you doing?” you asked, following him away from the bed. You still felt uneasy on your legs but you knew you could trust Paz to hold you up and when he noticed your difficulty, he slowed down before stopping at the window front overlooking the city.

“I just wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it,” he explained as if it was no big deal.

You paused for a second and so did he, taking in your reaction.

“There is something about fucking you for everyone to see and knowing that no one gets to see you like this,” he elaborated, “Because I want you to look out at the world when you cream around my cock and recognize how fucking perfect you are.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

His smile lit up the entire room and he took your hands in his, positioning you exactly how he needed you. His calm but dominant demeanour made your pussy pulse again, reminded you how fucking confident he was when it came to your pleasure and how happy it made you to be able to fulfil some of his desires as well.

“There we go, put your hands right here and – beautiful,” he murmured, his hands intertwining with yours against the glass, “Now just spread your legs and there we go.”

The glass was cold under your palm and you could see the fog forming around your hand where the temperatures collided. Behind it, you could see the colourful lights of the city that a million people called their home. You were so high up there were barely any buildings that even reached your level but it did not help your nervousness to know that behind each little light there was at least one person.

There were hundreds of lights in your view.

You turned around, wanting to look at Paz for guidance. He slid his hands down your back before groping your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. He was unmistakably looking at your pussy and you shifted, feeling exposed under his gaze and in this position. Your movement made him look up, meeting your eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, his hand gently pushing you to turn back, “Look outside.”

Easy to say when he wasn’t the one whose knees would get weak once he started to get going.

“The whole city is awake and yet no one can see us,” he whispered, pushing his cock slowly back inside you. You sighed, resting your cheek against the glass. The cold air and arousal had caused your nipples to harden and you were highly aware of how your tits swung with each movement.

“Stars, imagine all the places I could take you, all the places I could fuck you,” he mused, one hand coming up to cup your tit, his finger and thumb rolling your nipple. You moaned, tilting your head to the side. “I want to have you with me everywhere I go,” he continued, “I don’t want to wake up another day with the knowledge it’ll be weeks before I can see you again.”

“Paz –“

“There we go,” he hummed, pressing a kiss against your shoulder blade, “That turns you on, hm? Knowing there is nothing I wouldn’t do to feel your pussy come around me. I could get us the room with the best view in the whole city everywhere we go,” he pulled on your nipple and you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure, “And then I would fuck you against that view and still the only thing I would want to look at is you.”

Your heart and your pussy clenched at sheer adoration in his words. “You are so fucking beautiful, love.”

“Paz, please, I –“

“What is it?” he asked you, his voice just on this side of mocking and why did that make him even hotter now, the way he made you feel a little too out of control, “What do you need, sweetheart?

“I need you to come in me.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” he reminded you, his hips not stopping their movement. Instead, his hands tightened on you just the tiniest bit and you whimpered, “You know I am the one who decides when I come in you. And it is only ever after I feel this,” he tapped his fingers on your clit, “tight pussy clamp around my cock.”

“I know, I know, but I,” you trailed off in a whine, pushing your hips back against his to try and work with his rhythm, “Please, Paz, I need it now.”

“Then beg me for it.”

You bit your lip, whimpering when he did not cease his ministrations on your clit. It pushed you even closer to the very edge and you could have cried from frustration. You just needed – You wanted – Why wouldn’t he just –

“That’s what I thought,” he mocked you, kissing your neck, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how shy that little mouth of yours is. You can’t wait to have your pussy stuffed with my fat cock but my innocent little sweetheart cannot even say the word cock. Or come,” he groaned, grinding into you, his fingers tugging on your nipple again, “Or pussy.”

“So, if you want my come before I planned to give it to you,” he breathed against you, “You have to beg for it, love.”

His rough tone made your cheeks burn and your pussy clench. Of course, he had noticed, Paz Vizsla was a ridiculously attentive man and there was a reason he was as successful as he was. You just had not thought that it would turn against you at some point.

“I am waiting,” he teased you, his cock once again hitting that spot that literally made you see stars.

With your hands slipping on the now warm glass and your pussy getting wetter and wetter, you knew there was only so much you could do before you would come.

“Please, Paz,” you cried, “Please come inside me, I need you to come inside me. Please, I – “ you hiccupped, tears stinging your eyes, “I want to feel you come inside my pussy.”

“Fuck, you really are that needy,” he stated, “Who would’ve thought.”

“Please,” you whimpered again, a single tear making its way down your cheek, “Please, Paz, I will do anything you want.”

You could barely stand, trying to keep your hands on the window and your knees from buckling. But that only got harder with each thrust of him inside you. And he was getting closer too. You could feel it in the way his breath hitched, or how his mouth sought out your neck, something he liked to do before he filled you up.

“Hm,” Paz mused, one hand coming up to hold yours against the glass. His entire body pressed against yours, holding you up and making you feel. “Anything, you say? What an enticing offer that I will certainly get back to. But for now, I think you begged prettily enough.”

His words should not have relieved you as much as they did but they did. More tears streamed down your cheeks and you let your head fall, trying to focus on how good you felt, how your entire body tingled with him close and how he.

While one of Paz’s hands stayed on yours, the other arm reached around you and found your clit. “You ready to get filled up?” he asked you, playing with that bundle of nerves, “You want to feel my come inside that tight little pussy. Want me to make you that pretty little mess I know you like to be?”

You nodded eagerly, “Uh huh, p-please, I want that.”

Paz groaned, the sound pure heaven to your ears, and his pace picked up. His thrusts got harder and deeper and ended with him grinding even more into you like he wanted to reach places you did not even know existed. And it made you feel that much better.

“Good girl,” he praised you, “If there is anyone who deserves my come, it is you.”

Clamping your walls around him and trying to move your hips against him, you did your best to make him feel as good as he made you. It was when he got quiet that you knew he was close and not even a moment later, he pulled you straight up, pressing you completely against the glass and him inside you.

You gasped at the cold feeling on your skin, but there was something undeniably erotic about having your tits squeezed up and Paz behind you. He buried his face in your neck, sucking a mark into your shoulder while he ground into you again and again. And it was that feeling of him coming inside you, paired with his fingers still very much circling your clit that made you come around him as well.

And it made you almost black out. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth opened in a silent gasp. You could feel your walls squeeze uncontrollably around him, milking him for all he was worth and you were pretty sure you had lost all control over your limbs. You were just hanging there, mouth open, pussy overflowing and legs trembling with the love of your life right behind you.

“Oh shit,” Paz laughed, feeling you tremble between him and the glass, “It’s a big one, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t really answer but you also knew you did not need to. Because Paz was there to take care of you.

For a little while, he did not move at all, simply letting you ride out your climax while he slowed his strokes over your clit. Time and again you could feel him twitch inside you and you thought to yourself that big one didn’t only apply to you – he had come so much inside you, it was already dripping out around where he was softening inside you.

“You are doing so good for me,” he whispered finally, pressing another kiss to your neck and you turned your head, trying to get him to properly kiss you. And he did, his lips gently landing on yours while he, very carefully, pulled out of you.

The feeling of his come flowing out of you made you grimace and shift on your feet.

“Bathroom?” he asked you quietly and you nodded weakly.

The hotel bathroom was all white marble and had fancy lights and even though Paz only switched on the mirror light, it made you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper. Why was everything so fucking bright?

“Shhh I know I know,” Paz murmured, wrapping his arms around you and leading you to the shower nook, “But I know you will want to clean up, right?”

You nodded against his chest, relishing in his body heat. “Forgot my shower stuff though,” you remembered with a frown.

Your big man chuckled, turning on the rain shower to the perfect temperatures. Not loosening his arms around you, he turned you both so you could tilt your head back and let the water flow over your body. “That is okay, love,” he said, his thumbs gently rubbing circles on your back, “You can use mine.”

The thought of smelling like him made you smile and, feeling a little more like yourself, stood up on your toes to kiss him.

Paz did not wait for a second to reciprocate but you noticed he held back.

“What is it, Paz?” you asked him, running your hand over his wet hair and wondering if he would ever consider leaving it as curly as it was, “Did you not like it?”

He shook his head with a smile. “It was more than I could ever dream of, love,” he smiled, “I was just thinking …”

You tilted your head, watching him consider his words.

“I meant it when I said I want you to accompany me on my travels.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “So you can fuck me everywhere you want?” you joked, trying to hide the very real fear that his feelings did not run as deep as yours did. Sure, you had started your arrangement on quite superficial terms but it had been a long time since anything you felt for him had been superficial.

“No,” he shook his head, “I mean, yes, that too, but … I missed you, sweetheart, a lot and I don’t think I want to spend my time away from you when there is a way that we could be together.”

“I mean we also spend a lot of time together when you are home,” you argued, drumming your fingertips on his chest, “I thought maybe you would like to have some alone time once in a while?”  

“About that …” he rubbed the back of his neck and seeing him made you realize something very fundamental.

You could not contain your smile, leaning a tiny bit back from him to really take in all of him. The way he avoided your gaze, how he shifted on his feet as if he was nervous, how he.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“You can keep your city apartment, of course,” he assured you immediately, “I was just thinking, I mean … I have this big place and Briggs keeps pointing out it is due for some redecorating and I …” he interrupted himself, drops of water falling from the tip of his nose and lashes, “When I am with you and Snowball I feel more at home than anywhere else in the world. And I am wondering if you feel the same way?”

Of course, I feel the same way, you wanted to scream at him, I have been in love with you ever since you asked me to take care of Snowball.

But you remained silent on that front, not wanting to scare him away. Instead, you reached up to pull him closer. His nose brushed yours and the tiny frown between his brows betrayed his insecurity. How rare it was to see Paz Vizsla insecure.

“Yes, Paz,” you smiled against him, kissing him slow and thoroughly, “I would very much like to move in with you.”

The look of complete happiness on his face, when you pulled away, was only echoed on yours. You were sure your grin could only ever be rivalled by his and you squealed when he pulled you up and spun you around, water flying everywhere.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he set you down. His hand found its way to the side of your neck, his thumb and finger spanning your jaw. He did not let you go and his grin faded, replaced by a look on his face you could not quite pinpoint except for how warm it made you feel, “You have no idea how happy you make me.”

“I might have an idea,” you replied shyly, feeling your heart beat against your chest. Was this the moment you could tell him? Was this where you confessed your undying love and revealed just how much you would do to see him happy? How you wanted to wake up with him every morning and fall asleep with him every evening and spend your weekends with him and Snowball curled up on the couch?

But when Paz rested his forehead against yours, you convinced yourself that the moment had passed. Sure, he wanted to move in with you but did that really mean anything? Maybe he just wanted to put another layer of security on your fake relationship arrangement?

“So …” you murmured instead, “How are we going to tell Snowball she is going to move again?”

[labselkie]

first skyliv post after a while,, still in a purple mood but these two r so so sweet and strange and they always have my heart

btw once they got back to liv’s room they kissed YURI BLAST💥

Top floor of Fisk Tower, September 15th, 2018.

The late evening sky’s deep indigo was sharply contrasted by the floor’s golden lights. It was all for Alchemax’s annual fundraising gala, one Fisk insisted on holding for him to embezzle as much extra money as possible. So, just as usual, the head scientist was dragged along. Thank goodness she could bring a plus one.

Lucielle watched herself in the silvery doors of the elevator, her back against the wall as she gently fidgeted with a row of lace on her long dress. The few rows ruffled around her waist, just under a thick ribbon bow, a detailed addition to her flowing powder blue gown. Olivia stood right in the middle, fingers tapping rhythmically on the opposite forearm. Her own dress was striking, deep pine green silk that draped over her frame like curtains, but hugged just perfectly around her hips and back. A few pieces of silver jewelry accented both their outfits: Lucielle with her favorite octopus ring and some pearls, and Olivia with a simple bracelet and familiar locket.

“And you’re sure you’re alright with me hanging around you?” The selkie asked, yearning for reassurance. Her right hand rose to her shoulder, gentle fingers brushing through the short fur there.

Olivia turned her head slightly, a faint smile visible as small curl fell out of her tighter updo. She had on smallest bit of makeup that Lucy had insisted on helping with, even if the glint of her glasses from that angle hid it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The elevator slowed, and the chatter of people outside became more apparent.

“I’m not sure,” Lucy shrugged, stepping forward to the doctor’s side. “You’ve been to a dozen of these, haven’t you?”

When the doors slide open, Olivia gently takes Lucy’s left arm in her hand, looking out to the crowded ballroom before letting a

smile slip into her face. “Only half of a dozen,” She whispers, “Just enough to know when to come fashionably late.”

A deep voice booms from the furthest wall where a short stage and podium are sat. It was Fisk himself, a hulking man that Lucielle wanted nothing more than to ignore. He was announcing their arrival, the crowd turning in tandem before slowly clapping, somehow in the most stuck-up and rich way possible. Lucielle’s arm, hooked around Olivia’s elbow, pulls hers a little closer. She’s been to fancy gatherings before, attended parties and balls, but this felt like a lot. She figured out why Olivia liked to hold her hand or arm so often, it was grounding, it was nice being able to hold on.

Olivia steps in, wearing that stupid smug smile better than her own fancy dress. She gives a few waves with her free hand and gently tugged Lucy along like a dog on a leash.

This was going to be a long night.

•

Most of that night consisted of science talk. Lucielle scurried off for a good bit to eat and explore, but she came right back to chime into Olivia’s conversation, a conversation she had no clue was with an investor. She should’ve figured that out easily, but she just got excited.

“Your Mutant detector… Is that little thing still for sale?” A strange man asked as he adjusted his grip on a glass of wine. He wore a green pinstripe suit, and his hair was slightly ruffled, more outwardly villainous than even the Kingpin.

“It is, actually,” Olivia answered with a smile, “I’d be thrilled to work with you regarding its progress.”

That’s when Lucy poked in, her nose twitching as she approached Olivia’s side from the crowd. “The detector..?” She chimes in, peeking around Liv’s shoulder. The doctor perks up, quickly turning her head with her brows furrowed as she tries to hold back a small laugh. Osborn looked more disgusted than anything, just confused at Lucy’s presence.

“Mr. Osborn,” Olivia looked back, bringing her hand to Lucy’s shoulder. “This is my assistant, Lucielle, she helped very closely with the device.”

His eyes narrowed, like a contest’s judge scrutinizing an entry. Lucy gives a small smile and wave, the motion causing Olivia’s composure to slip as she snickers.

“I’m… Glad you could find some help,” Norman adds, looking back to the doctor. It just seemed like he was frustrated with Lucielle’s behavior. Thankfully, he gives a courteous smile before continuing, “The young lady aside, Oscorp has an upcoming meeting for our technology department, we’d be very grateful if you could attend.”

Lucielle could pinpoint the moment Olivia lit up. It wasn’t just the money she looked forward to, if that were the case she’d just be focused on Fisk. Rather, she yearned for the development of her work, to build off of a bit of advice and compile all the knowledge she could. The doctor grinned, who knew if she planned to claim the upgrades from Oscorp as her own, too.

“That’d be wonderful!” She adds, her hand on Lucy’s shoulder tightening. “Mr. Osborn your input would be invaluable.”

“Perfect,” He replied, before turning to the elevator that just reopened. Someone he was waiting for must’ve arrived, as he steps to the side. “I look forward to working with you.”

Just like that, the man disappeared into the crowd, leaving Olivia and her little lady standing at an empty tall table. The doctor’s gaze flits around a bit, a common motion that comes with her excitement, as if she wants to take everything in at once.

“Yes!” She exclaims under her breath, her stance loosening when Lucy turns to nab two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress. Her forearms fall to the white tablecloth and she leans her head forward, still chuckling. She only looks back up when Lucy hands over a glass. “That- That was the one thing I hoped for tonight.”

Lucielle smiles back when Olivia takes a sip, holding her own glass in both hands to keep them occupied. They mirror each other’s movements; first Lucy puts her arms on the table as well, then she leans a bit closer, and Olivia follows.

The doctor takes another drink as her friend continues, “I used to think you hated Oscorp.”

“Hate them? Maybe if they were competent competitors I would,” She chuckled, putting her now empty glass down. “But they’ve got something helpful: money, sweetie.”

Lucielle straightens and holds her hand over her mouth as she laughs.

•

“Thank goodness we live here, huh?” Olivia kept her voice down as she gently took Lucy’s arm back in her own. They stayed late, far later than either expected. Many of the guests were still there, but everything had wound down. Other than Olivia’s few collaborators and colleagues and Lucielle’s short chat with a friend and Dr. Ohnn, they did everything they needed. So, they did the only thing they knew to: slip out unnoticed.

“Mhm,” Lucy nods, sticking close to the doctor. She was quiet for a majority of the gala, but she was more than happy just sticking around Olivia like arm candy. She takes a quick step ahead, weaving through people and trying to help Olivia slip through as well.

“Hey, I’ve got some wine at my place,” Olivia adds suddenly, “You didn’t look like you cared for the champagne here.”

Lucielle snickers when they reach the hall to the elevators, and she looks back. “Mmh, no I’m alright.” She shrugs and clicks the button to go down. “Save that for a bigger occasion!”

Olivia took a moment to adjust the collar of her dress, but she didn’t seem disengaged for even a moment. “This is a big occasion,” The elevator door slides open in the middle of the sentence, and she ushers Lucy in as she finishes. She lets the elevator begin its descent before continuing, surprising Lucielle in the process, “I don’t usually get to share my successes.. If the deal goes through, I’d want to celebrate that with you.”

[seoksgrl]

happier than ever, 1. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcohol use, allusions to addiction and depression

m.list next

The envelope has sat untouched on Namjoon’s desk for over a week now, with no hope of being moved. 

When he got news of his high school reunion, Namjoon’s initial reaction was nausea, followed swiftly by guilt, and then he did what he does best and simply ignored it. It’s the easiest solution to the thoughts and memories that have taunted him in the back of his mind. Flashing by across the back of his eyelids before he shuts them away in a box, far far away where they only come out in the dead of night when he stares at his ceiling and files through all his past regrets. Then, he wakes up in the morning and carries on. 

It’s been twelve years since he left Yeocho, abandoning his life when his biological grandparents reached out to him, providing him with the best possible chance at a better life and moving him to Seoul. To go back home would be a mistake, he thinks. It would unravel everything, and most of all, it would leave him feeling worse than he would if he just didn’t go.

So that’s why he’s not going to. 

Namjoon has enough on his plate right now, juggling a thousand different responsibilities and problems bursting at the seams for his attention, and so he can’t imagine a trip down memory lane is going to help things. Even if there’s that small, yearning little part of him that misses every square inch of that quiet town, and the one person in it he is certain doesn’t want to see his face ever again. And all at once, the second the image of you comes into his mind, he forces it right back out again, like a blip of light in the night sky. He’s gotten pretty good at it too, he’s had over a decade of practice. 

Pulling his desk drawer open, Namjoon grabs the offending envelope distracting him from work, dropping it in and closing it with a slam that rings with finality. He can’t continue to stare at it on his desk, not when his grandfather is ill and his title might change from heir to owner a lot sooner than he had planned. 

It’s not that Namjoon is afraid of becoming the heir to his family’s grand hotel chain, he’s been groomed for exactly that since he was eighteen. He just feels the natural nerves and worry of taking on such a big responsibility - he knows that’s what it is, which is why he doesn’t overthink it. 

“Mr Kim,” Hana, his assistant, peeks round the open door, bright eyes full of naiveté and a youth Namjoon hasn’t felt in years, “your eleven o’clock is here,”

He nods, readying himself to battle with another investor who feels he isn’t being paid what he’s due. His grandfather has always been a formidable man, never taking shit from anyone, but Namjoon hasn’t quite managed to live up to that persona. He’s still a joker at heart, doesn’t take his life too seriously until he has to. 

And as he stands from the desk, casting a last look at the drawer in his desk, he walks off to the meeting realising with a heavy feeling in his chest that the time is coming around at an alarming speed. 

For the last two months, Namjoon’s grandfather has been in a coma, not quite willing to let go and meet his maker, as stubborn as he is. Instead, he has been sleeping, unmoving save for the times of day where the nurses come to turn him, preventing any onset of bed sores, giving him his daily baths and checking his vitals, regretting to inform Namjoon and his grandmother that there is no change.

Since the stroke, Namjoon has taken on the role of co-owner with his uncle, Soohyun. He can’t quite tell if his uncle resents having to take orders from his nephew, but Namjoon can only hope he will make the change over seamless when the inevitable day comes where he will sit before the board and officially take over as owner of Guilded House in Seoul, and it’s many other establishments dotted around Korea. 

For now, though, Namjoon sits in the private suite of the hospital room, reading one of the worn paperbacks he keeps in his bag in case he needs to take a moment to himself and escape reality for a while. It’s a coping mechanism Namjoon has adopted from being young, unsure of the world and distressed as he watched his mother struggle to make ends meet as she raised him alone. For the better part of his childhood, he only had books to keep him sane, and of course yo-

Namjoon’s eyes blink furiously as he focuses once more on the same sentence he’s been stuck on for the last fifteen minutes. He gives up, closing the book with a soft slap as the battered copy gets hidden away into the confines of his bag. 

The ongoing battle between staying present and being with his family in the city and taking one more - possibly final - chance to see the town he grew up in again has been waging a war inside of him all week, almost giving him permanent indigestion as the date of the reunion creeps closer. It’s not that he is afraid to go to the town, of course be spent his formative years there, playing on the pier or terrorising his favourite shop keeper while his mother worked in the back of the bakery. 

No, Namjoon isn’t afraid of all that, but he is terrified to see you again. His eyes drift out of the window of the hospital, the Seoul skyline hazy as the cool, October fog hangs over the city. For the umpteenth time this week, Namjoon finds himself sliding his wallet out from the pocket of his slacks, flipping open the expensive letter to tug out the photo he has kept inside it since it was gifted to him as a teen, alone and confused in a big city hoping to bring with him a piece of him. 

The photo of you is yellowed at the edges now, over a decade of being tucked into and pulled out of the same wallet having discoloured the polaroid boarder. Namjoon’s thumb absentmindedly brushes the surface of the picture, right over your surprised smile as you reach out to him in the photo. You were laughing at him, he recalls, begging him not to take the picture - a typical artist, never wanting to be the subject, despite how beautiful of an art piece you were. His heart flips a little, assaulted by that same familiar weight that has pressed on his chest for all these years, his smile fading as he wonders what has become of you since he last saw you. 

You’re probably married now, a few kids littering your feet all born with the same paint-smudged fingers as you. It makes him a little breathless to imagine you leading this whole other life without him in it, and as his grandmother enters the room and his moment is shattered, he briefly realises that it’s how it was meant to be. 

The idea is easier to stomach when the reason for Namjoon’s current privileged lifestyle lays motionless in a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines. No, it’s when he is alone in bed that it becomes harder to see that way. There are long minutes where he can’t come up with a single thing in his life that is worth not having you in it, but, as always, the thought is pushed back into the same little box he keeps everything else. Waiting for its moment to burst open and force him to acknowledge the things he has feared for the past twelve years.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Namjoon’s grandmother bursts through his subconscious, her eyes on him when he lifts his head from where he had been staring into space, “You have been frozen for the last half hour,”

He has to admire the strength his grandmother showcases despite the fact her husband of almost sixty years lays unconscious in the hospital bed for the ninth week in a row. She has helped Namjoon focus, kept him grounded and dealt with the press surrounding his grandfather’s condition. 

Despite all this, the thoughts bugging him should remain just that - thoughts. Or at least that is what he has decided. He had slowly begun considering returning to his hometown, if only to say goodbye once and for all, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave his grandmother all alone while she says a long, painful goodbye to her husband. 

“Please put yourself out of your misery and just tell me what’s wrong, Namjoon,”

Her voice is stern, not in the way that makes Namjoon feel as if he is being scolded, just in that typical way she has always spoken, strong, confident and not willing to take any shit from anyone. 

“It’s nothing really, it doesn’t even matter,” He glances over at her again, wincing at her raised brows indicating she isn’t going to let this go, “I just. Well there is a reunion, back in Yeocho. A school reunion thing, they’re honouring me as one of their ‘successful graduates’,” 

Whatever that means, Namjoon had thought when he saw the letter. There are probably many other students who built lives from themselves instead of being handed the keys to the city simply by birth. 

“Then you should go,” His grandmother says, returning her gaze to the newspaper in her hands as if the conversation is done, just like that, but Namjoon sputters, unsure how to process it all and wholly unhappy with the idea of abandoning his family, “Namjoon, you haven’t been back since you were a boy,” she fires a look at him, a serious one that has something in his spine tightening, inspiring him to straighten his posture, “You have big responsibilities ahead of you. There won’t be any time to reminisce once you are running the hotel. It is best you take advantage of this now while you can, your grandfather will go when he is ready and not a moment sooner,” 

She notes this with a wry, sad smile to her husband, “Once the time comes, you will know. But until then, relax and prepare for what is ahead,”

“You’re sure?” He asks, knowing his grandmother can handle anything, but still feeling that sharp tug of duty urging him to forget about Yeocho and stay where he is needed. But she gives him a nod, showing him without words that he isn’t needed. At least, not yet. 

There’s a weight that seems to rise from his shoulders, though it is soon replaced with the cold reminder of all that awaits him back in his hometown. And, more importantly, who he left behind. 

The reunion is being held at the old town hall, in the middle of renovations, something Namjoon found out once he landed in Yeocho, the tiny spec of a town located in the lower regions of Korea. After spending the last decade in Seoul, Namjoon can feel how small his hometown is now that he is here, almost feeling claustrophobic when it takes him a mere two minutes to cross the centre of town in the cab he booked from the airport. 

The back of his neck tingles, an odd prickle as he passes old stores and cafés, remembering the good food he grew up eating, the kimchi made fresh by the hands of the grandma’s that would sit in the street and watch the world go bye, gossiping and laughing. It all rushes back to him as he sits in the back seat on the way to the small bed and breakfast he plans to stay in, watching as the old buildings on the outskirts of the town centre morph into suburban homes spread few and far between. He almost wonders if the cab is taking him back on the freeway when it makes a sharp turn, pulling into the parking lot of a small home with peeling paint and a boarded up window. 

He doesn’t remember the little hotel being here, not that he ever ventured this far out of town, but he almost feels bad when he notes the sign on the window, claiming to have four out of five rooms vacant. He can only assume he is the only guest. 

“Kim Namjoon, well I never,”

He turns on his heel, the voice accosting him from the side of the bed and breakfast, a man in a sunhat and gardening gloves leaning against the wall with a grin. His face has details that seem familiar to Namjoon, something about the man’s cocked brow and dimples similar to his own. 

“Jooheon?”

The man grins wider then, pleased it seems to have been recognised, and Namjoon feels oddly apologetic that it took him so long to remember the name of his former classmate.

“The very same,” He brushes his hands on his shirt, also stained with dirt, whipping off a glove so he can take Namjoon’s hand in his, “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to actually show up. We thought maybe you’re too much of a big-shot for us now,”

Though the younger man winks, his words playful, Namjoon can’t help the prick of unease at the implication, though he hasn’t done anything to prove otherwise. The reminder makes him feel a little pale. 

“I had to come and see my hometown,” Namjoon nods towards Jooheon, “and my old classmates, of course,”

He can’t help but itch to ask about you even as the man fills him in on all he has done since Namjoon left town. He almost wants to look around, both wishing for and dreading the moment you creep up on him and tell him what an ass he is for being gone so long. 

Jooheon updates Namjoon on his own life; his marriage to childhood sweetheart Mina, the birth of their two kids Iseul and Aecha, his new managerial position at the bed and breakfast Lunar Hotel. He is happy to learn of his classmate’s successes in life, even if he is afraid to voice his own, being that while Jooheon worked to gain the life he has, Namjoon didn’t. It’s something he finds himself more and more insecure about as his time in Yeocho passes. 

“So,” Jooheon asks, crossing his arms over his chest, a curious light in his eyes, “what about you? Wife, kids?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Namjoon laughs awkwardly, “No, none of that for me just yet. I’ve been focusing more on…work,”

The younger man nods, seemingly understanding but Namjoon can tell he is still eager to learn more about his seemingly exciting life in the city of Seoul. Of course, he can understand it, knowing how it looked when he got whisked away before he could really say goodbye or tell anyone, driven away in an expensive-looking black car. But, he finds himself wishing he could make everyone forget about where he has come form, hating the attention and the notoriety as the “successful graduate of 2012.”

Jooheon must sense the tension, laughing it off with a wave of his hand, “Well, if you’re hoping to find a wife here you’ll be out of luck,” something in Namjoon’s stomach drops, like a hammer at the fairground, and he finds himself hanging on Jooheon’s next words, “there are only about two single women left in Yeocho,”

He wants to ask, is dying to ask really, if you are one of them. Or if you have the life Namjoon always pictured for you - a happy family, good career. Maybe you’re not even in Yeocho anymore, after all, you had always spoken of moving to Busan or Jeju and living near the sea. Maybe you have done that, with a husband supporting your every wish. 

He hopes that is true, he really does. Even as his stomach rolls a few times before he can force out a friendly laugh at Jooheon’s jokey statement. 

Namjoon has been in town for roughly eight hours and already he feels out of place. Since he arrived at the reunion, all manner of people have approached him, from the local newspaper to the host of the local radio station, to girls he knew back in high school who have no shame in flirting with him even as their husbands huddle in a corner staring at Namjoon from across the large function room. 

He can’t remember this many people attending Yeocho High School, but they all insist that Namjoon talks with them and reminisces about things he is not even sure he took part in. Frankly, he feels as if he should leave, that is until he is called up to the small uneven stage at the front of the room, his former classmates clapping as he hesitantly approaches, watching out in the crowd for one person in particular. 

He hasn’t seen you yet, or Seokjin, the only person he assumes you might be with being that the two of you were still dating when he left. Your romance with Seokjin stood the test of middle school and high school, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility for Namjoon to assume you may have gotten hitched after graduation. 

But, as he gives a brief, awkward speech as he accepts an honourary plaque that he certainly does not deserve, he can’t seem to catch a glimpse of you in the crowd. There is a moment of hope, however, when he spots Seokjin as he is descending from the stage, politely pushing through his over-friendly classmates to get to the one person who might know where you are. 

He at least wants to see you before his flight tomorrow, he knows he will regret it if he doesn’t. 

When he gets to where Seokjin stands at the bar, Namjoon is rather perplexed to find him holding hands with someone else. The woman is familiar, sure, but she is certainly not you, and Namjoon isn’t sure why this simple fact has a flame of annoyance curling in the pit of his stomach. Nevertheless, he approaches the older man, tapping him on the shoulder and waiting for him to turn, oddly satisfied when his eyes flare in surprise.

“Namjoon,” He exhales a laugh, his body still tense despite the easy smile he has fixed on his features. Something is off, and Namjoon feels as if he’s not going to like what he finds once he gets to the bottom of it, “I didn’t think you would come,”

“Neither did I,” The younger man’s eyes flick towards the woman at Seokjin’s side and after a beat, Namjoon recalls who she is. Yeji, your friend from middle school. She smiles at him, polite and a little guilty if he is not mistaken. He lets his eyes swing back to the older man, confusion knitting his brow, “Where is Y/N?”

Seokjin swallows, and right there is when Namjoon knows that something has gone horribly wrong in the time he has spent away. He can’t pinpoint what it is exactly about the look Seokjin and Yeji share, but it makes him feel hollow.

“I guess you haven’t heard,” He clears his throat, “Y/N and I broke up, a while ago now. I’m afraid I haven’t seen her tonight,”

Namjoon nods jerkily, turning back to Yeji with a tick in his jaw, “Have you seen her?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide and lips downturned. He feels a panic grip him, but he isn’t sure why. A break up isn’t exactly reason for him to be so worried about you, but the looks on their faces, as if Namjoon had brought up a ghost, makes him feel ill. 

“Namjoon -“ Seokjin begins, pausing as if he’s not sure how to speak about you anymore. What the fuck happened? You two were in love when he left. “Y/N hasn’t been doing well, I think it might be good for her to see you,” 

There, that is what Namjoon had been afraid to hear. Instantly there is a trickle of ice running down his spine, a foreboding sense of doom that he can’t quite seem to shake along with the anger that is, possibly wrongly, directed at the two people you loved most, aside from him. There’s more to the story, Namjoon thinks, and he needs to know every detail before his own thoughts render him immobile with paralysing fear of what has happened to you. 

“What do you mean she hasn’t been doing well?” 

“W-,” Seokjin almost looks afraid, scared to go into it, but Namjoon knows that feeling well enough to label it as guilt, “For starters, I guess, our - ah,” he glances at Yeji, “our relationship wasn’t…well received,”

“How so?” Namjoon’s fists are clenched by his sides now, anxiety ripping apart the contents of his chest and he feels like if he doesn’t get some straight answers from this guy soon, he might commit an act of violence, “If Y/N knew you two wanted to be together, she wouldn’t step in your way. That’s the kind of person she is,”

Yeji looks to the ground, Seokjin almost does the same, swallowing and removing his gaze from Namjoon before it returns, and he has the answer right fucking there. 

“You cheated on her,” Namjoon can barely see through the haze of red that mists his vision, and maybe he’s a hypocrite for being so pissed off at this guy for hurting you, but he can’t think beyond the idea of you being alone and heartbroken while these two swanned around the town holding hands and shoving it in your face.

Seokjin pales for a moment, possibly seeing the unadulterated fury etching Namjoon’s features, his words flustered as he rushes to explain himself, “We didn’t mean for it to happen, it’s just by the time the wedding rolled around -”

“There was a wedding!?” His voice raises a few octaves and he is beginning to attract a crowd, but he can’t bring himself to care, “You were gonna marry her and instead you fucked her best friend?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Yeji says in a small voice, avoiding Namjoon’s glare.

He scoffs at her defence, eyes darting between the two like he can’t quite believe what he’s looking at, “Well I doubt you came clean beforehand,”

They don’t have a response to that, and Namjoon doesn’t want to waste another minute listening to the two of them trying to justify their selfish actions towards you. He knows he’s being an ass, after all he left you all those years ago with barely any notice, failing to keep up communication until the line went dead, the two of you having gone so long without speaking that picking up the phone felt like an admittance of guilt on Namjoon’s part. But he needs to see you now, needs to find out what Seokjin meant when he said you weren’t doing well. 

Without waiting, Namjoon strides through the function room, ignoring the eager faces of the people he once knew and focusing instead on the one person he came here to see, awkwardness be damned. He will take all you have to throw at him, twelve years worth of pain and hurt if it means he can see you and make sure you’re okay. 

It’s two hours of looking later before Namjoon gets to the pier, wondering to himself why he didn’t check here first. After no answer at your mom’s house, and no address for your new apartment, if you have one, he had no choice but to search all the places he knows you would go to in times of crisis. And, for the both of you, the pier was one of them.

His phone acts as a flashlight, the lamps along the beaten path either left to decay or switched off due to the time of night and the numerous signs urging people to avoid night swimming in the lake. Not that the two of you ever paid attention to them as youths. He steps over tree roots that have burst from the earth over time, pushing through the overgrown leaves on either side of the path, almost able to see the moon shining off the water through the edge of the trees, his steps slowing as a gap reveals the entire pier to him, cloaked in darkness with one small, huddled figure perched on the edge. 

His heart thumps wildly in his chest, anxiety at you being so near the water in the dark and nerves at seeing you again after so long. From this distance, he can just make out the ponytail your hair is wrapped up into, the fact you’re not wearing a jacket and what appears to be a glass bottle at your side. 

Namjoon’s heart freezes for a moment, knowing that alcohol and deep water don’t mix. His feet hurry faster, his leather shoes no doubt splattered with mud from the boggy bank that surrounds the water, but he pushes on, long limbs clambering over the little wooden fence to finally reach the beginning of the pier. 

The wood creaks under his weight and he wonders if anyone even goes here anymore, anyone but you. Perhaps after he left, you came here alone, as you have tonight. Or maybe he’s just gotten lucky finding you here. 

For a few moments, you don’t seem to react to the sound of him approaching you, the wooden slats of the pier hardly making his entrance stealthy, but you don’t turn. Instead, Namjoon’s only sign that you’ve heard him at all is the way your hand stills as you bring the bottle to your lips, pausing for just a moment before you knock back a gulp. The smell of the liquor is oddly pungent, and Namjoon worries that this isn’t your first drink of the night. The bottle is almost three quarters of the way gone, and from the way you’re sitting here in the dark, he has no doubt you’ve tackled it alone. 

“The great wanderer returns,” Is the first thing you say to him after twelve years, your voice slurring a little around the words, and still you don’t turn to face him. Instead, you grip the bottle by the neck again, lifting it back up to your lips and hissing after another swallow, “Yeocho is so lucky to have you back with us,”

Namjoon bristles a little at your cold tone, but he doesn’t approach you just yet, treating you a little like a wild animal that might bolt if he gets too close. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Nobody here wears that expensive cologne,” You sniff, and Namjoon realises with a sharp squeeze in his chest that you’re crying, “I made an educated guess,”

He takes another step closer, relieved when you don’t move away from him. Instead you just keep drinking, and drinking, so much so that it makes Namjoon more nervous than it would if you were standing at the mouth of a volcano. He can’t stomach seeing you like this, so different from the girl he grew up with, from the best friend he’s spent the last decade missing in secret. 

The bottle is nearly empty when Namjoon stands behind you, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, “Can I sit here?”

Your hand waves at him in an uncoordinated gesture, your voice barely above a mumble when you reply, “Go ahead, I won’t stop you,”

He eases himself down beside you, his eyes watching over the ripples in the water before he does what he has been waiting to do, turning and looking at you. He’s not surprise to find that you’re barely any different to when he left, a little thinner maybe, your eyes swollen from crying and a little glassy from the alcohol. You don’t look at him, almost as if you don’t really notice him there. He wants to reach out and brush the hair thats whipping across your face, but he won’t push you too far too fast. He knows he has some apologising to do, has to build your trust again. 

How are you gonna do that when you leave tomorrow morning? The voice in his head reminds him cruelly, but he decides to focus on the here and now, hardly able to stomach the thought of leaving you like this. 

“How was the reunion?” Your throat is a little scratchy, hand tugging the bottle close to your chest as if it comforts you, something that troubles Namjoon, “I bet you’ll be relieved to get on your fancy private jet back to the big city,”

He doesn’t answer, instead frowning as he looks down at the bottle, an idea coming to mind, “Can I get some of that?”

For a moment, you tense, and it confirms the words for Namjoon, watching as your grip tightens on the bottle for just a sec as if you’re reluctant to give it up. Then, you turn, eyes downcast as if you can’t look at him, handing him the bottle with a shrug that’s off balance.

“Knock yourself out,” 

His fingers wrap around the cold glass, wondering just how long you’ve been out here. It’s October, the humidity during the day makes it bearable, but the nights are cold, and you’re not even wearing a sweater over the thin t-shirt you’ve got on. 

Casting a long look at the bottle in his hand, knowing the damage is already done now you’ve drunk most of it, but he still hates the damn thing, “Thanks,” he says, waiting only a single heartbeat before he reels back, tossing the bottle into the lake and watching it bob a few times before it sinks below the inky water. 

There’s little reaction from you, aside from a sharp exhale from your nose, as if you’re trying to laugh but are physically unable to, “I don’t think the Yeocho environmental board will be happy to hear you’re littering,”

He almost laughs, almost feels something light ease the weight on his chest at the sound of your old snarky humour filtering through the dark mask over your face, but he doesn’t. He simply shrugs, looking back out to the lake, “Littering isn’t usually my style, but,” he turns back to you then, surprised to find you looking at him, features guarded but there’s still that little peek of vulnerability that winks at him from behind your eyes, loosened from the alcohol. He swallows, unprepared for the effect your full attention has on him after all this time, looking down at his hands instead like the coward he is, “I’m worried about you,”

There’s a long silence after he speaks, just the sound of crickets chirping in the dark and the soft brush of the waves against the pier. He’s not sure how he expects you to react to his return, but he would take hours of you hurling insults at him over this empty, vacant expression on your face. 

When you do speak, it’s quiet, small as if you aren’t quite sure you should be saying this. As if you don’t want to be weak around him, but Namjoon gives you his undivided attention, eager to know everything that has led you here tonight, to the pier with a bottle of vodka for company. 

“Did you see them?”

He knows who you’re talking about the minute you say it, simply from the faraway look in your eye and the waver in your words, “Yeah, I did,”

A soft, brittle laugh passes through your lips, as if you haven’t made the sound in a while, “So I suppose you know the whole tragic tale, then,”

“I know some,” Namjoon says, voice soft, “but I want to hear the rest from you. If you’ll tell me,”

“It would take a lot longer than you would wanna be here, trust me,”

He shakes his head, trying to catch your eye but you won’t let him, screwing them shut for a moment before you look away, hiding your tears from him, “I’ll wait as long as it takes,”

“What about your private jet?” You scoff, and he lets himself smile a little then, happy to hear there’s still some fire left in you, that it hasn’t all dwindled to nothing but smoke and ash.

“It’ll wait,” He says, standing, “it’s my jet after all,”

When you glance up at him, his heart breaks a hundred times over, the unguarded look in your eye, as if you can’t bear the idea of him leaving. And he decides right there that whatever happens, he won’t be on that plane tomorrow morning. 

“Let me take you home,”

You swallow again, glancing out at the lake for a few quiet moments, so long Namjoon wonders if you heard him. But then, you stand with him, still a few inches shorter, nodding once, “Okay,”

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

If your still doing Fiona and Cake fanfic requests, could you do a Hurt/Comfort with Marshall, his Mom, and Gary?

Marshall unwinds his tie and sheds his jacket before thumping face first onto Fionna's bed. In a few short seconds, the mattress sinks to his left as Gary's warm weight presses against his side. They spend a good while doing nothing, saying nothing. But that got old and boring real quick.

"So... We just did that..." Marshall murmurs into the bed.

"Yep," Gary replies, the word popping out of his mouth like a bubble of gum. "We sure did."

Marshall turns his head slightly, just to get a peek at Gary. He's known the guy maybe a cumulative of 48 hours. But without a hint of hesitance, Gary faced down the biggest, baddest boss in town specifically on his behalf. Who does that?

Gary catches him looking and smiles. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Marshall snorts. "Can you afford it?"

"Remind me again, between you and me, who's the unemployed, homeless man?" Gary made a show of searching the messy but empty room. Then he gasps and points at Marshall dramatically. "Is it you?!"

Marshall hides his laugh into the dirty pillow beneath him. He ends up choking as he accidentally inhales a stray lock of Fionna's hair.

"Oh no! Are you okay??" Gary grabs hold of his shoulders and hauls him up.

Now semi-upright, Marshall manages to hack up the hair caught in his throat, pulling out the slimy strand with a pained grimace. At his side, Gary gags.

"Damn, Fi does not change her beddings. Lord have mercy."

Gary immediately bounces to his feet. "That just ruined my night."

Marshall drops the hair back into its natural habitat (Fionna's bed) before raising a skeptic eyebrow at Gary. "That ruined your night? Not the part where you're blacklisted by every investor in town?"

Gary dismissively waves his hand. "Didn't I tell you? I don't need them to get what I want. Honestly, I'm more disappointed at myself for making them such an integral part of my 53 step plan. Just waiting around for an investor like a fairy tale princess waiting for her fairy godmother. Ugh. So not me."

Marshall grins at him, soft and sincere. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that." Then he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I'm just sorry about my mom. I should have never introduced you guys. That was always a recipe for disaster."

Gary frowns, folding his brow. "Hey, you can't apologize for your mom's behavior.

Marshall shrugs. "Eh... I should have known better."

Gary bites his lip, humming a sad note. C#? No, D. "So... Your mom is really... something."

"You don't have to hold yourself back. Just say whatever you wanna say about her."

Gary offers him a thin smile, strained at the edges. "Nah, I wouldn't do that to you. Anything I have to say, I'll say it to her face, not to you."

Marshall blinks at him, air calcifying in his throat. His tongue twists into a knot, sitting fat and furry behind his teeth. Gary must see something in his expression because he sits back down on Fionna's gross ass bed. His hand rests gently on the space between's Marshall's shoulders and... Marshall's face feels cold.

His face feels cold because his cheeks are wet. His cheeks are wet because, get this, he is in fact crying. Tears are dripping down his chin and forever ruining his cool guy persona. This sucks.

"I... I don't even hate her," Marshall manages to cough out. He tries to slow down his breath but his lungs are like a runaway train going down a mountain. It's just full speed ahead. "She made me go through so much bunk. And I'm not even sure she loves me. But I don't hate her! God, that's so messed up."

Gary shakes his head, leaning into him. "There's no right way to feel about this. I know a thing or two about whack families. I should tell you about my crazy aunt."

Marshall sniffles - full on sniffles like a little kindergarten baby. "You still wanna hang out with me? Even after seeing all this?" He gestures vaguely at himself.

Gary gives him a dreadfully arch look. "Oh I think I haven't seen everything yet."

That catches Marshall entirely by surprise and he chokes on his next breath. His startled laugh keeps him from sobbing. "Really? You're shooting your shot now?"

This brings a delightfully bright blush on Gary's face as his expression morphs into harried embarrassment. "No! I mean! Just -" He sighs, smacking him on the shoulder. "Quit selling yourself short. Whatever happens next, we're in this together. Geez."

Gary turns away, crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip. Well, Marshall can only do one thing to remedy that.

He drops a light kiss on Gary's cheek, causing the other man to glance at him. Marshall winks.

"Okay. It's a date."

[azzie89]

Gravity-Chapter Five

(A Lukas Matsson Fanfic)

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Warnings: smut (18+), Lukas being an ass

Summary: Ella runs into her boss one night at a club.

When you woke up, you were in his bed alone covered with a blanket. You found him on the floor in his sleeping bag playing on his phone. You wondered how long he'd been waiting for you to wake up.

"Hi," you said sheepishly as you peeked over the bed at him.

"You're up," he put his phone away as he noted while standing up. "You really do sleep a lot."

"Why were you down there?"

"I, uh," he scratched the back of his head. "I didn't know if you'd want me to join you."

You smiled and his eyes immediately gazed at your lips as you responded, "I wouldn't have minded if you did."

"No?"

"No."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said before he changed the subject. "Breakfast is waiting by the way."

"Okay."

You got up and followed him to the kitchen. You latched onto his hand. When you both got to the kitchen, your eyes had widened a little bit at all the food laid out on the kitchen island.

"I didn't really know what you wanted so..." he shrugged but his eyes darted around nervously. "Um, yeah. I just sort of had my chef make everything he could think of. But...it's too much, isn't it?"

"Um, maybe a little bit," you teased a bit before you squeezed his hand. "But I feel extremely pampered. No one's ever put in this much effort."

"Yeah? Really?"

"Yeah," you smiled. "But tip for next time: chocolate pancakes are all that's needed."

"Oh," he said before grinning. "So there's gonna be a next time?"

Your eyes widened a bit, "I-I don't know."

"Okay. I'll take that," he nodded. It wasn't a no.

You shook your head before you went and started to make a plate. Then you took a seat at the island and Lukas sat next to you. They had barely started eating before Lukas got a call. So you ate in silence but it gave you time to admire him.

You didn't understand what had changed but you thought he looked really pretty. And you kept glancing at his hands, thinking of how they'd been on your bare skin. Why did you feel like you were on fire? You started thinking about last night and you wanted to do it again. Was it normal to want to do that so soon? It couldn't be, right?

But then Lukas hung up the phone and looked at you. He apologized but you were looking at him wide-eyed like you were a kid caught with  your hand in a cookie jar.

His stare had interrupted a very dirty thought. You never had all these thoughts before. You had all these urges, these wants, these desires. You felt like a side of you had come to life for the first time.

"What?" he questioned with a small grin, not understanding your look.

You floundered for a moment, struggling to speak. But then you swallowed and grabbed his hand. You decided to be brave as you grabbed it and placed it on your thigh before sliding it under his sweatshirt you wore.

"I want you again," you uttered.

"Ella," he groaned. "I have a meeting in thirty minutes and you're supposed to be on a plane."

"So?" you pouted. "Those things can wait. Don't you want me?"

Jesus. You were all wide-eyed and wanting. And you moved his hand further up your thigh, closer to your sex and he was absolutely done for. He moved his hand up now of his own accord and he pressed his thumb to your clit. He flicked it back and forth which made you gasp.

His hand then left you. You stared at him as he went to type on his phone. Were you not persuasive enough? Were you even seductive to the opposite sex? You felt a bit hurt and you looked away before you heard his phone being slapped on the table and then he was picking you up in his arms, practically throwing you over his shoulder.

"You're such a little minx," he commented before setting you on the couch. "You know the investors were already here and yet I cancelled the meeting just to finger-fuck you. Terribly unprofessional, Ella."

"Sorry," you muttered as climbed on top of you.

"No. Don't say that," he demanded. "I wanted to. I'm trying to say that you drive me fucking crazy."

"Oh," you blinked. "Is that good?"

"Yes. Very good," he moved the sweatshirt up to kiss a trail down your stomach. You sighed.

"Can I try something?" he spoke against your stomach before laying a kiss on your skin again.

You mumbled an uh-huh. Then his mouth moved down to your sex and he licked a stripe up the center. You gasped and squirmed a bit. Then his mouth latched onto your clit and he sucked on it for a moment. Then his tongue circled the little bundle of nerves before his tongue lapped at it, flicking it back and forth repeatedly.

You tangled a hand in his hair as you threw your head back. It felt so good and you let out little moans. As you were reaching your climax, your phone went off from within the pocket of the sweatshirt you were wearing.

Lukas pulled it out and chuckled, "Ooh, look it's Daddy calling."

"Lukas," you scolded at his excitement.

But you were kind of excited, too, as you felt your pussy clench around nothing. The thought of your father finding out what you were doing with the man he was selling his company to kind of turned you on. It would make your father furious but he would at least care. And you know he'd rant about how Lukas was older than you and that it was disgusting (which was hypocritical because he was fucking Kerry who was only a couple years older than you). And your siblings would consider you an enemy but at least you'd be considered at all.

"Do you want to answer it or do you want me to continue?" he asked before he dragged his tongue so slowly across your clit. You watched him do it as his eyes stayed glued to yours and it was so hot.

You moaned before you begged, "Continue. Please, Lukas."

You took the phone and practically threw it on the floor next to the couch. He chuckled again, "So desperate."

But he placated you and went back to pleasuring you with his mouth. You thought you saw him stick his hand down his pants to get himself off but you were too lost in your own bliss to care. You rocked your hips against him and the phone kept ringing on the floor as Lukas took you through multiple orgasms.

_____

You went back to London later that day. You eventually called your father and made up an excuse that your phone died. He wasn't happy that you didn't get any of the details of the deal ironed out with Lukas but you didn't care.

Two weeks flew by since that day and your father was coming to London. He was meeting with Lukas at the London office to get the details that you failed to get.

Your father wanted you in the meeting. So you sat waiting in a chair in the meeting room for Lukas to come and you were absolutely nervous. Because it was just last night that you had Lukas in your bed, making sounds you'd never heard come out of your mouth.

In fact, he'd been in your bed for the past week. The two of you had sort of developed a routine. Usually, he'd come see you while you were painting and wait on his phone until you were done. Then you'd go out to eat and he'd wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer towards him which you liked.

You liked feeling his body heat against yours. It made you feel comforted; it made you feel like you were a body to hold, like you were someone that somebody else wanted. You just liked being close to him.

The first time you ever ate dinner together you were bit appalled. He went on his phone while you talked. You had gone silent, crossing your arms, and he noticed.

"What?" he questioned.

"You're so rude," you gave the evil eye to his phone.

He chuckled, "I'm listening, though."

"Really?" you gave him an inquisitive look. "What did I say?"

He became tongue-tied before he put down his phone, "Alright. I'm sorry. You're right. It's rude."

You smirked a little bit in triumph before you went on talking. It was more like rambling. It was cute and adorable and he thought you riveting (even though you were just talking about work). He honestly did not expect you to get on to him about his phone; he'd done it with every girl ever and they just carried on talking but not you. You were sensitive and you had feelings and you were real.

He was starting to learn that he could not just fuck you and move on. He wasn't sure he would want to when it came to that point.

After dinner, you would take him home and he would practically attack you with lust, making you giggle at how desperate he was. And you would let him; it wasn't like you'd ever say no. It felt too good. He felt too good.

And after when you both cleaned up, you'd both play little games on your phones against each other. You both would laugh and you were having fun. When it got later, you'd cuddle up against him. He had frozen the first time you'd done it and you noticed.

"What?" you questioned.

"Nothing," Lukas shook his head and relaxed.

He had never been a cuddler and he never let anyone do so. Usually, he'd just fuck someone and then go to another room to sleep or he'd just have them leave or he'd just stay to his side of the bed. But you were completely different. He liked you pressed up against him. His chest filled with an ache as he gazed at you, that soft smile on your lips as your head rested over his heart, and realized what it was: affection.

He was so incredibly fucked.

And while you started to doze off, he stayed on his phone. You had gotten onto him about it.

"Are you going to sleep at all?" you questioned a bit in worry.

"Soon. I have to check a few more emails," he said as he rubbed your back before drawing circles again.

You had accepted that on the first night before sleeping like a baby snuggled up next to him. But after a couple more nights of that and finding out he'd stay up for hours, you realized he was a chronic worrier and he really did have trouble sleeping. So you took the phone one night and put it on the nightstand.

"Ella, I need that."

"It'll be waiting for you in the morning," you said before placing a soft hand on his cheek. "But you need to sleep."

He grumbled a little bit before he turned on his side towards you. He pulled you a little closer and tucked your head under his chin. One arm was wrapped around you and the other hand was entwined with yours. He noticed that you seemed to have a thing for holding hands so he held it.

You had fallen asleep almost immediately but his mind was too active. He played with your fingers and traced your palm to placate himself before he eventually fell asleep and being tangled up with you had been the best sleep he ever had.

You had learned something, too. He was incredibly clingy in his sleep. His arms would wrap around you and would not budge. It was like his sleeping mind was comforted by the fact that you wouldn't leave.

So after the incredibly domestic week, you were anxious about this meeting. You didn't really know how to act around him in a public setting.

Then Lukas entered and answered that question really quick. He greeted your father before your Logan gestured to you, "You remember my daughter."

"Oh, hey. Ella, right?" Lukas greeted you so nonchalantly you almost thought you really were a stranger to him. It almost stung to see him act like he didn't care about you.

"I-yes," you swallowed. "Ella."

"Ella," he uttered your name again with a small grin and his lower tone made you shiver. "So pretty."

And that was that. You were mostly ignored for the rest of the meeting. But Lukas took the seat closest to Logan but next to you.

Then underneath the table, you felt him place his hand on your thigh. You inhaled before you grabbed it and slowly entwined your hand with his. You felt warm and fuzzy holding his hand and you had to keep biting your lip to keep from smiling.

Lukas had been surprised. When he first placed his hand on your thigh, his intent had been, well, dirty. But you held his hand. And when he glanced at you, he knew that it made you happy (something so simple) so he let it lie there. He didn't attempt to try anything.

He merely ran his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand while his chest felt like a balloon filled with hot air. It was odd to feel the warmth of adoration settle into his chest. It felt like it could escape at any moment; like it was a bubble that could pop. He did not want it to. At the thought, he gripped your hand a little tighter.

_____

The meeting had ended within the blink of an eye. Nothing had really changed except you started visiting him in Sweden now, too.

Things had intensified between the two of you. They had gotten more intimate. One night, Lukas had begged to play with your boobs. Well, actually, he had done that multiple times but this time you had let him.

You didn't understand the fascination with your boobs. You didn't understand it was because it was your most noticeable feature; you had a size DD and they stood out on your tiny body. You never noticed the many looks men sent you, staring at your cleavage. You were oblivious to all that.

And you were mostly letting him touch them for him. You were so sure it wasn't going to do anything for you in terms of pleasure. How wrong you were.

Once he had gotten your bra off, he fondled them with his hands and it felt...nice. You sighed. He was squeezing them before he ran his thumbs back and forth over your nipples. Your breasts felt strangely stimulated and the areolae hardened. Then he put his mouth on one of them while fondling the other and...oh my god. He sucked on the supple skin before flicking the nipple with his tongue.

You moaned.

"Why does your mouth always feel good?" you honestly questioned; you were completely bewildered about it.

He chuckled before his voice lowered all seductive, "Why? I don't know. Why don't you tell me, Ella?"

He placed his mouth over your breast and sucked hard. You let out a little moan again and tangled a hand in his blonde hair. One of his hands traveled downwards before slipping a finger inside you. He pumped his finger in and out of you while sucking on your breasts.

It didn't long for you to orgasm and you cried out his name. Your back arched which put your tits on full display and made it seem like you were offering them to him. His mouth attached itself to one with new vigor and then he inserted a second finger into you.

You were a mess of moans beneath him and you had tears running down your cheeks. He thought you always looked so pretty like this, crying for the pleasure he gave you. And you went through another orgasm while he worshipped you.

In your haze, you finally gained the courage to see him. You had been growing curious but today you wanted to see him like he saw you. You gained a thrill at the thought, him seeing you, only him.

You pushed at his chest and pushed him onto his back to straddle him. You tugged at his pants, "I want to see you."

He lifted his hips a bit and he let you tug his pants down to his thighs. His erection sprung out and he put his hands behind his head as he watched you take him in.

The first thought you had was that he was huge. You didn't really know what huge would be considered to be. You thought maybe he was average in length. It was his girth that was ginormous. You thought he was at least as big as your closed fist but maybe bigger.

"Have you ever even seen a dick?" Lukas asked with a small, amused grin at your wide eyes.

"Once. In art school. A nude model. I would only glance periodically. I felt like it was rude," you explained and he chuckled.

"And am I bigger?" he mused as he stared at you a bit possessively. He didn't like the thought of you seeing anyone but him.

You blushed and nodded.

Then you hesitantly reached out and placed your hand around his shaft. Your hand didn't even go all the way around. Then you slowly moved your hand up, stroking him.

"God, Ella," his accent bled through as he groaned.

"What? Does it hurt?" you immediately retracted your hand.

"No. Fuck no," he replied.

You went back to stroking him. He was leaking pre-cum and you spread that over the tip and down his shaft. You added another hand and stroked his cock a couple of times before you stopped.

You hesitated before you asked, "Would my mouth feel good?"

He groaned, "You mean a blowjob?"

"Oh, so that's what that word means," you said. "I, yes, I want to give you a blowjob."

Your eyes peered at him, "But do you want one?"

"Ella, yes," he said impatiently. "Do you know long I've waited for this?"

"Well, Roman would say since you met me," you said absentmindedly as you went back to stroking him.

"That's true."

"You've wanted me since I met you?" you grinned and accidentally squeezed his cock.

He groaned and you let go slightly with a small frown, "Sorry."

"Yes, Ella. I wanted you. I still want you," Lukas clarified. "I was very fucking obvious that night, too. Very frustrating. But you're so fucking beautiful that it doesn't even matter."

"You think I'm beautiful?" you gazed at him like he was the sun.

"Have you seen you?" he questioned.

You hummed with a small smile before you stopped stroking him. You studied his cock. "I don't think you'll fit in my mouth but I'll try to give you a blowjob now."

You licked the tip of his cock first before you swirled your tongue around the tip. His pupils were fully blown as he watched you take his dick into your mouth. You really thought you wouldn't be able to but you opened your mouth as wide as it would go and he just barely fit. Your jaw was definitely going to hurt being stretched so wide.

His dick stuffed your mouth full as it filled every crevice of your mouth while you lowered your mouth down. You tried to take him as far as you could but once his dick reached the back of your throat, you started to gag. You pulled away quickly before you coughed.

You urge to gag went away before you stared determined. You wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel. You took him in your mouth again and you took all of him. You felt that gag reflex but you pushed it down even as your eyes watered. Once his dick hit the back of your throat, you stopped and then you started to bob your head up and down on his dick. You tried to suck as you did so.

"Ella," he let out a guttural moan.

You kind of liked this. It turned you on with all the little sounds you were eliciting from him. So you gave him a blowjob happily and it didn't take long before he blew his load into your mouth.

You gagged a little bit as it sprayed the back of your throat but you swallowed. You moaned at the sweet saltiness as you bobbed your head a couple more times, making more strings of cum shoot into your mouth. You swallowed everything he gave you.

Then you pulled your mouth away from his softening dick. You wiped the drool and saliva away from your mouth before you smiled at him like it was best thing you'd ever done, "You taste good."

"I kind of want to do it again," you mused before you looked away nervously. "I mean, if you want me to."

He stared at you like he'd won the damn lottery. He picked his words carefully, "Ella, I don't want anyone else to touch you."

"I wouldn't want anyone else to touch me," you smiled softly and kissed his cheek before snuggling him.

He wrapped his arms around you before he threw a blanket over the both of them. You pressed your head against his chest. He kissed the top of your head. The two of you only stayed there for a few moments, a few quiet content moments, before you got up and took a shower together.

_____

So things had accelerated between the two of you. You were quite happy. Then came a couple of days later at a club with Lukas. You were both drinking; he drank beer and you drank a mixed drink (you hated the taste of alcohol so everything had to be sweet to erase the taste of it).

At the club, you danced very seductively in the crowd while Lukas watched. He had only danced with you once which basically consisted of him standing there while you slowly grinded against his crotch. He placed his hands on your hips as you did so before he uttered in your ear as a warning, "Ella, I will drag you out of here."

That only made you giggle but you turned around nonetheless as you looped your arms around his neck, "Am I making you suffer?"

"More like the opposite."

That made you smile widely and Lukas couldn't help but kiss your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your neck. He would leave hickeys but you didn't care. You pushed at him once he went lower, "I think it's time you go watch now."

He hummed but did as you said. And you danced for a while, feeling his eyes on you that made you feel hot and bothered. That made you feel warm and fuzzy. His eyes made that you feel things.

You couldn't take it anymore and you left the dancing the crowd. You found him at the darkened couch in the back. You straddled him.

"I could feel your eyes on me," you had a dazed smile.

"Why would I take my eyes off of you?"

"I don't know," you said a bit nervously as you drew circles into his shoulder with your finger. "But do you want to leave now so that way...you can have your eyes on me without this dress?"

"Yes. Now. Immediately."

You giggled at his desperation, "Okay. I'll go close out our tab."

"Ella, you don't..." he went to argue but you already left him to go to the bar.

You closed the tab at the bar but right when you went to go back to Lukas, you felt your ass get grabbed. You flinched as you heard your boss, "I knew that was you, little Roy. I'd know that ass anywhere."

You didn't want to be touched by anyone but Lukas. You had done a good job at evading your boss once you started your escapades with Lukas. But apparently you could not evade him tonight.

"Please, stop touching me. It's inappropriate."

"With the way you were dancing, you were begging to be touched," he smirked. "Get that ass over here."

You went to flee but he grabbed you by your hips. He forcibly pulled you back towards him until your ass was against his crotch. You could feel his erection and it made you frown in disgust.

"Gonna have you bent over tonight, baby," he said before he started to lay open mouth kisses on your exposed neck. You squirmed but he had you locked in a solid hold.

You didn't know what to do. Your chest was heaving. You felt trapped. You felt trapped. Your body just seemed to freeze. You were panicked and your body froze.

You were completely aware of him though and once you froze he seemed to take that as compliance. His hands traveled to your ass and squeezed it. His solid hold was gone and your body unfroze. You squirmed again and you broke out of his grasp.

You turned to him in fury before kneeing him where the sun didn't shine. He fell to his knees, cradling that sensitive area.

"You are so fucking fired, little Roy."

"Oh, really? Cause last I checked it was my name on the building and you just sexually assaulted me," you glared at him. "You should be ashamed of yourself to be such a despicable human being."

You turned and rushed through the crowd. You went to find Lukas but you did not find him where he previously was. You searched around until you found him talking to a pretty brunette. You went to him and you tugged on his hand, "Can we get out of here now?"

He leaned down so you could hear him properly before he uttered with a condescending grin, "And why would I want to go anywhere with a whore?"

You were stunned speechless. He stared at you with such callousness that it didn't seem real. Were you having a nightmare? Was it a mental breakdown?

Lukas was mad at you. He didn't want to admit that he was hurt. He'd seen you. From his point of view, it looked like you let your boss feel you up. You did freeze after all. And his chest ached at the thought of you being someone else's.

"So because my boss touches me without my permission, I'm a whore?" you stared at him with tears in your eyes.

"He does what?"

"Oh my god. Everyone's going to think that, aren't they?" you continued to ramble. "I'll be labeled a whore even though..."

"No, Ella. Fuck. Don't listen to me," he grabbed your shoulders. "I was mad and I say shit I don't mean. I'm sorry. Please don't cry."

You practically threw yourself at him, hugging him. You buried your head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and held you.

You took deep calming breaths as you breathed in his scent. Your breaths evened out after a couple of moments. You pulled away a little bit before staring at him, analyzing him, "I didn't think you could be mean."

"Ella..." he became tongue-tied. "I was mad at you."

"So you become really mean when you're mad?"

"I...Yes. Yeah," he reached out to caress your cheek ever so softly before he demanded. "Forgive me."

You sniffled before you nodded. Of course you would forgive him. You wouldn't tell him because you didn't really know what they were but he'd become like something you needed. You needed him because he wanted you and you'd never been wanted before or at least not in the way he made you feel wanted.

So you grabbed his hand and went home with him. He did not touch you that night. You did not want to be touched. He just held you. And you clung to him because he was to you now what your father had always been: gravity.

[mothxmoons]

Follow Wesker

“A tour from the captain? I’d be honored.” You said, his hand still tightly gripping your own. “You two should have fun, I’ll have more stories either way.”

Chris groaned and Jill laughed mischievously at that, but both were content with your answer as you and Wesker went off together. He started by showing you where the STARS office was, it was empty thanks to the party in the main hall and the attached rooms. He showed you where everyone sat and the names of the ones who weren’t on the team. He seemed really into telling you about them.

Wesker took you to the other rooms that offices would regularly frequent, telling you stories of some of the cops he saw and the moments he remembers. You would respond happily in turn, he seemed so lighthearted when talking about the moments he’s witnessed, how could you not?

“I heard you and Chris were looking into homes? Are you two dating?” Wesker asked suddenly, you two walking through the hallway to the clock tower together.

“No…And we are looking into houses but…not in this city.” You replied, rubbing your neck awkwardly.

“Oh why’s that?” He tilted his head, looking at you.

“No offense to the people here…but the people here suck.” You said, jokingly, “And I want to get a job that can help us out with affording a home in the first place.”

Wesker was silent for a moment before saying. “What do you do, anyways?”

“Right now? I’m a student studying psychology and several other things, and I work odd jobs.” You said, thinking about some of the qualifications you obtained to keep the wolf from the door, “Technically, I can become a legal associate with just the qualification exam I took, but I don’t really like law.”

He seemed surprised when you said that. You don’t blame him, he probably didn’t have to do all the work you had to do.

“Why do you get the qualification exams if you’re not going to work full time for that job?”

“I don’t like doing just one thing, humans only live so long, you know?” You stated, a smile on your face, “Plus, I love doing and learning new things.”

He hummed and nodded as you two walked along. You peeked over the railing to see Chris and Jill talking to some other people. They looked like very fancy people, maybe some investors for STARS? Whoever they are, they didn’t really matter in this moment.

Wesker still held your hand as he showed you to the roof area, you two simply watching the night sky.

“This is nice.” You said quietly, staring up at the stars and moon.

“Parties not your thing?” He asked in the same quiet voice, as if someone was listening.

“Not really. I prefer being at home.” You shrugged, not taking your eyes off of the sky. Wesker said nothing in response, merely basking in the silence that he must not get enough of.

It was a while until you two returned.

“I’ll walk you back.” He had said.

The party had ended and you were left with troubling thoughts of a blonde haired man with the bluest eyes you have ever seen. Eyes like the morning sky. Driving home and all you could think about were those eyes.

Drifting off at home to the thoughts of his eyes in your comfortable bed. Nothing more than an encounter and you couldn’t help but wish to see him again.

In the morning, you waved Chris off to work, before going back to studying. Then studying slowly transitioned to class and into the afternoon and into the cafe. Your mind was still occupied by those Diamond eyes.

You were dreaming off at the cafe, staring up at the blue sky, eyes hazy, mind full of nothing and everything at the same time. The sketchbook laid in front of you along with your long forgotten drink.

What snapped you out of your thoughts was a thud in front of you, someone sitting at the same table you are.

And there he was again; with the same blue eyes that stared at you, through you.

[thebandcampdiaries]

I AM HOPE - The Enigmatic Rise of a Hidden Musical Gem

A mysterious new voice has emerged in the music world, quietly but powerfully rocking the status quo with something that’s more than plain entertainment.. Known only as I AM HOPE, this artist recently released a single titled "The Reunion of Hope & Michael"—a poetic, emotionally resonant piece that has captivated listeners on two streaming platforms. The piece isn’t just entertaining and beautifully executed on a musical standpoint. The artist has a powerful message, and he wants to share with the world. He has been focusing on his quest, and has been incredibly successful at it thus far. In just about two weeks, I AM HOPE has gone from zero followers to over 2.36K subscribers, a remarkable feat for an unknown artist without major marketing backing. He had something to say, and one thing was clear from the start: the world was willing to listen. Unlike many other Christian artist, I AM HOPE cultivated an aggressive hip-hop tone, which was intense and energetic, but still portraying the artist’s strong spiritual credo. "The Reunion of Hope & Michael” is structured as a conversation, and it’s an amazing opportunity for the artist to express so many worldviews and opinions, especially concerning the world’s need to embrace faith and rediscover God amid these challenging and divisive times.

I AM HOPE’s success is also particularly interesting because it did not actually stem from a publicity scheme or from a big-name label at all. On the contrary, it’s a testament to the power of organic marketing, striking album visuals, and I AM HOPE’s meaningful and beautiful lyrics. The resonance of "The Reunion" goes beyond streaming numbers; it was named a finalist in the world-famous John Lennon Songwriting Competition. In addition, he was also selected as a semi-finalist for the National Poetry Competition. I AM HOPE's poetry is in the running to be the Grand Champion, which is a truly amazing feat in its own right, proving yet again that the world really seems to be connecting with what I AM HOPE is creating.

For someone so new to the scene, I AM HOPE’s words are already being recognized as inspiring and moving not only by fans, but by many industry insiders and songwriting investors, who have been showing a lot of interest in his work.

But this is just the beginning. With a collection of unreleased songs ready to go, I AM HOPE stands at a crossroads. An organization has approached, expressing interest in acquiring his poems and potentially the entire album. Does he take the money and let someone else shape his narrative, or does he hold on and share his story directly with the world? The anticipation is palpable.

New to the game, yet clearly seasoned in crafting stories through song, I AM HOPE has already captivated thousands without big marketing strategies like those used by stars such as Post Malone or Taylor Swift. And this raw, unfiltered connection is precisely what makes his rise so intriguing.

So, the question remains: Will I AM HOPE reveal his full story to the world, or will he stay somewhat in the shadow, an elusive artist with his own lore? Will he shine a light with more of his music, or will he simply sell his songs to investors showing interest? More importantly, will he even release more music after the striking success of “The Reunion of Hope & Michael”?

It is clear to this fan, that the world needs to hear what I AM HOPE has to say! In addition, I was also given a very exclusive sneak peek at I AM HOPE's next release and let me tell you, the world is not ready!

Wait, there's more! Read below for a full interview with the artist: what an exclusive!

"The world is curious—who is HOPE? Can you tell us a bit about the person behind the music?"

I AM a messenger of GOD, and I AM here on a mission. I AM the voice that gets caught in the back of everyone’s throat when the truth is around. What you want to say, I say it. But I say it in a way only HOPE can say it. I AM not here for ANYONES’s approval, and my lyrics are unconcerned about ANYONES' feelings. I AM not a publicity act, and I AM not your typical artist who seeks followers. Those who know, know. And those who listen and hear my lyrics and truly take them to heart will learn what it is I AM doing here.

"Your single 'The Reunion' has gained remarkable traction in just two weeks. What do you think resonates most with listeners, and did you expect this level of success so quickly?"

This is a REAL song that talks about REAL things. Michael and I approach REAL topics and do it through poetry, which softens the seriousness of the message, but the message is said nonetheless. The success is immaterial because it was NOT done for comments, likes, or subscribers (even though they are very much appreciated!). I knew that GOD was going to bless this song because this song is all about the Truth. You do not find very many artists that rap the Lord's Prayer in a song. Or very many artists who call out old rich white men who once participated in the KKK. Truth Sells, and my Truth is communicated in such a way that people don’t even know they heard it, but they DID.

"Being named a finalist in the John Lennon Songwriting Competition is no small feat. How did it make you feel?"

It is an incredible feeling to know that some of the best in the business can appreciate a 5-minute Christian Rap (with profanity) and vote it as a finalist. In this day and age, any real song about the truth that profanes Jesus is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords will be met with scrutiny. It was an honor to be recognized, especially for the John Lennon Songwriting Competition. Being considered for the Grand Champion of the Poetry Nation’s National Amateur Competition is also an honor.

"You’ve managed to reach thousands of listeners with virtually no marketing support. What was your approach to connecting with an audience so organically?"

Good People! There are some amazing souls in this world that will help you in ways you could never imagine. If it is GOD’s will, doors will open to you that you never thought possible. Trusting in God the Father connected me with the right people at the right time. From Engineers like Benny Silver to my manager Kenneth Stout, to my Lyrics Video Creator Kelvin Dela (Musiga), and you as well, Andrew. All things, good and bad, are through him, and I was blessed to have the right people helping me at the right time. I just hope I am worthy of it.

"With offers to buy your Catalog and/or Poems on the table, how are you balancing the decision to remain independent versus partnering with others in the industry?"

Let me make this very clear. I AM NOT doing this for the money. But this is definitely a challenge and a difficult decision because accepting an offer will provide me with the capital and ability to help SO MANY people and do so many other things. The problem is too many heavy hitters in this business are in it for the money and not the message. If I continue to share the GOOD word, I will ensure the message gets out. But if I accept a deal, I do not know what will happen to my lyrics, and that is concerning. This will take a lot of prayer and guidance to decide.

"You’ve kept a low profile, creating an air of mystery around your music. Do you think you'll eventually step into the spotlight, or do you plan to keep your presence subtle and enigmatic?"

HOPE cannot have a face because HOPE means so much to everyone. And to give HOPE a face opens HOPE up to judgment. HOPE is what we all hold on to. We HOPE GOD hears us when we pray. We HOPE our prayers are not in vain. We HOPE everything will be ok. HOPE remains faceless and unknown because HOPE must be Perfect! But if GOD pulls me out of the shadows and into the spotlight, who am I to say no to? Until then, I will continue to work behind the scenes and spread the message of Jesus Christ through poetry and song. Like the Holy Ghost, people will know that I am here, but I want everyone to know that I am here to help!