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𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚃𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙲𝙴𝙾!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜—𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚕𝚊𝚠𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖.

cw | smut, swearing, older!rafe, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, choking, oral female receiving, squirting.

Reader’s POV:

You look out the window of your glass-walled office, adjusting and smoothing the fabric of your blazer nervously, watching as the city bustles below you—people rushing around with somewhere to be and someone to see. Expect you…

You would be lying if you said you were proud of how fast you climbed the ladder, but rightfully so; that ascent didn’t come without a cost. Your life was full of staff meetings, high-stress phone calls, and negotiations. On paper, you had it all: money, power, and influence, except for one thing: someone to share it all with. Romance. What the hell is that, anyway?

Walking over to your desk, you crash down in your chair, blowing out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in, letting your shoulders fall for a beat. You take in the silence around you momentarily, your thoughts robbing you of that peace fast.

You were focused so much on your career that everything else seemed to fall by the wayside. Until recently…

Pope Heyward.

The handsome lawyer across the hall in your highrise. He was everything you found attractive: handsome, intelligent, kind… You first noticed him when you shared an elevator ride. He greeted you with a polite smile and a warm and rich ‘Good morning.’ You tripped and tumbled over your words, avoiding eye contact entirely. Each morning since has been a compilation of the world's most basic gestures: finger waves and nods in passing.

It was maddening. You could hold a boardroom at your command and negotiate multi-million dollar deals without breaking a sweat, but a simple smile from that handsome lawyer had you tongue-tied and flustered. You felt ridiculous. Even worse, you felt helpless.

One particularly lonely night, you poured yourself a glass of wine and grabbed your phone, pulling up every magazine article and self-help blog you could. It wasn’t long before you stumbled upon a man promising you precisely what you were looking for. Romance. All achievable with the help of Matchmaker and Love Coach Rafe Cameron…

His website was professional–Its pages filled with testimonials from executives, lawyers, doctors, and other high-powered professionals who had forgotten about their love lives along the way.

You were hesitant, fingers hovering over the contact button, digits drumming on the arm of your couch, holding yourself back until you broke. Hiring Rafe to fix all the problems with your love life felt absurd, but it was broken… You would do the same to any other thing or aspect of your life that needed fixing. Why not this too?

The next day, you sat in a private booth, looking out onto the cafe you were waiting at. Your lips trembled as you took a few sips of coffee. You looked down at your watch, clocking the time–two minutes until your planned meeting time. Your heart started to pound in your chest, your body felt like it needed to flee—

“Miss?”

You looked up from your seat, startled and wide-eyed. Rafe was younger than you expected: light hair and striking blue eyes that twinkled in the warm cafe lights. He smiled, making your heart skip a beat.

“Rafe Cameron,” he said, extending a hand. Your cheeks warmed at how clammy your grip was. He had been in your presence for no more than 10 seconds, and he could already tell you were a mess when it came to this. He reached for the button of his tailored navy blazer, unfastening it before sitting across from you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said, trying to steady your voice.

“Of course. Of course. So, what can I help you with?” He asks as he tilts his head slightly, the sight of the beautiful man before you sending you into a tailspin.

“Umm… I – I don’t have time for dating.”

“Of course, you don’t; you’re very successful,” he praises. “You didn’t get to the position you’re in by accident.”

You shake your head and smile softly, taking in his compliment. You glance down at your coffee, finding yourself slightly overwhelmed with his full focus as you come to terms with the fact that this is the longest conversation you’ve had with a man in years that had something to do with anything other than business.

“Well, when I meet someone, I tend to overthink it and freeze up… It’s frustrating.”

“And you’re not used to that in your career, so why is your private life so different?” He asks earnestly, voicing all your concerns like he’s reading your mind. “It’s not uncommon... You’re so used to excelling in every aspect of your work life–you’re so used to being in control–that dating feels like that one thing you just can’t seem to get right.”

“Exactly,” you sigh.

“We just have to get you out of your head, yeah?” He asks.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” You whisper against the lip of your coffee cup before taking a sip.

Your heart starts to race as Rafe smile stretches along his pretty lips. He leans forward, lessening the space between the two of you. “The basics first: confidence, connection, clarity.”

“Sounds easier said than done,” you chuckle weakly.

Rafe grins and nods in agreement. “Once you get that little bit of confidence and find something you really want, everything will fall into place, I promise. Is there someone you want?” You bite your lip, stifling a smile. “Great,” Rafe said, his grin widening.

“He’s a lawyer across the hall from my office,” you gossip; your voice is soft and meek.

“Really? That’s perfect. Tell me about him.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇…

“You’re quiet,” Rafe hums during your afternoon session as his beautiful blue eyes continue to study your movements. “What’s on your mind?”

You take a deep breath, rolling out the tension in your neck. “Nothing… You know how I am.”

“Talk to me,” he answers simply, leaning into the arm of the oversized office chair.

“Just work,” you answer. “It’s nothing really–boring “me” stuff.”

“Bullshit,” he laughs and shakes his head. “Lay it on me. You know you can talk to me–” And that’s the problem. You could talk to him for hours, without hesitation–without stress. Talking to Rafe was the opposite of speaking to the Pope, his presence making you crumble before him. Still…

“It’s discouraging,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “With you, I feel like I can do it–”

“It?”

“Be me. I don’t know why it’s so hard with him.”

“Do you think you’re trying to be the kind of woman you think he wants instead of showing him who you are?”

Your lips draw to the side as you take in his words. “Maybe…”

“Well, there’s no need for that… You’re more than enough,” he praises.

Rafe crosses his arms over his broad chest, reading you like a book. The material of his linen shirt strains as his muscles flex unintentionally; a playful smile plays on his lips as he looks back at you.

Your lashes flutter as you feel butterflies swirl in your stomach. You break eye contact, feeling the weight of his stare.

It’s nothing…. Rafe is good at what he does—reading people and making them feel seen. That’s why it was so easy to talk to him. That’s all it was.

It wasn’t just the praise that lingered… It was the way he said it and looked into your eyes that had your heart racing. You bite your lips, hanging your head momentarily, pulling yourself back to reality.

He’s the man trying to help you… Stop.

“Let’s run through a scenario, hmm?” Rafe asks, breaking the silence. Your eyes lift to his in annoyance, making Rafe snorts out a laugh. “C’mon. It’s your favorite,” he teases as he pushes himself out of the chair, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “Elevator.”

You poke out your bottom lip as you look back at him, stepping out from behind your desk before walking toward him. “Elevator again?” You sigh.

“Mhmm…” He breathes as he looks down at you, taking a step closer. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’d ask him about his day… Maybe ask if he had plans for the weekend.”

“Good,” he smiles. “And what else?” The corner of his lips curl into a smirk

Your breath catches in your chest as his rich cologne fills your nose. “I–I…” You swallow hard, trying to gain the confidence you lost in a moment.

“I?” He asks as his brows lift, urging you to speak and recall anything he taught you.

“I–” You swallow the lump that formed in your throat. “I’d probably panic and say something stupid about work,” you breathe, letting your shoulders fall as you look up at him with hopeless eyes.

Rafe laughs deeply, sending a warmth straight through you.

“You’re overthinking it… You’re not trying to impress him, remember? You’re just talking. You’re not trying to change yourself. It does not have to be him, aight? If he’s not a good fit for you, someone else will be. Pope Heyward is not the end all to be all… But, if he is, he’s a lucky man, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper.

"You've idealized him in your mind, and now you are worried you’ll fall short of this ideal. You don't have to prove anything— not to him, not to anyone. He should be so lucky. So just speak to him like you’d speak to me.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is,” Rafe hums, his voice softening. “You’re incredible. You just need to believe it and let him in.”

Ring. Ring.

Your phone buzzes, breaking the tension between the two of you. You walk over, looking down at the notification for the three o’clock meeting. “Can we finish this conversation on the road? I have a meeting.”

Rafe follows you to the elevator, stepping inside with you. Your heart skips a beat, and your body freezes as you notice the two other people in there as well: Pope and Alexis Johnson, his partner at the firm.

“Are you going up?” Pope’s baritone voice fills the lift. You look up at him and smile, nodding your head as you feel your anxiety rise. He lets out a breathy chuckle, giving you a sweet smile. “Floor?” He mouths the words inaudible.

“Oh, umm, twenty-five,” you smile as you lean forward simultaneously, bumping hands before letting him select it for you.

You look out of the corner of your eye, catching Rafe’s half-focus as he looks down at his phone, trying to act nonchalant. Your eyes shift in the other direction, Pope’s eyes greeting yours.

“How’s everything going across the hall?” Pope asks as he turns toward you slightly.

“Oh, uh–um… It’s great,” you say brightly. You feel Rafe’s fingers push against your lower back, urging you to say something else. “How’s it going for you?” You ask, surprising yourself as it comes out, your voice more level than before.

“Keepin’ busy. We’re on our way to a meeting… I can’t even tell you how many I’ve had today,” he sighs.

“Same.”

Silence fills the elevator as the two of you stare at each other, smiling and nodding–not quite sure where to take the conversation next, considering you were two floors away from his stop, and honestly, you didn’t think you’d get much farther than this.

“I… Uh–” Ding. The elevator cuts you off.

“Were you gonna say something?” Pope asks as he leans in a little closer. His partner steps out of the elevator, accepting a phone call. Before you can respond, the elevator door starts to shut, adding to the awkwardness and making you feel like you could die from embarrassment right then and there as Pope catches it.

“No. No, it’s fine,” you assure as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“Okay. Have a great night.”

“You too,” you smile. Your eyes stay locked on the hallway ahead, avoiding eye contact with Rafe, just knowing what he would say next. The door skates closed, your eyes pinching shut with it.

“Rafe, I’m sorry. I–”

Beep.

“Hey,” Pope's voice makes your eyes open, your heart falling into your stomach as he catches the elevator door. “M’sorry if this is too forward, but are you free tonight?”

Your brain freezes again, unable to process his words.

Did Pope Heyward just ask me out after that?

“Tonight?” You repeat shakily.

Pope chuckles lightly. “Mhmm… It’s been on my mind for a while. Figured I might as well ask. I think we could both use a night out.”

You blink fast as you feel your heart hammer in your chest. “Yeah… Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great,” Pope answers as his smile widens on his lips. He reaches into the breast pocket of his suit, grabbing his card. “Text me? Just tell me where you want to go. Anywhere you’d like.”

You take the card off him, clutching it in your clammy hand as he gives you a nod. “See you tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” you answer as the elevator doors close. You bite your lips, holding back an all-to-wide smile, your eyes wide like saucers, processing what just happened. You turn towards Rafe, meeting his eyes, a mixture of surprise and disbelief painted all over your face. “Did that just happen?” You ask excitedly. Your hand slaps over your mouth, unable to fight it any longer.

“It did,” Rafe answers, his tone light, lacking his usual warmth.

“I mean, he just—out of nowhere—asked me out,” you continue, half-talking to yourself. “I didn’t think he even noticed me like that.”

Rafe adjusts the collar of his shirt, his movements a little more clipped than before. His lips turn upward as he gives you a forced smile. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re brilliant, successful; it would be hard not to notice you.”

You tilt your head, studying him this time.

“Are you okay?”

Your words seem to snap him out of his daze. His eyes and smile get a little brighter, recovering in an instant. “Of course. This is what you’ve been workin’ for. This is what you want. I’m… I am happy for you.”

The two of you exit the elevator and walk toward the meeting rooms. Rafe keeps his eyes locked on the path ahead, his silence unheard of up to this point. His quick wit and notes always seem to be at the ready. You couldn’t help but think that maybe that didn’t go as well as you thought it did…

Rafe looks over at you, trying to keep himself composed.

He’d told himself from the beginning that this was just a job like he had done with so many other people before you without any issue…. His role was to guide you, not feel anything for you.

For weeks, he had helped you build your confidence— to pursue someone else… But there he stood, hearing your excitement over your date, feeling nothing but jealousy, realizing how deeply he miscalculated it all.

He hated the way Pope looked at you… He hated how his chest tightened whenever you mentioned his name or smiled at the thought of another man. But, what he hated the most was the realization that he had already lost you before he ever had the chance to tell you how he felt.

He was dishing out relationship advice and not taking a word of it for himself.

“I’ll see you at our next session,” Rafe smiles, his tone polite but distant.

“Thanks again, Rafe. I’ll let you know how it goes,” you answer as he walks away. He lifts his fist, giving you a thumbs up, his body still turned, unable to even look back at you now.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉…

Knock. Knock.

Your heart flutters as you hear Rafe on the other side of your apartment door. You stand up, smoothing out your dress, feeling your excitement rise.

He had said, ‘he’d see you at your next session.’ but a few hours after he left the office, he called, letting you know he would stop by to send you off. ‘One last pep talk before your big date.’

You open the door with a smile, your breath hitching as you see Rafe—his muscular body hugged in an all-black tailored suit. His black button-down is opened slightly, showing off the gold chain glimmering on his tanned chest.

He looks equally as surprised to see you, his eyes falling down your body as your heart pounds in your chest, your black dress practically painted over your curves. Rafe takes a shallow breath and smiles before looking back at you. “You look… Fuck. You look stunning.”

“Thank you,” you answer bashfully as you step to the side, letting him in, your eyes following the sleek lines of his suit as well. You bite your lip, trying to hold back everything you were holding in. “You look great,” you smile. “Very handsome.”

Rafe grins as he leans back into the counter, a rosy blush washed across his cheeks. He looks down momentarily, collecting himself before returning his attention to you.

“How are you feelin’?” He asks as he relaxes a little more—his eyes still drinking you in.

“A little nervous,” you giggle as you step forward in your sky-high heels, feeling your ankles wobble slightly from your nerves.

“Got no reason to be. But, I get it–” He sighs. “I get that way too sometimes.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Mhmm…” He hums. “I brought you somethin’.” You glance down, noticing the little red bag in his hand.

“You got me a gift?” You gasp.

“A few… Yeah,” he says as he beckons you closer. You take the bag off his hands, pulling out the paper. “You can put this in your ear if you’d like. I think it would be good for me to hear what’s goin’ on. I’m sure it will go just fine, but I think I can give you the best guidance for our next session if I hear it all.”

“Oh?” You ask as you look up at him, pressing the little piece in your ear before covering it with your hair. “Are you coming?”

“That okay? Besides bein’ in your ear, you won’t even know I'm there. Scouts honor.”

Rafe reaches up, rechecking it, letting his rough hand fall slightly to cup your soft cheek. Your heart swells at the contact between the two of you.

“Do you do this for everyone?” You whisper through a slight smile.

He doesn’t answer quite yet, fighting back a smirk as he gives you a little shrug, letting his silence answer your question for the moment.

You lean into him a little, making his heart melt.

“Every client is different…” he mumbles as he pulls out another gift. “Some perfume–Baccarat Rouge–my personal favorite. Romantic, sexy, decadent… everything you are, okay? I want you to feel good.” You feel your cheeks pool with heat, hearing those words fall so easily from his lips.

Rafe reaches out, holding your hand to spray the elixir on your wrist before drawing it to his nose, taking in your scents paired so beautifully together.

“Beautiful.”

You smell it as well, taking in all the rich notes as Rafe reaches into the bag, pulling out one last gift with a smile. A blood-red box with Cartier embossed in gold.

“Rafe-” You start, but he clicks his tongue, stopping you fast.

“Every client’s different…” His voice falls a little more. Rafe steps closer, resting his hands on your hips before turning you around. “Hold your hair for me.”

The warmth of his breath fans along your neck as he wraps the jewelry around your throat before clasping it shut.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

You glance around the elegant downtown restaurant, your heart pounding beneath the fitted bodice of your dress. The table is set with fine china and sparkling glasses; candlelights dance softly between them.

This was your chance… This was the moment you’d been working toward for weeks, but all you could think about was earlier. The gifts… Rafe’s sweet words and the moment you shared at your place.

“Relax,” Rafe’s voice comes through softly, calm and reassuring. “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.” You look up at Pope and smile before shifting your attention just over his shoulder, catching Rafe’s sparkling blue eyes as he sips his martini.

You won't even know I'm there…

“So,” Pope says, leaning forward slightly.

“So,” you smile and giggle, feeding off his excitement.

“What’s a normal day like for you?” He asks curiously before taking a sip of wine.

You hesitate momentarily before Rafe’s voice quickly cuts through your nerves. “Keep it light,” he hums.

“Ugh,” you groan, releasing an exhausted laugh that Pope quickly mirrors, lightening the mood even more as you say so much without a single utterance.

“Same,” he jokes.

“—Meetings, calls, and trying to keep up with my team’s endless stream of ideas.”

“Sounds like chaos,” he adds.

“Controlled chaos,” you reply with a smile as your confidence grows.

“Perfect,” Rafe praises softly in your ear. “You’re doing great. Don’t stop.”

The conversation continues to flow effortlessly, ebbing and flowing between you and Pope, sharing stories. You feel lighter, more comfortable than you’ve ever felt in his presence.

Rafe adjusts in his seat nervously as he watches you from afar.

This should have been a win for him–yet another happy client, yet another glowing testimonial he could add to his portfolio.

The knife to the heart was the date he helped you achieve. It’s twist was every laugh… Every beautiful smile stolen from him and gifted to Pope.

“You’re doing amazing,” Rafe says, keeping his voice steady. “Ask him about somethin’ outside of work—maybe a hobby or something he’s passionate about.”

You smile, giving the man on the other side of the earpiece a subtle nod as your eyes stay set on Pope’s. “So, what do you do when you’re not winning cases? Any hobbies?” Pope’s face lights up, the man launching quickly into a story about the language he’s learning and his upcoming trip to Paris.”

“No way,” you smile. “Tell me more.”

“Keepin’ the conversation going… Perfect,” Rafe praises, his words barely passing his lips, cracking with all the emotion he felt.

His heart aches. His jealousy weighed heavily on his heart. Every layer revealed to Pope just pulled you further and further away.

Rafe clenches his jaw, his blunt nails driving into the thigh of his dress pants. He tosses his head back for the moment, willing himself to stay focused–to stay rational when all he wants to do is storm across the restaurant and have you for himself.

“Do you date often?” Pope asks curiously. “Have you tried any of the apps or anything?”

“No,” you shake your head and smile. “Have you?”

Pope’s lip pulls, nose flaring slightly in disgust with his past experiences. “The apps are a mess. If I’m being honest, Raya, on the very, very rare occasion… For the obvious–”

Rafe perks up in his seat, his figure shifting to pull your attention to where he sits, projecting his sheer disgust like that was some out-of-pocket thing for an adult to say.

Umm…” You hum through a little nervous laugh at Rafe’s reaction, turning your focus back to Pope. “I get that,” you smile.

You listen as Rafe chuckles annoyedly in the earpiece, making the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

Pope's smile widens at your response; a slight bite of his bottom lip gives you a pretty good idea of where his thoughts are drifting to.

“You travel?” He asks, throwing his voice a little lower than before.

“I haven’t had the chance to,” you sigh.

“Neither have I,” Pope smiles, “but I’m tryin’ to take better care of myself.”

“Are you going with anyone?” You ask curiously. “To Paris?”

“No one yet,” he smiles. “I’m hopeful though. I’m stayin’ at this beautiful boutique hotel by the Eiffel Tower, sightseeing, amazing food, great wine. It’d be a shame if I had to do that alone. Wouldn’t mind sharin’ that trip with someone… Someone who makes me laugh, smart, and hardworking who could finally relax with me.”

“Someone hardworking that could relax…” Rafe hums, his voice dripping with intimacy—filling your ear—making it feel like he’s surrounding you. “Think I could take care of her myself.”

Your eyes widen as you look back at Pope, hearing Rafe’s words. You try to keep your composure as both men shoot their shot; Rafe’s so unexpected that you question if you even heard him right in the first place.

“You’d like that, wouldn't you?” Rafe asks, making you flutter your lashes as your words get stuck on your lips. Pope shifts uneasily, making your embarrassment rise, knowing just how long you let his words hang in the air as you processed Rafe’s “Sorry,” Pope fumbles. “M’sorry if that was too forward. I-”

“Oh my god, no—no, you’re fine,” you assure.

“He’s not…” Rafe adds. “I agree with him. That was too forward,” Rafe taunts. “That’s date two talk, princess. He needs to stay in his lane.”

“And what lane are you in?”

“Pardon me?” Pope asks as you challenge Rafe, your stomach instantly falling at the realization you replied to Rafe's injection.

“Sorry,” you huff, trying your best to recover. “I worded that oddly. Uh… umm. What street is the hotel on? I meant street, not lane,” you ramble. “I’m still a little nervous.”

“No, please… Don’t be,” Pope softens his tone. The waitress walks over, setting a dessert down in the middle. You grab your fork, quickly taking a bite to avoid speaking and more. “I’m actually not sure of the street, but it’s in the Champs-Élysées neighborhood.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Well, again, I’m hopeful,” Pope smiles. “How’s your dessert, sweetheart?”

“No,” Rafe warns as the first pet name leaves Pope’s lips. “Fuck no.”

“It’s delicious,” you answer

“Delicious, huh?” Rafe asks. “Careful, you. You’re makin’ me jealous.”

Your heart starts to race in your chest; the banging battling with Rafe’s secret conversation and Pope’s desperate attempt to compete with the man you wished you were sitting across from.

This should be a simple conversation with Pope, but at this moment, it feels nothing but. Your breathing tightens, body aching with want for Rafe.

“I feel bad, princess… he has no clue you’re mine.”

“Stop,” you whisper sharply to Rafe, though the corners of your lips twitch in spite of yourself.

“Stop what?” Pope asks, looking even more confused.

“Stop, I think I know them,” you nod to the entrance as an unknown couple walks in. Pope looks over his shoulder, and you take the opportunity to reach in your ear, digging out the earpiece before dramatically dropping it into your after-dinner coffee. It falls into the brew with a plop, the angle giving Rafe a clear view, catching your defiance. Your eyes drift from his back to your date as Pope turns back.

“Just can’t escape the office, can you?” He laughs. “Neither can I,” he sighs as you look back toward the door, seeing his partner from the firm standing next to her husband, waiting to be seated.

“It’s crazy, right,” you gossip as you lean in. The second you do, your phone vibrates in your purse. No question who it is. “I apologize,” you whisper, Pope quickly gesturing it’s okay.

Rafe: Now why did you do that?

You: You were distracting me.

Rafe: Maybe I’m meant to distract you sweetheart

Your fingers tightened around her phone, a small thrill shooting through you.

Maybe I’m meant to distract you?

You stuff your phone in your purse, determined to finish the date without Rafe wiping out every thought in your head until you’re done, but it’s useless.

Your mind was long gone. It wasn’t on Pope or the beautiful dinner, and at that moment, even without Rafe’s lust-laced words in your ear, everything started to blur. Your mind’s consumed with thoughts of only Rafe, Rafe, Rafe…

But most importantly, the realization that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Your phone buzzes again. Then again. Then again. Five messages, back to back. “I’m so sorry…” You sigh.

“It’s fine. Truly,” Pope assures once more. You swallow hard before finally caving and pulling your phone out of your purse again.

Rafe: I just need to say this.

Rafe: I like you

Rafe: I can’t do this.

Rafe: I can’t sit here and listen to you flirt with him.

Rafe: Tell me you feel it too. Tell me this isn’t just in my head.

You: I don’t know what to do.

Rafe: Yes you do. You just have to choose it.

Rafe: Choose me.

Rafe: I’m going to call you in ten seconds. Take it, and I’ll get you out of here.

Rafe: I’ll take care of you.

You watch your phone tremble in your hand as he promised, your adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Rafe Cameron.

You stare at the screen for a second longer. Then, before you can think about it anymore—you answer. Rafe’s voice is all business, but you could hear the smirk behind it.

“Hey, baby,” he greets you smoothly, “we have a problem. I need you now.”

You exhale shakily and nod, forcing yourself to look apologetic and worried as you glance up at Pope. “I—I’m so sorry. I have to go. There’s something I need to handle.”

Pope looks back at you, surprised but concerned. “Is everything alright? I-”

“I hope so,” you whisper, quickly grabbing your purse. You reach into your bag, pulling out your wallet.

“Please, I insist,” Pope stops you, resting his hand on your arm, and you can’t help but feel a slight tinge of guilt, quickly overshadowed by the thoughts of the man waiting for you just a few feet away.

You walk toward the door, floating through the thick crowd, until you hit open air, and before you can take another step, you're pulled in, Rafe’s lips pressing against yours, taking your breath away.

This kiss isn’t soft… It isn’t hesitant, either. Deep, commanding, hungry, possessive, desperate, anything and everything you could have wanted, shattering the pressure built between the two of you with a single exchange.

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you in closer, pressing his muscular body against yours, pushing you against the chilled brick wall.

Rafe groans softly, his grip tightening on your hip, his other hand cradling the back of your neck, needing you close. You melt into him, your hands gripping his Gucci suit jacket, barely aware of the city bustling around you—your thoughts still revolving around the man you had hoped for weeks would see you as more than just a client whose sweet words weren’t just there to raise your confidence, and prepare you for someone else, but because he genuinely felt those things… and wanted you for himself.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. Rafe lets out a low chuckle, his forehead resting against yours. “I knew you’d take the call,” he whispers. You hear the purr of Rafe’s BMW roll up to the curb. “Let’s get you outta here, huh?” He asks, his voice hoarse and deep as his lips brush gently against yours.

“You said you were gonna take care of me. Is that a promise?” You whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

“I swear.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

“You’re so perfect. You know that?” Rafe asks as he kisses your neck, making your pussy throb.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you whimper.

He chuckles against your hot skin, that same laugh that filled your ears during your date—driving you crazy then—doing nothing but make your need for him worse now.

“Goddamn, baby…” He mumbles as his big hand roams your curves. “I don’t know how I lasted this long,” he squeezes your breast in his large hand as he sucks off your bottom lip nice and slow. “I don’t know how I went this long without hearing you say my name like that either… Say it again,” he taunts as his hand cups your sex, making you moan for him.

“Rafe, please…” You whine.

“So fuckin’ needy for me, huh… No one else gets to see you like this. No one.”

“No one else,” you whisper breathily through a smile as he glides two thick fingers up your soaked slit. “Shit,” you whimper as he traces his fingers around your entrance. “I need you…”

“I can feel how much you need me, sweetheart. You’re shit at hiding it,” he smirks as he moves his hand higher, teasing your clit with the pads of his rough fingers.

Rafe hisses out a breath as you reach between the two of you, wrapping your fingers around the base of his thick dick, making him hiss out a breath. You stroke your hand up, pull to his fat tip, watching precum glisten and leak out of his slit onto your body.

“Am I the only one that needs something?” You whisper, feeling his hard cock twitch in your hand. You drop the other, running your finger through the little puddle before bringing it to your lips, sucking it clean, watching Rafe as he watches you.

“I need you so bad,” he whispers. “I can’t tell you how many nights I thought about this.”

You grab his neck, pulling him down to your lips, bringing him in closer. “I’ve thought about you every night, Rafe.”

“Every night, huh?” He asks.

“Every. Night-” Your words get lost in a moan as Rafe plunges two fingers into your soaked core, making you throw your head deep into the pillow.

He kisses your chest as he starts to fuck his fingers into you, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking harshly, making your back arch off the mattress.

His long fingers curl deep inside you, coaxing out breathless moans with nothing but the movement of his hand.

Rafe trails slow, reverent kisses down your body, your heart racing wildly the lower he goes. When your thighs start to tense Rafe presses them down, spreading you open with a firm grip as his eyes fall to your soaked pussy.

He drops to the mattress between your legs, muscles flexing as he settles, his intense gaze never leaving yours. Then his tongue flicks against you with a soft, deliberate taste.

“Shit,” you gasp, with a half-laugh, half-moan—right before he wraps his biceps around your legs, forcing you to his mouth with purpose.

He kisses your clit, then seals his lips around it, sucking gently as you thread your fingers through his hair, yanking him closer, desperate for more of him. One hand drops from your thigh, sliding between your legs again, and you gasp as his fingers push back into you—working in perfect rhythm with his mouth.

Your body arches. Everything blurs except the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers, the overwhelming pace of it all.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, already trembling.

He groans into your pussy, the vibration pushing you over the edge instantly. You come hard, clenching around his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyes.

He doesn’t let up—his mouth seals tighter, his fingers working you faster, deeper, until your whole body twitches with overstimulation and your eyes sting with tears.

“That was so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs against your dripping center, planting lazy kisses on your clit that make you jolt with every touch.

“Rafe…” you breathe out, glancing down at him.

He looks up, mouth slick and glistening, grinning like the devil.

“Yeah, baby?” He teases, kissing your inner thigh with maddening sweetness.

You reach for him, breath shaky. “Fuck my pussy.”

Rafe’s eyes roll back at your demands and your taste lingering on his tongue. He grabs your body, guiding you without effort to your hands and knees, lifting your ass into the air.

He spanks you, the loud crack of his palm against your supple flesh filling the room. You arch your back, making him release a desperate groan as he looks down at you, eyeing your slick, watching your wetness leak down your inner thighs.

Rafe grips his thick dick in his hand, slapping it against your ass before running his velvety head up your thighs, sopping up the mess.

You gasp as he presses his tip in, feeling him stretch you out already. Your thighs trembles, your breathing shaky as you do the math, realizing how long it has been since you’ve had sex, let alone with anyone Rafe’s size.

Rafe pushes in, inch by inch, making your mouth fall open as your body stretches around him.

“Pussy’s just made for my cock, baby,” he mumbles as he presses his body flush with your ass when you’ve finally taken all of him.

You circle your hips, adjusting to his size, feeling his thick dick hit all the right spots. “Feels so damn good—”

“Can’t believe he almost got this…” He pulls his hips back, drawing out nice and slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as his big hands find your hips. “All fuckin’ mine-”

“Fuck!” You scream as he snaps his hips forward, the two of you moaning in unison as your pussy sucks him in.

Rafe starts to work him cock in your cunt at the perfect pace—his skin clapping against yours with every thrust, the sounds of your wet pussy squelching.

“Mmpfh…” You whine as your head falls forward. “Right there, baby.” Rafe picks up the pace, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

”Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” He asks through a smirk. “What else does my girl want, huh?”

“Harder,” you whimper.

“Shit, baby,” he laughs breathlessly as he starts to drill into you. Your fingers claw at the sheets as you feel yourself just seconds away from your climax.

You feel an unfamiliar heat in your belly, and before you can think, your pussy releases, squirting all over the mattress and Rafe’s cock.

“Fuckkk,” he moans, dragging out the words as his body sloshes through the wet mess. “So good for me… Tell me, princess. Tell me no one else has ever fucked you like this. Tell me no one else will.”

“No one, Rafe,” you whimper. “Only—Oh god. Only you.”

Rafe pulls out fast, making you gasp as he tosses you to your back, thrusting himself back in before you can even come down from your high. “I wanna watch your face when you take my cum, baby,” he whispers against your lips.

You gasp as his fingers press against your clit, too, rubbing little circles on top as he throws his hips into you; your nails digging into his muscular back as he pounds your wet cunt.

Rafe pulls back slightly, looking down at you underneath him, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you both get closer and closer to the edge.

Rafe presses his palm against your chest, feeling your heart hammer against it, the beat echoing his own. His hand slides higher, wrapping around your neck, squeezing tightly.

“Rafe-” You gasp, letting out a choked moan. You grab your knees, pulling them up to your chest, making him stroke impossibly deep. “Please, Rafe. Fuck. Make me cum.”

“Say my name like that again, and I swear, I’ll never let you leave this fuckin’ bed again…” He groans through gritted teeth. “Cum for me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, and your pussy pulses around his big cock. Rafe moans your name; his muscles strained as he cums deep inside.

Rafe rocks to a stop, his grip softening on your neck as his soft lips find yours. Rafe catches your whimpered breaths in his mouth, smiling softly against your lips before letting his tongue slip inside.

His tongue swirls with yours, making you feel like you could float away. You gasp again, his kiss as he rolls you quickly, pulling you onto his broad chest, his cock still throbbing inside.

“Holy shit,” he sighs breathlessly.

“Mmm… You're fired,” you giggle airily between soft kisses, making him chuckle.

“You’re firing me, princess?” He asks playfully as his hands smack and squeeze your ass. “How about this. I’ll work for free…”

“Oh yeah? You gonna make office visits?”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he mumbles as he cups your cheeks in his hands, pulling you in for a passionate kiss. “‘Course I will.”

“Mmm… You can stay,” you whisper.

“I can stay? You found the one, huh?” He asks sweetly as he looks up at you with love in his eyes.

“I found everything I needed, Rafe…”

“So did I.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[bunny-jpeg]

simon lets you try on his uniform - he's home from a recent mission and you were nice enough to wash everything for him. you even hung it out to dry outside on the rack in the backyard to give that summer smell ("uniform doesn't have to smell like roses, dove"). but the gesture was still appreciated.

now that everything was dried and back inside, simon was dutifully folding every article of army mandated clothing. from the familiar brown undershirt, the beret, even the mask he wore that was a touch away from the mandated wear. everything perfectly folded to specifications. he was so engrossed in the activity that he didn't even notice that his familiar green jacket was missing from the pile. it was until he reached for it and only touched the couch under him.

he looked over and saw the jacket was very much missing and when he looked over, he saw you in the kitchen with it over your shoulders. you were grabbing yourself another drink for the evening.

"what ya got there, love." he said as he leaned back into the couch. he took his beer from the side table and had a sip, "i left ya all those sweatshirts and ya still want that, huh?"

you looked over from the bottle of wine in your hand and playfully stuck your tongue out, "i was far away from you long enough, plus it's too stiff to be comfortable."

simon chuckled and scratched the back of his shaved head, "love." his accent was music to your ears, "uniforms aren't meant to be comfy." he had to admit, he liked you in the jacket.

even though you weren't the smallest woman in the world, the jacket still swallowed you up. sleeves were too long, the shoulders of the jacket barely stayed on yours. really highlighted how different your sizes were. didn't help that simon on more than one occasion was able to toss you onto the bed. but he loved himself a big girl - something he always said with the up most affection. he watched you come back to the couch and when you sat your wine down on the table, he pulled you into his lap.

his large hands groped at your soft skin as his lips kissed at your neck. he curled himself into you, using his size to keep you pinned against him. he kissed you, even moved the jacket off of your neck with his teeth to get better access to his woman's skin. something stirred in him, something possessive.

"look good in it, love." he said softly, "probably the best the uniform could look on someone. but ya make everythin' pretty. my uniform, my home, my bed." he continued to kiss your neck and you squirmed due it it tickling. but simon kept you close as he continued to kiss at your skin, "washin' my clothes like a good wife. not even married yet and you're already the best." you giggled at the compliment.

he wrapped an arm around you middle while his other hand went to push down your shorts. you shifted to get them off of you, it let your bottom half bare to your lover. you giggled a little more, it didn't help that you were half a bottle of wine in. but it only elated the experience, you'd never say no to making love to your fiance.

you had enough space to move away, letting him get his cock out of his sweatpants. the jacket remained on your shoulders and simon licked his lips. you looked great in his lap, even faced away from him.

"look at you, love." he said softly as he admired how big the jacket was on you, "swallowed up in your hubby's clothes. i bet ya get off to that, knowin' i have to wear that on base and you're gettin' fucked in it."

you swallowed and felt a shudder in your chest. it was arousing, the kind of arousing that made your blood pressure spike. you rubbed your thighs together with heated want for your lover. you could feel his presence to close to you, you swallowed with a sense of anticipation. you both worked together to get you seated on his hard cock.

you tensed up for a moment, only to relax and he carefully inched himself inside of you. you leaned forward a little for him to hit just the right spot. you swore under your breath as you tried to move, but by being on simon's lap. it was harder for your feet to touch the floor. but that was alright, simon would simply take control. he wrapped a strong arm around you, the arm that was covered with tattoos and started to move himself up inside of you. his thrusts were steady, strong without being too aggressive.

he wasn't going to bruise your insides, not yet at least

you let out a small pleasured noise and enjoyed the feeling of his cock inside of you. it was an addictive feeling, so much so that not even toys seemed to do the same trick anymore. moans left your lips as he worked himself inside of you.

"captain ain't gonna be happy that my jacket smells like sex." he said lowly as he pressed you further against him. his cock seemed to hit the deepest parts of you and made you brain buzz like a hornet. you could only respond with the sweetest moan you could muster. it was music to simon's ears as he continued to fuck you.

you panted, moaned and swore as he fucked you. excitement raced up your spine and it throbbed in your head. there was something so immense about having sex with your lover that it left you needy and aroused. no one else did it like simon, no one else ever could.

"you look good in my clothes, but you knew that. you know that i can't get enough of ya when you wear my things. even my mask, the one thing no one can touch. you got your hands all over it, still put it on even when you complained about how much it smelt like cigarettes." he kissed your neck once more. he then laid a dark bruise on your skin with his teeth.

the feeling of him biting you made you kick out your legs a little bit and tense up. your noises got higher in pitch and it made your core throb with sexual want. it felt good and it made your toes curl in your socks. the throb in your skull as you held onto your knees tightly.

"all mine." he cooed, "dressed in my clothes, living in my house, my precious wife." his words made you stomach curl, you were engaged but he was calling your mrs. riley for a few years now. it was about time he made it official.

"please, honey. ah! simon!" you gasped as the pleasure continued to grow in your body. it burned your blood in a way that made every inch of feel alive. he had that kind of effect ton you, the kind that made your soul yearn for more.

"i love how you say my name. sounds so right."

you whined a little bit louder and he took it as a chance to fuck you even more. the pleasure was hot in your blood, you could feel the tension in your body as you got closer to orgasm. it was a remarkable feeling, flooded your brain in such a way that you had no choice but to dig your nails into your knees for some kind of support.

but simon kept fucking you, his dirty words in your ear, "all mine, right? my wife, my everything. wearin' my clothes, i know you love how baggy they are on you. my love's got fat in all the right places, but yet she's swallowed up by my fatigues. that's the kind of thing that should get any man goin'." and he felt your pussy clench around his cock, "mrs. riley likes that on, huh?" it fueled him to keep going, to make your body all his.

the air of the living room grew hotter as the two of you fucked. the sexual burning feeling felt amazing between you two. he continued to kiss your neck.

your noises got louder and soon you came around your lover's cock. he continue to fuck you through your climax and your noises only sounded more beautiful in his head.

he cooed to you as he held onto you tightly, "that's my girl. that's my girl." he kissed the shell of your ear, "messin' up my uniform, huh? i'd rather no one else would. my messy girl."

he continued to fuck you with heavy strokes, everything felt hot on your body, you were sweaty. only made worse by the jacket. but you kept it on. a few more heavy strokes and simon finished inside of you.

you relaxed against him and let him wrap his strong arms around you as you both came down from the climactic high. he pressed kisses against your sweaty forehead and you smiled softly.

it felt good, you both felt good even with his softening cock inside of you. you were both sweaty but neither of you moved from the other.

"gonna have to wash it again." he said after a few moments, "can't have my uniform smellin' like a good time." he chuckled lowly in your ear, "while it's washin' why don't we have a little fun over the machine. whatcha say?" <3

[deeninadream]

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒔 ~ 𝐴.𝐻 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

-𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑃𝑟𝑒!𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝐴𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝐻𝑜𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓!!

-𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠, 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑘 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦!

-𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑦: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑘. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘...𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑘. 𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝐻𝑜𝑡𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.

𝐴𝑁: 𝑀𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛-𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼’𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝐴𝑜3 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 <3

-𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒!

While you decided that a night out with the team, drinking, dancing, and gossiping would be a good way to forget the most recent case, you had certainly not expected to get this drunk.

Derek sat to your right; an arm slung behind you on the sticky booth. Pen sat, or really happy squirmed, to your left. At the beginning of the night, you suggested they sit together, and that you could sit with Spencer.

This was only really because you didn't want to get too crazy tonight, and you had recently read an article you would love to discuss with him. However, they insisted that they squish you in between them to protect you from any guys that came your way.

Dave sat across from you with Hotch on one side, and Spencer on the other. Emily had convinced JJ to go dancing a few minutes ago, but you're sure they'll be back soon.

Now, how did you go from getting a Shirley Temple to getting hysterically drunk? No fucking clue.

So here you are, jumping in between every conversation. Whether it's office gossip, a new scientific discovery, Jack's upcoming birthday party, or why you don’t have someone to go home to at night.

At least that's what it feels like to you, to everyone else though…they're having productive conversations, and you're randomly (and rather cutely) asking not so productive questions.

“Daaaave?!” you ask in a whisper yell. Dave looks over from his talk with Hotch to see you leaning over the table. You’re sure no one else can hear you, though your whisper yell is more at a raspy talking level.

Dave doesn’t even have to raise an eyebrow for you to continue.

“Okay, so obviously I know his middle name from the documents I look at all day loooong. But I can’t find it in me to remember his first name. What is his first name?!”

Now everyone is looking at you, not that you notice. They aren’t surprised you’ve asked such a weird question, but they are definitely intrigued.

Dave chuckled, glad that you’re finally letting loose, ”Who’s first name, darling?”

“Like I know his middle name, right, ‘cause I think it's funny that I’m the only one that can call him out on his shit like that. But it doesn’t work if I don’t know his first name,” you wine a little at the end. Like you’re five and he's not getting you ice cream.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at that, he had never seen you so delirious. He had been around you with barely any sleep for a week once, and you were more put together. Not that he’s complaining.

Now it's Derek's turn to chuckle, "Pretty girl, if you want us to answer you, you have to tell us who you’re talking about.”

You pay no mind to Derek; it's like you had a tunnel going from you to Dave. This just makes everyone laugh. Emily and JJ are coming back around, not that you have any idea.

At that Hotch puts his beer down and leans into your line of sight slightly. Your eyes immediately lock onto his. Everyone’s waiting, knowing that if anyone can get something out of you, it would be Hotch.

“Who are you talking about?” Hotch asked, surprisingly also wanting the answer.

You just stare into his eyes. If you weren't already unaware of your surroundings, you certainly aren't now.

Pen sees an opportunity to chime in, "Are you talking about that hot guy from budgeting?”

Your head snaps up, and directly to Pen’s,” OH MY GOD! Pen, please tell me I didn't say he is hot! I’m not supposed to say that!!” you wined, looking frantic and mortified.

Emily chuckled next to JJ at their chairs at the very end of the booth they now occupy, "Okay, are we talking about the mystery man, or the budgeting one?”

“I thought they were the same person?” JJ jumps in, though she's still looking at Emily.

Spencer nodded his agreement with furrowed brows.

You now look towards the couple, seemingly forgetting about your momentary outburst after a sip of your drink.

“Mystery man," you say with a nod of finality, "Also ‘mystery man’? He’s your boss, Emily. How could you forget his name…? Oh wait, that's what I was asking. Dave, what's Hotch's first name?”

At that, everyone at the table excluding you and Hotch burst into a laughing fit.

After a few moments of everyone trying to catch their breaths, and you looking around the table for some clue on what is so funny, Dave speaks first.

“Hotch’s first name is Aaron, you know this,” Dave helps you out, as if Hotch wasn’t sitting next to him.

“AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER!!” you take a small sip of your drink, "Thank you! I will be using that every chance I get!” Now your drink and pointer finger is aimed at Hotch.

Hotch looks at you with wide eyes and then smiles a smile that only seems to be for you. He then shakes his head, reaches across the table to pluck your glass from your hands.

You look up at him with a pout, ”Hey! I will use your middle name again!”

He just lightly chuckles and slides out of his side of the booth, "I don’t doubt you. Come on. Let's get you home.”

“But, but, but…” he just gives you one of his signature Hotch stares,” Oh, okay. Goodbye everyone! Mwah, mwah, mwah! I'll see y'all on Monday.”

Everyone says their respective goodbyes as Hotch helps you out of the booth. As you stand up, you trip a bit due to your heels, and your uncoordinated state. Hotch quickly catches you, putting an arm around your waist.

After standing fully up, you put your arms up in the air, and yell loud enough to be heard above the music, "AARON BENJAMIN HOTCHNER, EVERYONE!!”

Your group and most of the people around you laugh. Hotch shakes his head and starts to lead you out of the bar.

When you finally step out into the cold air, you look up into those coffee eyes. They tell you that while you may just be on a first name basis, there's a lot more than that for both of you.

Guess getting a little crazy doesn't have to be such a bad thing.

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔! <3

𝑝𝑠. 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒, 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒!

Dividers by: @/uzmacchiato

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 64)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

An hour later, and after Cillian had put Mara to bed, you sat down on the couch and opened a bottle of wine. You were  feeling a bit anxious about the upcoming intimate scene between Cillian and Annabelle, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had been brewing inside of you since you had left the restaurant. You knew that you had no reason to feel that way. Even if there was something between Cillian and his costar, it was really none of your business.

As if sensing your discomfort though, Cillian sat down beside you, filling himself up a glass of red as well. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, looking at you with concern.

You took a deep breath before turning to him. "It's nothing, really," you said, trying to suppress the emotions churning inside you, but Cillian knew that something was bothering you.  He took a sip of his wine before setting the glass down on the coffee table and leaned towards you.

"What is it?" he asked, putting a comforting hand on your shoulders.

You hesitated for a moment before confessing the events that had taken place at dinner that evening. "It's just that...," you began but stopped yourself. "I don't know. I had to think about that article recently and I was wondering whether, you know, never mind," you said, your voice trailing off as you looked away from him.

Cillian's grip on your shoulder tightened slightly. "No, what is it?" he asked, his voice soft yet insistent.

"Well, it is just about that article in the Irish Times, where it said that you and Annabelle had an affair back in 2014 while you were married to Danielle and, after meeting her, I am still wondering whether there was some truth to it," you finally admitted in a low voice, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"What?" Cillian chuckled, pulling away slightly as he stared at you with disbelief. "What makes you think that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at you in amusement.

"Did you not notice her flirting with you all evening?" you asked, unable to hide the incredulity in your voice.

"Flirting with me?" Cillian looked surprised. "You mean her comment about my eyes?" he asked, a puzzled expression on his face. "That wasn't flirting, Y/N. She was just making a joke. I can assure you that there has never been anything between her and me, other than a professional relationship. We worked together on a show and that's it," he said, his voice steady and sincere before pausing slightly. "Also, I don't know why you even care, because we aren't together anymore, so...," Cillian  sighed heavily, taking a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts just before you continued, asking him another question.

"How does this work, with the intimate scenes and all?"  you asked, feeling your nerves getting the better of you as you tried to make sense of the things you were feeling.

Cillian took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as if weary. "Uhm, what do you mean?" Cillian asked, looking taken aback by the abrupt change in topic.

"You know, with scenes and stuff," you stated, gesturing vaguely with your hand.

Cillian gave you a puzzled look. "No I don't know. What's your question?" he wanted to know, trying not to appear annoyed.

"Do you actually kiss her, like properly? And touch her? I mean, if you do, I am not really surprised that she thinks that...," you trailed off, causing Cillian to interrupt.

"Listen Y/N, these scenes are awkward at best. They are the most uncomfortable scenes to film, and I don't actually think that any actor enjoys doing them," Cillian sighed, setting his wine glass down on the table before leaning forward in his seat to face you. "And yes, my character kisses her character. There is some touching too, but it means absolutely nothing, because it is all part of an act and nothing more," Cillian continued as you took a big sip from your glass.

"Come on though, you can't tell me that you don't enjoy kissing a really pretty woman like her,"  you replied, a bit of playful sass in your voice, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I don't," Cillian said with a deadpan expression on his face. "It's awkward as fuck and she is not really my type," 

he added with a slight chuckle. "Trust me, filming those scenes is as unenjoyable as it sounds."

You took another sip of your wine, nodding slowly in agreement. "Alright, I get it," you finally admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I am sorry that I asked, but it just had me wondering because the way she was looking at you tonight... I don't know, I guess I just had to ask," you explained, shrugging slightly as you looked down at your hands.

Cillian let out a sigh before responding. "Because you are jealous?"  Cillian asked softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "No," you finally said, shaking your head. "Well, maybe just a little." You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but seeing her looking at you like that brought back a lot of memories and I guess I just couldn't help but feel...weird?"

Cillian raised an eyebrow at you. "Weird?" he repeated, sounding amused.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, weird. Like I still care about you. A lot."

"Right," Cillian tilted his head, a curious expression gracing his features. He took a slow sip of his drink while eyeing you thoughtfully. "Do you still love me?"  Cillian asked, setting down his wine glass as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Yes," you admitted softly, unable to tear your gaze away from his. "I guess I do still love you, Cillian and I miss being with you, so fucking much," you confessed, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. "I just want to go back to  the way things used to be, the way it was between us before everything fell apart."

Cillian swallowed hard at your words, his eyes softening with understanding. "I know what you mean," he replied, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I miss it too. I miss being with you, talking with you, sleeping next to you. I miss everything about us," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.

You took a deep breath, feeling your heart racing at his words. You missed him too, all of those little moments you used to share, the stolen kisses, the way he would always wrap his arms around you protectively, making you feel cherished and loved.

"Do you think we could give us another chance?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper, taking Cillian by surprise.

For months, he had begged you to take him back and now that you had finally brought it up, he found himself at a loss for words.

He looked at you, taking in your hopeful expression and the way your eyes seemed to dance with excitement. "Yes," he finally said, his voice barely audible. "You know I would do anything for you to give me another chance," he went on, his voice unsteady with emotion.

"Okay, I will give you another chance, but don't fuck it up," you said sternly, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice.

Before Cillian could respond, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, your body molding against his as you let yourself get swept up in the moment.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his hands coming up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, making you moan softly.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer still.

For several long moments, you lost yourself in the kiss, the taste and feel of Cillian driving any lingering doubts from your mind as you reconnected with a man you could never truly forget.

You didn't know if it was possible for things to be the same between the two of you again, but you wanted to try, and it seemed Cillian felt the same.

When you finally broke the kiss, you pulled back to gaze into his eyes, and there was a passionate intensity that made your heart race faster.

"I want us to live together as a family . Just you, me, and Mara. I want us to try and build a life together," you said, looking into his eyes with all the sincerity you possessed.

For a moment, Cillian simply stared at you, stunned by your sudden declaration, but then a slow smile spread over his face as he nodded in agreement.

"I thought you weren't ready for that?" he  murmured, searching your face as if trying to gauge your certainty.

You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before meeting his gaze evenly. "I wasn't then," you admitted truthfully. "But I am now. I want to try, Cillian. I want us to be a proper family, no matter what that entails."

Cillian stared at you for a moment longer, as if trying to determine whether or not you meant what you were saying, before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace that spoke volumes.

"I want that too," he breathed into your hair, his arms tightening around you protectively.

The relief that washed over you in that moment was something you couldn't quite describe. For the longest time, you had longed for the kind of connection you had once shared with Cillian, feeling lost and adrift without that guiding force in your life, and now, finally, it seemed as though there was a chance to rebuild.

"Good," you smiled  , burying your face in his neck as you pressed yourself closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you.

It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that there was still work to be done, but you felt a renewed sense of hope, taking solace in the fact that you would have him by your side as you navigated through the challenges ahead.

"Now show me how much you still want me!" you then told  Cillian, pulling out of the kiss and looking at him with eyes that were so filled with desire that you could hardly contain yourself.

Cillian didn't need any further encouragement. He pulled you closer, his hands wandering over your body as he kissed you deeply, his lips hungry for yours. 

"God, I've missed this. I've missed you," he whispered in between kisses, trailing them down your neck before reaching beneath your t-shirt to cupping your breasts over your bra.

You moaned softly, arching your back as you pulled him closer. "I want you so much,"  you breathed out, your voice hoarse with desire.

Cillian's hands wandered over your body and, before you knew it, he pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra and jeans. 

His tongue trailed a hot path down your neck, before placing kisses across your collarbones. 

Eventually, helped you slide your jeans off too, tossing them aside, leaving you in just your lace underwear. Cillian's hunger was evident in the way his hands and mouth greedily explored your body, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear with a hint of tease. 

"Take this off," you told him, tucking at his t-shirt at the same time.  Cillian obliged, pulling it off to reveal his toned chest, covered in soft curls of hair.

You couldn't help but let your gaze linger on him a little as your hands wandered over his bare skin, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your fingers.

Cillian groaned at the sensation of your exploring touch, his hips bucking sharply against yours as he pulled you closer.

Your lips found each other's again and you kissed him deeply, almost desperately, as if trying to make up for the lost time.

Not long after, his jeans came off too and he was left in just his briefs, his thick erection pressed against your thigh.

You couldn't help but moan softly at the sensation, a shiver of lust running down your spine as you realized just how much you needed this. The past months had been challenging, to say the least, but now, with Cillian, you felt as if you could finally breathe again.

"Fuck Y/N," Cillian groaned, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. "I want you so badly right now," he whispered, nipping at the skin of your neck as he unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

His hands wandered over your bare breasts, his thumbs grazing over your nipples, making you gasp at the sudden spark of pleasure that ran through your entire body.

You reached down, gripping his erection through the fabric of his briefs, making him growl low in his throat as his hips thrust forward.

"Jesus," Cillian breathed out, his fingers tightening on your hips.

"Let's just skip the foreplay for tonight. I really need to feel you inside me," you whispered into his ear, your hot breath making his cock twitch in anticipation.

Cillian groaned in response, pulling you even closer as he kissed you deeply. "Are you sure?" he asked against your lips, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip. "Because you do know very well what my mouth can do."

"Yes, I am sure," you replied, tugging at the waistband of his briefs. "I really need your cock right now!" 

Cillian didn't need any more encouragement. He quickly pulled the fabric of his briefs down and kicked it aside while you stood up and got rid of your panties quickly before climbing on top of him.

Your wetness brushed against the tip of his cock, making you let out a low moan before you positioned yourself above Cillian and slowly sank down on him.

"Oh fuck," Cillian groaned, his head falling back on the couch as you sheathed him fully inside of you. You let out a deep, shuddering groan of your own, relishing in the pleasure of being filled by him again.

You didn't waste any time. With one swift motion, you pushed yourself down, taking him all the way in.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian groaned, hands gripping your hips tightly.

You started to move up and down, savoring the feeling of his thick cock filling you up, the sensation of his skin sliding against yours, the sounds of his grunts and moans as you pleasured each other.

You rode him with abandon, the couch creaking and groaning with the force of your movements.

You could feel Cillian's cock hitting your deepest spots, again and again, in a rhythm that was both delicious and maddening.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," Cillian groaned, hands gripping your hips tighter as he bucked his hips up towards you.

You could only moan in agreement, the sound escaping your lips as you increased your pace. You could feel yourself getting close, the familiar tingling sensation starting to build in your lower belly.

"I am planning to do this every night from now on. Every fucking night!" you panted out, throwing your head back as you felt the beginnings of your orgasm building within you.

Cillian's fingers dug into your hips as he thrust upwards, matching your rhythm. "Yes, every fucking night," he agreed, his voice strained with lust.

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, telling you that he was close too. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you cried out, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you rode him harder and faster.

You left scratch marks on his skin as you clung to him, trying to hold on as your orgasm built to a crescendo.

Cillian wrapped an arm around your waist, percentage guiding you, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he hammered into you from below.

The corners of your vision blurred as colors danced behind your eyes, your body writhing and convulsing as your orgasm enveloped you completely.

"Yes, yes!" you screamed.

Cillian's thrusts faltered slightly as he felt the walls of your pussy trembling and fluttering around him, milking him for every drop of cum he had, before he too, pushed over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm cumming!" he cried out, voice hoarse and strained as his body stiffened and convulsed beneath you. His cock swelled impossibly harder and thicker as rivers of warm cum pumped deep into your core, filling you to the brim with his essence.

"Oh fuck, I'm still cumming!" Cillian groaned, his hips bucking faster and faster as you milked him dry.

You collapsed against him, panting and spent, your body and mind in complete ecstasy.

Cillian's arms wrapped around you as he breathed in ragged gasps, his cock still twitching inside of you.

For a moment, you just lay there on the couch, your two bodies pressed tightly together, hearts beating in sync as if to a wild, primal rhythm.

Cillian's chest rose and fell against yours, hands gently stroking your back in slow, soothing motions. You could feel the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body, still trembling with the overwhelming force of it.

Cillian too, remained inside you, still half-hard, his warm semen slowly leaking from your swollen pussy and trickling down your thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally managed a weak laugh, burying your face in Cillian's neck.

Your entire body felt deliciously heavy and languid with pleasure, and it took every ounce of your willpower to push yourself up slightly off his chest just so you could look into his face.

"That was amazing," you whispered, your lips curling up into a soft smile of pure satisfaction as you traced the curve of Cillian's jaw with the pad of your thumb.

Cillian chuckled softly, brushing tendrils of damp hair from your forehead as he gazed into your eyes.

"It was quick, but so fucking good," he confirmed, seeing how you had only been at it for about twenty minutes. 

"I know," you replied, your voice still breathless as you snuggled up close to him before, finally, lifting your hips so that his cock would slip out of you . You flinched at the sudden rush of wetness between your legs, a remnant of what had just happened still dripping from your pussy.

Cillian himself groaned in disappointment as he felt his cock soften, the withdrawal painful.

"I could stay inside you forever," Cillian whispered, peppering kisses over your neck and shoulders. His hands were wandering over your waist and hips, softly stroking your skin with a tenderness that almost made you cry.

You chuckled softly.

"I think I would like that," you replied, before sighing blissfully and reaching down  between your legs to touch yourself, still wet with his semen.

Cillian watched you through half-lidded eyes as your fingers dipped between your pussy lips and came back glistening with the mix of both of your juices.

You brought it to your mouth , eyes still locked on his as you licked your lips slowly, savoring the taste of your lovemaking and Cillian swallowed hard at the sight.

"I think it is time for bed," you then announced softly, standing up from the couch. "You have to be up early again tomorrow morning to film that scene with Annabelle, remember?" you teased, with a sly little grin before wobbling off to the bedroom and Cillian chuckled weakly response before hauling himself up from the couch, his entire body still buzzing and tingling with euphoria from the mind-blowing sex you just had on this very couch.

Tags:

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@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts @blondie-22

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[mariacallous]

When tech companies first rolled out generative-AI products, some critics immediately feared a media collapse. Every bit of writing, imagery, and video became suspect. But for news publishers and journalists, another calamity was on the horizon.

Chatbots have proved adept at keeping users locked into conversations. They do so by answering every question, often through summarizing articles from news publishers. Suddenly, fewer people are traveling outside the generative-AI sites—a development that poses an existential threat to the media, and to the livelihood of journalists everywhere.

According to one comprehensive study, Google’s AI Overviews—a feature that summarizes web pages above the site’s usual search results—has already reduced traffic to outside websites by more than 34 percent. The CEO of DotDash Meredith, which publishes People, Better Homes & Gardens, and Food & Wine, recently said the company is preparing for a possible “Google Zero” scenario. Some have speculated that traffic drops resulting from chatbots were part of the reason outlets such as Business Insider and the Daily Dot have recently had layoffs. “Business Insider was built for an internet that doesn’t exist anymore,” one former staffer recently told the media reporter Oliver Darcy.

Not all publishers are at equal risk: Those that primarily rely on general-interest readers who come in from search engines and social media may be in worse shape than specialized publishers with dedicated subscribers. Yet no one is totally safe. Released in May 2024, AI Overviews joins ChatGPT, Claude, Grok, Perplexity, and other AI-powered products that, combined, have replaced search for more than 25 percent of Americans, according to one study. Companies train chatbots on huge amounts of stolen books and articles, as my previous reporting has shown, and scrape news articles to generate responses with up-to-date information. Large language models also train on copious materials in the public domain—but much of what is most useful to these models, particularly as users seek real-time information from chatbots, is news that exists behind a paywall. Publishers are creating the value, but AI companies are intercepting their audiences, subscription fees, and ad revenue.

I asked Anthropic, xAI, Perplexity, Google, and OpenAI about this problem. Anthropic and xAI did not respond. Perplexity did not directly comment on the issue. Google argued that it was sending “higher-quality” traffic to publisher websites, meaning that users purportedly spend more time on the sites once they click over, but declined to offer any data in support of this claim. OpenAI referred me to an article showing that ChatGPT is sending more traffic to websites overall than it did previously, but the raw numbers are fairly modest. The BBC, for example, reportedly received 118,000 visits from ChatGPT in April, but that’s practically nothing relative to the hundreds of millions of visitors it receives each month. The article also shows that traffic from ChatGPT has in fact declined for some publishers.

Over the past few months, I’ve spoken with several news publishers, all of whom see AI as a near-term existential threat to their business. Rich Caccappolo, the vice chair of media at the company that publishes the Daily Mail—the U.K.’s largest newspaper by circulation—told me that all publishers “can see that Overviews are going to unravel the traffic that they get from search, undermining a key foundational pillar of the digital-revenue model.” AI companies have claimed that chatbots will continue to send readers to news publishers, but have not cited evidence to support this claim. I asked Caccappolo if he thought AI-generated answers could put his company out of business. “That is absolutely the fear,” he told me. “And my concern is it’s not going to happen in three or five years—I joke it’s going to happen next Tuesday.”

Book publishers, especially those of nonfiction and textbooks, also told me they anticipate a massive decrease in sales, as chatbots can both summarize their books and give detailed explanations of their contents. Publishers have tried to fight back, but my conversations revealed how much the deck is stacked against them. The world is changing fast, perhaps irrevocably. The institutions that comprise our country’s free press are fighting for their survival.

Publishers have been responding in two ways. First: legal action. At least 12 lawsuits involving more than 20 publishers have been filed against AI companies. Their outcomes are far from certain, and the cases might be decided only after irreparable damage has been done.

The second response is to make deals with AI companies, allowing their products to summarize articles or train on editorial content. Some publishers, such as The Atlantic, are pursuing both strategies (the company has a corporate partnership with OpenAI and is suing Cohere). At least 72 licensing deals have been made between publishers and AI companies in the past two years. But figuring out how to approach these deals is no easy task. Caccappolo told me he has “felt a tremendous imbalance at the negotiating table”—a sentiment shared by others I spoke with. One problem is that there is no standard price for training an LLM on a book or an article. The AI companies know what kinds of content they want, and having already demonstrated an ability and a willingness to take it without paying, they have extraordinary leverage when it comes to negotiating. I’ve learned that books have sometimes been licensed for only a couple hundred dollars each, and that a publisher that asks too much may be turned down, only for tech companies to take their material anyway.

Another issue is that different content appears to have different value for different LLMs. The digital-media company Ziff Davis has studied web-based AI training data sets and observed that content from “high-authority” sources, such as major newspapers and magazines, appears more desirable to AI companies than blog and social-media posts. (Ziff Davis is suing OpenAI for training on its articles without paying a licensing fee.) Researchers at Microsoft have also written publicly about “the importance of high-quality data” and have suggested that textbook-style content may be particularly desirable.

But beyond a few specific studies like these, there is little insight into what kind of content most improves an LLM, leaving a lot of unanswered questions. Are biographies more or less important than histories? Does high-quality fiction matter? Are old books worth anything? Amy Brand, the director and publisher of the MIT Press, told me that “a solution that promises to help determine the fair value of specific human-authored content within the active marketplace for LLM training data would be hugely beneficial.”

A publisher’s negotiating power is also limited by the degree to which it can stop an AI company from using its work without consent. There’s no surefire way to keep AI companies from scraping news websites; even the Robots Exclusion Protocol, the standard opt-out method available to news publishers, is easily circumvented. Because AI companies generally keep their training data a secret, and because there is no easy way for publishers to check which chatbots are summarizing their articles, publishers have difficulty figuring out which AI companies they might sue or try to strike a deal with. Some experts, such as Tim O’Reilly, have suggested that laws should require the disclosure of copyrighted training data, but no existing legislation requires companies to reveal specific authors or publishers that have been used for AI training material.

Of course, all of this raises a question. AI companies seem to have taken publishers’ content already. Why would they pay for it now, especially because some of these companies have argued in court that training LLMs on copyrighted books and articles is fair use?

Perhaps the deals are simply hedges against an unfavorable ruling in court. If AI companies are prevented from training on copyrighted work for free, then organizations that have existing deals with publishers might be ahead of their competition. Publisher deals are also a means of settling without litigation—which may be a more desirable path for publishers who are risk-averse or otherwise uncertain. But the legal scholar James Grimmelmann told me that AI companies could also respond to complaints like Ziff Davis’s by arguing that the deals involve more than training on a publisher’s content: They may also include access to cleaner versions of articles, ongoing access to a daily or real-time feed, or a release from liability for their chatbot’s plagiarism. Tech companies could argue that the money exchanged in these deals is exclusively for the nonlicensing elements, so they aren’t paying for training material. It’s worth noting that tech companies almost always refer to these deals as partnerships, not licensing deals, likely for this reason.

Regardless, the modest income from these arrangements is not going to save publishers: Even a good deal, one publisher told me, won’t come anywhere near recouping the revenue lost from decreased readership. Publishers that can figure out how to survive the generative-AI assault may need to invent different business models and find new streams of revenue. There may be viable strategies, but none of the publishers I spoke with has a clear idea of what they are.

Publishers have become accustomed to technological threats over the past two decades, perhaps most notably the loss of ad revenue to Facebook and Google, a company that was recently found to have an illegal monopoly in online advertising (though the company has said it will appeal the ruling). But the rise of generative AI may spell doom for the Fourth Estate: With AI, the tech industry even deprives publishers of an audience.

In the event of publisher mass extinction, some journalists will be able to endure. The so-called creator economy shows that it’s possible to provide high-quality news and information through Substack, YouTube, and even TikTok. But not all reporters can simply move to these platforms. Investigative journalism that exposes corruption and malfeasance by powerful people and companies comes with a serious risk of legal repercussions, and requires resources—such as time and money—that tend to be in short supply for freelancers.

If news publishers start going out of business, won’t AI companies suffer too? Their chatbots need access to journalism to answer questions about the world. Doesn’t the tech industry have an interest in the survival of newspapers and magazines?

In fact, there are signs that AI companies believe publishers are no longer needed. In December, at The New York Times’ DealBook Summit, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman was asked how writers should feel about their work being used for AI training. “I think we do need a new deal, standard, protocol, whatever you want to call it, for how creators are going to get rewarded.” He described an “opt-in” regime where an author could receive “micropayments” when their name, likeness, and style were used. But this could not be further from OpenAI’s current practice, in which products are already being used to imitate the styles of artists and writers, without compensation or even an effective opt-out.

Google CEO Sundar Pichai was also asked about writer compensation at the DealBook Summit. He suggested that a market solution would emerge, possibly one that wouldn’t involve publishers in the long run. This is typical. As in other industries they’ve “disrupted,” Silicon Valley moguls seem to perceive old, established institutions as middlemen to be removed for greater efficiency. Uber enticed drivers to work for it, crushed the traditional taxi industry, and now controls salaries, benefits, and workloads algorithmically. This has meant greater convenience for consumers, just as AI arguably does—but it has also proved ruinous for many people who were once able to earn a living wage from professional driving. Pichai seemed to envision a future that may have a similar consequence for journalists. “There’ll be a marketplace in the future, I think—there’ll be creators who will create for AI,” he said. “People will figure it out.”

[disastrouscanasta]

A GUIDE TO PHIL OCHS

So, you’re interested in Phil Ochs? Great! You want to learn more about him? Awesome!

Where to start? …good question.

I started my Phil Ochs-learning journey by mindlessly skimming his little Spotify Artist bio, then, one day I got curious and read his entire, yes, entire Wikipedia page. This was months before I would be gripped by an overwhelming need to know absolutely EVERYTHING I could get my hands on about this guy. And while those are good jumping-points, it would have been nice to have a gentle hand to guide me in a vague direction, and that’s what this list is for!

Documentaries:

Phil Ochs: There But For Fortune (2010), a documentary by Kenneth Bowser, with interviews from Ochs’ family members: Meegan, Michael, Sonny, etc, as well as other names from his folk community, such as Joan Baez, Jim Glover, Larry “Ratso” Sloman, etc. It’s not very in-depth, but it’s where most people get their starting info.

(Can be found on youtube)

Chords of Fame (1984) was the first “documentary” made of Phil Ochs, less than a decade after his death. It’s part doc, part reenactment (Ochs is played by Bill Burnett) and honestly not the best iteration of this story. It’s heavily inspired by the Death Of A Rebel biography, and I would suggest reading that instead of watching this, as it has more context.

(Found on youtube in three separate parts, I’ve put the first two in this playlist, the third can be found here)

Writings:

Death of a Rebel by Marc Eliot (1979)

A well written book, released only a few years after Ochs’ death, so the info is relatively fresh at the time. It gives more insight than Schumacher’s biography does about some of the people in Ochs’ life, specifically his romantic partners (and by that I mean specifically Alice, with some extra mentions of Tina Date, and some vague dialogue about “Karen”)

(I read it on the internet archive)

There But For Fortune: the life of Phil Ochs by Michael Schumacher (1996)

This is a good one, which covers a lot of information, very educational. My main critique with this is that Schumacher doesn’t always seem to actually be a fan of Ochs, and especially not a fan of his music. That being said, the outlook that it presents information is to the point, while still being captivating and an all-around good read.

(I read it on the internet archive)

Phil Ochs: a Bio-Bibliography (1999)

Incredibly informative, and points out the faults from the other two books mentioned, such as the accidental title-swap between Ochs’ short stories “The Fight” and “White Milk to Red Wine,” which were both published during his schooling in the '50s. That’s how good this thing is with facts. Even still, it’s a good read, and an even better reference book with plenty of information included!

(you can read the pdf here)

The 100-page booklet from the compilation CD set— Farewells and Fantasies (released 1997), includes details from his life, pictures, lyrics, sections by people who knew him, and information about his discography

(I read it on the internet archive)

Writings by Ochs

The War Is Over, songbook, (1968)

This is specifically a wonderful zine-ish publication released by Ochs himself. It’s got articles written by him about folk, politics, etc. As well as writings by Judy Henske and Andy Wickham, photos, and artworks by Ron Cobb, as well as actual sheet music and lyrics to round out this songbook. Compared to other pieces where Ochs’ view is almost entirely speculative, this was put together by Phil Ochs, and provides a bit more insight into his ideas.

(You can buy an original copy online for $700 USD! or access it here on the Celebrating Phil Ochs website)

I’m Gonna Say It Now: The Writings Of Phil Ochs, book, (2020)

I read this recently, it’s not an essential read by any means but it’s got some interesting stuff that you may not have seen before.

(you can read the pdf here)

[superkooku]

Dionysus' iceberg

This post is what remains of an initially very long rant idea. That means there will probably be a part 2 😏.

Here's the reason for my title :

In theory, you can stop there since my meme pretty much summarizes my complaints. But since I like ranting, I'll continue 😈

The tip of the iceberg

When you think "Dionysus", which words come in mind first ?

Probably "wine", "party", "alcohol" "fun god".

These words are what most people remember about Dionysus. And yes, I'm not going to deny, they fit.

Unfortunately, my problem comes with the fact that 9.5 times out of 10, Dionysus' personality will exclusively revolve around these aspects.

Since the issue is about modern adaptations and perceptions, I'll use a modern term.

I'm sure most of you are familiar with flanderization, right ? If not, the link to TV Tropes' article on the subject is available.

Many adaptations fell into that trap for, I think, every single Olympian.

Hades, god of the dead, lord of the Underworld = Satan, evil death god, darkness and sorrow

Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty = Superficial bimbo who only cares about her pretty face

Zeus, king of the gods, lord of the sky and thunder = 100% pure God OR more recently : evil king god who constantly abuses women.

The gods are stripped of their complexity to fit simpler and more "digestible" characterizations. It doesn't help that the cultural context surrounding them is also taken away...

But this is about grape boi, right? Well, Dionysus is no exception to that rule. In fact, he might be one of the worst cases.

So far, he was never really portrayed in an "insulting" light, like Apollo in Lore Olympus or Hades in the Percy Jackson movie. Fortunately.

But, from all the popular adaptations I've seen, none of them manage to portray Dionysus ! None ! Does that make them automatically bad ? No, of course. It's just something I noticed.

God of war ? Doesn't appear, only mentioned

Disney ? Don't even try 🤣. Just a drunk goofball. Yes, that includes the fantasia segment and Hercules.

Lore Olympus? Well, he's a baby for 99.99999% of the time, so it doesn't count. But he's still a quiet little Gucci bag for Persephone.

Hades I ? Just a nice guy. But hey ! He can give us useful boons ! And I like his sass.

Maybe he'll do more in Hades II. They're usually more accurate than most, right ? Though that's not a very high bar. And they know about Zagreus ! Surely that's a good sign, right ?

Nevermind...

Here's what all these adaptations tell us :

Dionysus is the god of wine, feasts and parties

He's an Olympian

He likes to get drunk and party 🥳

And that's it.

Again, I'm not blaming anyone, but if the myths stopped with those three points, wouldn't everyone wonder why he's even an Olympian ? I sure did when I was a kid.

We have the god of thunder, the goddess of wisdom and war strategy, god of music/arts/medicine/100 other things, the god of the oceans ! Many cool gods !

And some drunk dude. He's not given any particular power, except the power to stay super passive no matter the stakes ! If the story revolves about epic godly fights (which is often the case), he's absolutely useless.

Heck, Hades II even actively depicts him as a pacifist who can't handle war. While he's not physically a weakling, he sure psychologically is.

Why is this a problem ?

I am not going to beat around the bush: this gives us a very incomplete and incorrect perception of the god.

Even the things that aren't forgotten about him (like his link to wine) aren't explored.

The thing with Hades II (that's the last time I'll mention it) is that it tries to deepen the flanderized version of Dionysus. He's not stupid, but afraid. He drinks to forget his issues.

While this characterization can be very interesting taken separately, we must remember that this isn't an OC, but an interpretation of a cultural figure.

It must be accurate ! While I can accept some liberties, I think that those should mostly be an extension of the original material, not a total deviation.

Dionysus isn't a scared little boi or a stupid drunkard you can manipulate. In fact, that's quite the opposite. And he's not afraid to get his hands dirty.

(even if the "dirt" in question is the blood of his enemies).

Under the surface

Though it's rather "stuff you can find on Wikipedia". Or by reading the myths.

More about it in part 2 of the rant...

It'll be about theater, madness, travels, link between mortality and immortality and... pirates turning into dolphins.

The actual interesting stuff about Dionysus.

Edits :

1. Thanks to @st4riel-the-w1tchling for clarifying the situation about Percy Jackson. I made my own research about BoZ. My opinion is basically still the same. Again, nothing terribly offensive, but nothing that interesting for Dionysus either.

2. I made part 2 a while ago, might as well add it here :

[aimee-maroux]

February Newsletter: Hearts, Hearts Everywhere! 💕

Hello my lovelies,

I wrote in my goals for 2025 that I want to regularly post newsletters this year and lo and behold, this is the start!

Happy Valentine's Day and I hope you enjoy this curation of love-themed stories and articles. 🌹

Guide to your Athenian Wedding 💍

The ancient Greek "wedding season" was early in the year due to the anniversary of Zeus' and Hera's wedding on 27 Gamelion. In our calendar the month of Gamelion roughly lies between January and February due to following the moon phases rather than the sun. So it's the perfect time to learn how to throw a big, fat, ancient Greek wedding! Learn all about it here!

Greek Mythology's Sweetest Love Stories 🥰

I only published it two days ago but in case you missed it: I made a list of sweet, happy love stories from Greek mythology including happy gay couples. Did I include your fave? These are mine but what is your favourite love story in Greek myth?

Pre-order Punderworld 💸

@sigeel's pun-filled retelling of the story of Hades and Persephone goes into round 2 in September 2025. You can follow the comic's regular updates on webtoons and Tapas but it's well worth to own in "dead tree form" for the beautiful cover art alone. Pre-order Punderworld Volume 2 in print or e-book format at a discount and support an absolutely amazing indie creator!

Anthesteria 🌷

According to Hellenion's calendar, the Athenian Anthesteria festival in honour of Dionysos was this week. In antiquity it lasted three days, from the 11th to the 13th of the month of Anthesterion. A revival has been celebrated in Athens last weekend. The Anthesteria festival celebrates the beginning of Spring and in particular the maturing of the wine stored at the previous vintage, whose pithoi (storage-jars) were now ceremoniously opened. If you want a fun and entertaining introduction to the Anthesteria (with some brief strap-on action no less!), I highly recommend the comic Anthesteria by @a-gnosis. Follow her for regular updates of her most recent comic Queen of the Dead.

Girl On The Net Valentine's Dates 💏

If you have a special someone (lucky you!) and are looking for romantic date ideas to show them your love and celebrate your hots for one another, Girl On The Net has a dozen cute and sexy date ideas for you! Most of her ideas don't even cost a penny and focus on having fun and getting to know your partner even better. My personal favourites are the "taste test" and the "little joys bucket list". Seriously a whole list of great ideas! Check them out here.

Egyptian mythology Valentine's card 💌

My brilliant Egyptian mythology-loving illustrator @sinistersinita created a beautiful Valentine's card of the Egyptian god Seth last year for you to enjoy and download. Find it here!

Wanton Weekly Erotica Newsletter 📝

I have submitted two of my stories to the Wanton Weekly newsletter to see if I get any interest. The numbers are still out but I like the idea of a weekly newsletter with sexy stories, comics, and podcasts published in the past week. The format could be more reader-friendly in my opinion but check it out for yourself.

Latest Erotic Mythology Posts 🔥

The Sweetest Love Stories in Greek Mythology

Fiction: A Little Luxury (F / F)

Fiction: Glorious and Terrible (Penthesileia / Erinyes)

My Goals for 2025 and my 2024 in Review

Fiction: Energized (Amphitrite / Hera)

Fiction: Nuts for the Cindermaid

Migrated Posts: These are not new but now available on the website too instead of just Patreon.

Non-Fiction: Apollon and Branchos Introducing the real life myth of how Apollon and Branchos kissed in the woods and then they were boyfriends.

Non-Fiction: Apollon's Prophetic Children and Lovers The most famous and renowned seers in Greek mythology are either Apollon's children or lovers.

Upcoming: Even more lesfic in form of a sapphic Klytaimnestra / Erinyes foursome and a bit of fairytale magic with the second part of Nuts for the Cindermaid. Latest prompt ahead in the polls is Loki masturbating with Thor's hammer (not a euphemism), so look out for that too!

May Queen Hera smile upon your relationship and Golden Aphrodite add the needed spice. 💖

Love, Aimée

[m00nlight-ramblings]

BG3 Companion Modern AU Headcanons

These random thoughts popped into my mind and I had to write them down. I love these little weirdos, and some of them probably don't make sense but OH WELL.

Should I do a Part 2 with more companions?? Let me know - my inbox and requests are open!

------

Astarion

This dude's got iPad kid energy - he loves to scroll Tiktok for hours.

He gets bi-weekly pedicures. And not the basic kind - the full on 1.5 hour long with the massage and the mask and the exfoliation.

His favorite holiday is Halloween. He plans his costume starting in August.

He'd be the type of person to be walking through a mall, see a Claire's, and spontaneously decide to get his ears pierced idk.

Is really into metal. Like, you'll come home and Metallica will be blasting and you walk into the bedroom and he's folding laundry and just like, "Oh, HELLO, Darling!" but will have to scream it over the volume in which he's listening to music

Will truly take an hour picking out the perfect wine to pair with your dinner...he's definitely a wine snob.

The cheapest article of clothing Astarion owns is from Banana Republic and it's an undershirt...everything else is ~*very fancy*~

Loves watching all types of vampire movies/TV shows. He can often be heard saying, "Oh no, they got that all wrong" under his breath.

He definitely reads like 1-2 books a week. He's recently really gotten in spicy smut books (he definitely got recommendations from BookTok).

For sure falls asleep to ASMR videos.

Gale

This man loves HGTV *queue Home Depot commercial music*

Has the most absolutely beautiful, clean home you've ever seen with about 30 bookcases CRAMMED with books. The books are the only disorganized thing in his home because he constantly is reading them, so alphabetizing them is useless.

Pinterest is his most used phone app. His boards are carefully curated. That man has a recipe/inspiration pic/quote for EVERYTHING.

Definitely volunteers at the animal shelter once a month. Often times has to talk himself out of bringing a cat home.

LUSH is his favorite store at the mall. He loves them bath bombs.

He THROWS DOWN at holiday parties...Christmas? Thanksgiving? The table is SET. The decorations are UP. He's wearing an APRON because he's been cooking ALL day. The playlist is PERFECT.

Speaking of holidays, he has matching pajama sets for everyone in the household. For every. Holiday.

Fall is absolutely his favorite season. "Sweetheart...have you ever watched 'When Harry Met Sally'? Perfect autumn movie...also I bought a new scarf today to go with my new peacoat. And mittens. And a new hat...it's getting cold outside."

He definitely has a Live. Laugh. Love. adjacent sign somewhere in his home

He definitely needs glasses to read. And he for sure has those librarian chains so that he can just take them off and they hang, instead of losing them.

Karlach

Absolutely loves to eat meals watching Youtube videos.

Imagine her in Times Square? She tears the M&M's store UP.

Is obsessed with documentaries. She often says things like "I can't believe there's so much stuff to LEARN out there!"

Definitely has a Squishmallow collection. And she rotates which one she sleeps with every night so they all get a chance.

Is absolutely the worst cook of all time but tries really really hard...however, she can make a mean boxed mac n' cheese.

Has an obsession with sugary cereal. There's always Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Fruity Pebbles in her cabinets.

Certified Switie for SURE.

Is really into astrology. Definitely has said, "Oh, you're just saying that because you're a SCORPIO" or the like many, many times.

Absolute Starbucks addiction (venti iced caramel macchiato, extra caramel).

Has monthly "girl's nights" (but everyone is invited) at her place. The rules are: pajamas only, junk food, romcoms, and a playlist of the best pop songs in the past 20 years.

------

How'd y'all like it...should I make a part two with other companions?! Remember my inbox is open and I'm accepting requests!! I'd love to write some stuff so send it in!

[official-linguistics-post]

Hey hello :D

So I stumbled across this article about the origin/ first recorded use of the @ symbol - and I absolutely loved it! Thought others could be interested as well. Maybe you've already covered this on your blog, maybe not... so yeah :]]

Byeee

The Accidental History of the @ Symbol

...The origin of the symbol itself, one of the most graceful characters on the keyboard, is something of a mystery. One theory is that medieval monks, looking for shortcuts while copying manuscripts, converted the Latin word for “toward”—ad—to “a” with the back part of the “d” as a tail. Or it came from the French word for “at”—à—and scribes, striving for efficiency, swept the nib of the pen around the top and side. Or the symbol evolved from an abbreviation of “each at”—the “a” being encased by an “e.” The first documented use was in 1536, in a letter by Francesco Lapi, a Florentine merchant, who used @ to denote units of wine called amphorae, which were shipped in large clay jars...

fascinating! i'd love to see a more in-depth exploration of this topic. i appreciate the author not trying to pin one definitive origin to the symbol, which is soooo infuriatingly common in pop science reporting.

this is from 2012, so if anybody knows of more recent developments, hit me up!

[posttexasstressdisorder]

JUST IN: JUDGE BOX-O-WINE NAMED INTERIM DC ATTORNEY...oy fuckin' vey...

CNN 5/8/2025

Trump names Jeanine Pirro interim US attorney for DC

By Alayna Treene and Kaitlan Collins, CNN

Updated: 6:57 PM EDT, Thu May 8, 2025

Source: CNN

President Donald Trump announced Thursday he’s appointing Fox News host and former prosecutor Jeanine Pirro the interim US attorney for Washington, DC, after his first pick faced what appeared to be insurmountable pushback from Republicans on Capitol Hill.

“I am pleased to announce that Judge Jeanine Pirro will be appointed interim United States Attorney for the District of Columbia,” Trump wrote on Truth Social, touting her as the first woman elected to several previous positions and calling her a “powerful crusader for victims of crime.”

“She excelled in all ways,” Trump went on, praising her television career. “In addition to her Legal career, Jeanine previously hosted her own Fox News Show, Justice with Judge Jeanine, for ten years, and is currently Co-Host of The Five, one of the Highest Rated Shows on Television.”

Pirro, whom CNN reported earlier had been under consideration for the role, did not appear Thursday on Fox News’ “The Five.” ABC News first reported that Trump is eying Pirro for the position.

CNN has reached out to Pirro.

Trump said earlier Thursday he would soon announce a new person to replace Ed Martin, his controversial first pick.

“He’s a terrific person, and he wasn’t getting the support from people that I thought,” Trump told reporters at the White House. “I can only lift that little phone so many times in a day, but we have somebody else that will be great,” he added.

Instead, the president said Martin will take on a role within the Department of Justice “or whatever.”

Martin’s chances of full Senate approval had been rapidly diminishing as Republicans on the powerful Senate Judiciary Committee needed to advance his nomination this week to meet a critical deadline for confirmation before his interim position expired on May 20.

Following Trump’s announcement that he would be withdrawing Martin’s nomination, Sen. Lindsey Graham called the president’s move “probably a good decision, given all the concerns.”

The South Carolina Republican also suggested he had insight into the president’s next pick for the job, telling CNN, “Stay tuned. It’s going to be big.”

The president formally named Martin as his pick for the job in March, and his nomination process had been riddled with controversies in the weeks since.

Martin updated his mandated disclosure to Congress detailing all of his past media appearances at least three times after his initial filing failed to report appearances he had made in the past few years, including many on far-right outlets and Russian-state media.

He also had to answer for his previous praise of a Capitol rioter who is an alleged Nazi sympathizer, despite his more recent denouncement. And he did not recall some of his most controversial past statements in response to a series of questions under oath put to him by members of the Senate Judiciary Committee.

During his short tenure as acting US attorney, Martin has drawn attention for having referred to the nation’s largest office of federal prosecutors as “President Trumps’ [sic] lawyers,” and demoting senior attorneys who worked on January 6, 2021, Capitol riot cases.

Sen. Thom Tillis, a key GOP swing vote, derailed Martin’s nomination on Monday when he informed the White House he would not support the president’s nominee over concerns related to Martin’s views on the January 6, 2021, attack on the US Capitol.

Despite the setback, the White House had insisted it was behind Martin and Trump was personally lobbying lawmakers on his behalf.

“Martin is President Trump’s favorite US Attorney,” one source familiar with his nomination process said at the time.

This story and headline have been updated with additional details.

See Full Web Article

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[allmightskitten]

Ao3 is down??!!! Well, sounds as good a time as any to post another instalment from the abandoned WIP graveyard!

🦩🐊❤️‍🔥

Abandoned WIP Graveyard:

do you think you'd like to buy me diamonds?

- a modern doflamingo/crocodile/corazon fic

- abandoned possibly temporarily, something to return to in the future if there's time

- was going to be E rated and nasty, but the preview I have for you today hasn't gotten there yet lol

- dofcora, dofuwani, both those things together AND corawani 🫣 also the crocodad theory is a thing here because of course it is ☝️

Extract below the cut:

It meant one of two things if he wasn't responding to their shared code of knocking thrice slowly, and thrice more in quick succession: one, he was neck deep in work, hunched over pages and pages of scattered drawings that had built up over the course of half a day, and hundreds of scrunched-up sheets in the bin, on the bed and floor, everywhere– or, two: he was pouring over images and information that he really shouldn't have.

Doflamingo was holed up in his room again, and Rosinante knew from prior experience that that was never a good sign.

Images and information that, Rosinante was quite sure, would be classified by most as 'creepy' to own or at the very least 'illegal'.

He tried the knock again. There wasn't anything terribly important to bother his brother about, but he needed to know as early as possible if Doffy would be free to drive him to Law's school play later this evening. He had got his own license suspended a few days back for reckless driving, which in his defense was more so bad driving than recklessness as his general clumsiness unfortunately translated to that aspect of his life as well.

"Come in," Doffy's voice came muffled through the door, unexpressive and distracted. Rosinante braced himself and let himself inside.

Yeah...

This was what he was afraid of.

The bedroom he set foot into was like a folder of evidence needed for a restraining order. Blown-up photos of him– 'Crocodile', the 40-something-year-old casino owner Doflamingo had become fixated on– lined the walls, stuck to them carelessly with kraft tape. Splayed out on the bed in front of Doffy were printed news articles and magazine clippings, every one about the same subject. Piled on the foot of the bed were an assortment of various items including brand new cigars, ties, bottles of wine and flowers.

Rosinante cleared his throat pointedly, drawing a pair of pale crimson eyes in his direction.

"I thought we agreed that stalking that man is dangerous." Crocodile had ties to the underworld too, ties that were very much not in line with their own. "It would be a lot less dangerous if you just visited his casino and started speaking to him organically."

Doffy slowly set down the magazine clippings he was stuffing into a transparent folder. He observed Rosinante for a moment, like he was reading his body language and all his tells he wasn't aware of himself, before a sudden snort-laugh escaped him loudly.

"Aw, don't tell me you're jealous, baby brother!"

Rosinante's cheeks felt hot.

"I'm not jealous," he sputtered, like the very notion was ridiculous. 

"It's okay," Doflamingo said placatingly, knowingly, sugary-sweet. He made space on the bed beside him and patted the sheets. "I've been neglecting you lately, haven't I? Let me make things right."

Rosi bit his lip. There was nothing remotely right about what Doffy was offering to do, and all the other things they had started to get up to in recent times– things one certainly shouldn't be doing with one's own family member, nevermind one as close as a sibling– but he knew Doflamingo felt no guilt and remained completely unapologetic for it.

Why the hell not? he'd whispered in Rosinante's ear a fortnight ago, when he had grown stiff in Doffy's arms, chilling realization hitting him like a freight train after evading him the entire time Doffy had been kissing him, jerking him off until he came. We're closer to each other than anyone. What does a little more closeness matter?

Oh, but Doflamingo's touch was addictive. His attention doubly so.

His body moved on its own to take the space Doffy had cleared for him. Short, cropped blonde hair was immediately in his lap as Doflamingo stretched his long legs out on the other side of the bed, grinning devilishly up at him as he slid his fingers into his big brother's hair.

It probably had something to do with their messy upbringing. Their years of separation before they found their way back to each other. The way Doflamingo spoiled him rotten with all the wealth he'd built up in the time he'd been gone, in stark contrast to the impoverished lifestyle Rosinante led until then.

Doflamingo really had no qualms about anything, and nothing was a step too far in his book, but Rosinante wasn't like that. He had principles and morals and knew right from wrong, usually.

Doflamingo brought out the worst in him.

Rosi cleared his throat, not wanting to go down that avenue right now. For his own sanity he'd have to avoid Doffy for another fortnight if today's interaction ended like last time.

"I need you to drive me somewhere tonight. Law has a role in the school play."

Doffy snorted, his expression immediately souring.

"What, is he a tree? Or perhaps the backstage help who moves the set pieces?"

Rosinante swatted him on the head for that, indignant at the implication.

"He has a speaking role, asshole!"

"Oh, does he now? So they managed to pull him away from his books enough to get him to audition?"

Rosi dug his massaging fingers into Doffy's scalp a little aggressively. "Stop being such an ass. He's eight, you can't keep having beef with an eight year old."

"He always starts it!" Doffy protested childishly. "I have never, ever started the fight."

"Right, like I'm gonna believe that."

"I swear!"

"Because your word is so honest." Rosinante rolled his eyes, but he relaxed his fingers, and Doffy immediately melted into his touch. "So? Can you drive me there tonight? You don't have to stick around and watch it."

"Mm, I was thinking about your advice, actually." Doffy reached up to touch his cheek. "About interacting normally with Crocodile, at his casino. I was thinking of doing that tonight."

Rosi squeezed his hand. "Dof, I'm glad to hear that. I really am, but I don't want to miss Law's play." Law hated Doflamingo. And the kid was very perceptive, scarily so– the last time Rosinante had missed the chance to be there for him because of Doflamingo, he'd automatically known who to blame. Rosinante wasn't keen on disappointing his kid either. Law had no one but him. 

Doffy narrowed his eyes at him, studying the expression on his face, the quiet plea to allow him this. It was unhealthy, it was wrong, just how much control Doflamingo had over his life, but he could be reasoned with if it was coming from Rosinante...

"Fine," Doflamingo said finally. "I'll drive you to the play. But I'm only dropping you off. I can't leave the casino early to pick you up after."

That was fine. He could take a taxi. The Donquixotes weren't supposed to be taking civilian taxis, that was dangerous and Doflamingo didn't allow him especially, but he didn't have to know that. "I can get a lift from one of the parents."

"And have you vetted these people?"

Rosi sighed. There was that paranoia again– though more than being paranoid it was probably being controlling.

"Yes, Doffy, I have. Having a kid in Law's class whom he recognizes is quite a difficult cover for one of your enemies to fake, you know."

"You never know," Doffy said darkly, seriously, but he seemed placated with the answer. "You don't have to go that far, anyway. I'll send one of my men to pick you up. Bellamy's schedule should be free today."

Rosi nodded, grateful and disappointed at the same time. He wasn't a huge fan of the life his brother lived and actively benefiting from it didn't always sit right with him. It wasn't like Doflamingo's underworld business that made him filthy rich was without victims.

Doflamingo patted his cheek, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Not even a thank you, Rosi? Come here and show me."

Rosinante tried to pretend he was only placating Doflamingo when he leaned down to kiss him on the lips.

[lemoncrushh]

Seven Six Five - Part Three

Summary: They met once seven years ago. Now music has made them cross paths again.

Warnings: smut, body image issues, angst. 18+ ONLY!

A/N: Enemies to Lovers. This was originally written and posted in 2020, right before the pandemic, so the story takes place then with flashbacks of 2013. Harry Styles x Plus Size OC, written in third person.

Part Three Word Count: 3.5k+

STORY PAGE

27 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

Bronwyn had tossed and turned all night. After returning home from her meeting with Harry, she’d started feeling a pang in her gut. She’d worried that perhaps she had been a little hard on him, and maybe even downright cruel. She’d thought about the look in his eyes when he’d asked her about that night, and how he’d sincerely sounded clueless. Perhaps she’d had it all wrong, or maybe he’d just been a different person then, seven years ago. People do grow, in fact. And maybe...just maybe, he’d been looking for a way to apologise.

When she’d sat at her computer with a glass of wine, hoping to distract her mind and get some work done, she’d soon found the attempt futile. Instead, she’d opened the website where her article was published. She reread it, looking at the photos she’d taken and scanning through the comments. They were all positive, many true, die-hard fans giving their thanks and input. A few were also from newer fans, people who’d only recently discovered him and kicked themselves for not listening to him sooner.

Nobody called him fake. Nobody said he was a phony. It was all just the opposite. Everyone honestly adored him, and called him things like “genuine”, “a class act” and “the kind of man I hope my son turns out to be.”

Setting her laptop aside, Bronwyn walked to her tiny kitchen table where she’d left the tote bag Harry had given her. Slipping her hand inside, she pulled out the vinyl record and unwrapped the cellophane. Surprised to find it was a gatefold, she examined the fish-eye photos on the cover and the inside. When she pulled the record out of the sleeve, something else fell out and onto the floor. Picking it up, Bronwyn saw that it was a folded poster which she quickly opened, letting out a cackle.

“Oh my God, you’ve got to be joking!” she exclaimed, looking at the photos on either side.

Shaking her head, she placed the record on her turntable and dropped the needle. She recognised the intro to the first song, having listened to it a handful of times that weekend on Spotify. By the middle of the song, she found herself singing along to the lyrics. Then sitting down on the sofa, she inspected the poster again, the side where Harry was laid out on the floor...naked.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself.

She realised nothing was really showing. It was a tasteful pose, and his hand and thigh were covering his unmentionables. It was art, and she could respect that. But she didn’t like the way it made her feel.

Or maybe she did.

Folding the poster back up, Bronwyn slipped it back into the album sleeve and grabbed her glass of wine.

Perhaps it had been the chardonnay, or maybe the half a dozen listens to Harry’s album that had kept her awake most of the night. But nevertheless, Bronwyn was determined to do some actual work when she finally got out of bed and brushed her teeth. No thinking of Harry Styles today, nor her history with him. No listening to his music. His album was tucked away in her vinyl collection, along with that ridiculously enticing poster…

It was mid-afternoon when Bronwyn finally showered. After getting loads of work done - thanks to the promise she’d kept to herself - including some housework such as cleaning her bathroom, dusting and watering her plants, she took a nice, long, steaming shower. Slipping into a striped tee and a pair of denim overalls, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Deciding it was time for tea, she was just about to walk to the kitchen when she heard the buzzer for her building. She wasn’t expecting company, nor a package, so she was curious who rang.

“‘Ello?” she called into the intercom.

“Hi Bronwyn. It’s Harry.”

Shocked, she blurted the first word that came to mind. “Who?”

“Forgot me again already,” he laughed. “It’s Harry Styles.”

Clearing her throat, Bronwyn tried to get her bearings. “What can I do for you, Harry?”

“Well, I’d like to come in, if I may.”

“Um…” she pondered for a moment, looking around the room. It wasn’t as though he was going to walk into a mess and think her a slob or anything. She’d just cleaned, and her flat was tidy as a pin. “Okay.”

Bronwyn hesitantly pressed the button to buzz Harry into the building. Opening the door, she stepped out into the hallway, just in time to see him enter and look up at her from the bottom of the stairs. This time, he wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous in all black. Instead, he’d gone a similar route to his Tiny Desk performance, choosing a striped sweater vest, pinstripe shirt and brown trousers. He was again carrying a tote bag.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey...how did you...find out where I live?” Bronwyn asked.

“Same way I got your number.”

“Oh. Well, um...what are you doing here?”

“Well, after we parted ways yesterday, I got the feeling that something was wrong. I just couldn’t shake it, wondering what I’d done,” Harry explained, taking the stairs to meet her. “Then it dawned on me.”

Stopping at the second to top step, Harry was nearly eye level with Bronwyn. She swallowed hard as she got a hefty whiff of his cologne.

“What’s that?” she mumbled.

“One of the things I remembered most about you, when we’d originally met all those years ago...was that you loved vinyl. It was something we had in common in fact, as I was just starting to grow my own collection. So my initial thought had been to bring you a vinyl copy of my album. But I see now that that was very presumptuous of me, if not a little pretentious. Of course you wouldn’t be interested in that. You like the old stuff, the classics.”

Her knitted eyebrows relaxing, Bronwyn’s expression softened as Harry handed her the tote bag.

“Brought these for you. Thought you might like them.”

Taking the bag, Bronwyn stared incredulously at Harry before peeking inside.

“Why did you-?”

“I offended you. Clearly,” said Harry, holding up his hand. “And I apologise. It’s my peace offering.”

If you only knew…

“Um…” Bronwyn faltered again, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a cuppa.”

“Can’t stay long,” replied Harry, his lips slowly stretching into a smile. “But...that would be nice.”

With a short nod, Bronwyn turned for the doorway of her flat, Harry following. Then shutting the door behind him, she watched as his eyes perused her tiny studio apartment. There was a half wall separating her bed, a beaded curtain used for the rest of the wall. A small desk sat in the corner beside the window which was lined with plants. Beside the sofa stood her turntable, her record collection underneath. Harry took a moment to inspect it all, taking it all in whilst Bronwyn headed for the kitchen to start the kettle.

“This is really lovely, Bronwyn.”

The sound of her name from his lips made her insides jump. She looked up from the counter to see Harry walk over to the large window and gently touch the leaves of a plant.

“Thanks.”

His long legs strode across the room where he stopped and pointed to the beaded curtain and grinned.

“That is very you,” he said.

“It is?” she asked, feeling herself blush.

Harry nodded. “I reckon if I had to imagine your place, I’d picture it exactly like this.”

“Um...I’m not sure how to take that.”

His audibly pleasing laugh echoed as he walked over to the turntable.

“Do you mind?” he gestured.

“No, sure, go ahead.”

Harry grabbed the tote bag from the counter where Bronwyn had left it and pulled out the records. Choosing the Donny Hathaway Live album, he placed it gently on the turntable. As the music started, the familiar light crackling that only came from listening to vinyl, Harry turned for the kitchen, an easy smile on his face.

“I like live albums, don’t you?” he inquired.

“Sometimes.”

“It’s great because you feel like you’re there. Even when it was recorded forty years ago.”

“Hmm, yes,” Bronwyn nodded. “Except when it’s not really a hundred percent live.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Like I heard somewhere that KISS Alive! wasn’t actually all live. The producer or engineer, or maybe Gene Simmons decided some of it wasn’t clear enough, so they overdubbed it with studio clips. I don’t think some of the audience sounds were even real.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Harry pouted as he leant against the counter.

“Yeah. Still a good album though.”

“Have you listened to this one before?” he asked, pointing to the record player.

Bronwyn shook her head. “I haven’t. I like Donny Hathaway, but haven’t listened to very much of his stuff.”

“You’ll like this,” Harry declared with a nod.

Though the first song wasn’t even complete yet, Bronwyn somehow knew he was right. Not because she already liked it so far, but because she knew Harry had good taste. She remembered the scattered conversations about music they’d had that night…

The kettle whistled then, bringing her out of her reverie, and Bronwyn busied herself with preparing the tea.

“Um, how do you take it?” she called, seeing as Harry had made his way back to the turntable and was browsing through her record collection.

“Just lemon if you have it,” replied Harry, his head down as he studied an old jazz album.

Moments later, Bronwyn announced that the tea was ready and set Harry’s cup on the counter.

“Thanks,” he said. Inspecting a Linda Ronstadt record, he held it up. “This is one I need for my collection.”

“Yes you do,” Bronwyn agreed, carrying her cup and leaning against the edge of the counter. “It’s one of my absolute favourites.”

“I just fancy her in those roller skates and socks.”

Bronwyn couldn’t help but laugh. “Then you’ll also need the one where she’s on the beach and her nipples are showing.”

Turning his head, Harry gave a smirk. “Oh, I do have that one.”

“Figures.”

“Oh, here’s a gem!” Harry exclaimed, holding up a Bill Evans record. “I have this, too.”

Biting her lip, Bronwyn felt the heat rise on her neck as though Harry had just discovered a special secret.

“That’s my writing album. I play it a lot when I need inspiration. Or when I’m reading.”

“Wonderful,” Harry commented softly before returning it to the pile.

Last, he picked up a sleeve of Stevie Nicks’ album The Other Side of the Mirror.

“Another brilliant choice,” he said, noticing the item was light. “Where’s the record?”

Bronwyn frowned. “It got damaged in the move to New York. I have all of hers except that one. I’ve been meaning to replace it, but never did.”

“A shame,” Harry muttered. Then he rose from his spot on the floor. “Sorry, I guess I should drink that tea now.”

“It might be cold, do you want-”

Harry shook his head after taking a sip. “It’s fine.” Then he smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, unable to tear her eyes from his face. “Um...I don’t reckon I’ve ever had anyone in here who dove straight for my vinyls.”

The dimples dipping deeper in his cheeks, Harry looked down at his cup. “We have quite a lot in common.”

“Hmm…” Bronwyn nodded.

“Of course, I knew that when I met you.”

Grinning slightly, Bronwyn set her cup on the counter. She’d been wanting to say something, the feeling that she’d had the night before whilst listening to his album. Now with him stood in her flat, she knew she needed to say it face to face.

“Harry, I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to you yesterday.”

“Wha’?”

“When you gave me your record...I thought you were just being an arsehole celebrity plugging his work.”

“I understand, what’s why I-”

Bronwyn held up her hand. “I read the comments on my article, and so many people are fond of you, some even saying that they’ve met you and you’re the nicest person. I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions.”

“I can see how you would think-”

“Harry, just accept my apology so we can let it lie.”

Pursing his lips, Harry nodded. “Apology accepted.”

“Good.” Bronwyn brought her teacup to her lips and took a slow sip as she watched Harry step around the counter to meet her.

“Now tha’ that’s done,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper, “can we address the elephant in the room?”

Lowering her cup, Bronwyn widened her eyes. “What elephant?”

“What’s still left unsaid between us…” Harry gestured.

Bronwyn shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because...it was seven years ago. Let’s just forget it.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” said Harry, his face expressionless.

Bronwyn rolled her eyes and turned for the stove, but Harry grabbed her arm.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly. “I thought you wanted...me.”

Taking a deep breath, Bronwyn blinked slowly. “I thought I did, too. I mean...I did.”

“I had a great time, didn’t you?”

“Yes. You still remember?”

“Of course,” Harry grinned, stepping around to stand in front of her. “I remember everythin’. Your musical knowledge that could rival anyone else’s I knew, the way you could hold your own and drink everybody under the table, your infectious laugh…”

Her lips spreading, Bronwyn let out a hearty chuckle.

“That’s the one,” Harry remarked. “And most of all I remember the kiss.”

“You do?”

For years that kiss had continued to haunt her dreams. It had been the most amazing, perfect kiss. Right before he’d asked her to leave with him. Before…

“Hold that thought!” Harry held up a finger before rushing into the living room.

She watched him take the record off the turntable and place it on side B, letting the needle drop. She hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped, she had been so caught off guard by Harry’s kiss comment. With a satisfied grin, he made his way back to the kitchen and stood before her again, just where he’d been.

“Where were we?” he beamed.

“Um...I dunno…” Bronwyn said, running a hand through her curls. She noticed his cologne was making her a bit dizzy. “You were saying how you remember…”

“Ah, right, the kiss.”

“You smell really nice.” It was involuntary. Word vomit. Still, Harry chuckled, making her feel warm all over.

“Thank you.”

Harry leant in, his lips nearly brushing against her skin. She could feel his breath on her. Awkwardly, she touched his wrists as he rested his hands on either side of her on the counter. He searched for her gaze as she looked down, focusing on how his hips were pressed against hers. She was certainly trapped, just as she’d been that night in the alcove. The rush of adrenaline combined with the memory, as well as his intoxicating aroma, made her light-headed. Bronwyn slid her hands up his arms, and just as she lifted her head, his lips found hers. They kissed soft and short kisses at first, until he pulled her closer and darted his tongue inside. Grabbing a fist full of his sweater, she let out a tiny whimper before releasing herself from the kiss and pushing her palms against his chest.

“No. I mean...sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry breathed.

“I just...I can’t.”

“Why not? Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. It’s not that. I just...can’t be that woman.”

“What woman?” Harry inquired, furrowing his brows.

“The one who wakes up alone in your hotel bed after a shag and you’re nowhere to be found because you couldn’t handle saying goodbye.”

“We’re in your flat, love,” Harry giggled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.”

With a sigh, Bronwyn pushed against him again, trying to wriggle herself free from his body. Stepping back, Harry allowed her space as he stared at her incredulously.

“This...it can’t happen, Harry,” declared Bronwyn. “I realised some things that night...that I just can’t get over.”

“What things? What happened?” Harry reached for her, but she waved him away.

“Please. I really would rather not talk about it. It would just...it’s too painful.”

Harry tilted his head. “But love, if we don’t talk about it, how can I-”

“I think you should go.”

“Bronwyn-”

She lowered his head, trying her best not to cry. “Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Alright.”

Bronwyn stood frozen in the kitchen as Harry made his way toward the door. Donny Hathaway continued to serenade, punctuating the scene when Harry stopped and turned around.

“The number I called you from...that’s my personal cell,” he offered. “If...you decide you wanna talk, you can call me. Or text me. I’ll be all ears.”

Bronwyn nodded, looking down at her hands. Harry opened the door and held it open as he looked at her again.

“I really hope you do, Bronwyn. I mean...no pressure, but…” Harry paused with another sigh, “I’d really like to finish that kiss.”

With that, Harry stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving Bronwyn in the kitchen with the first of many tears to wet her cheeks.

20 August, 2013 - London, England, UK

Her entire body was on fire. She didn’t remember ever being this turned on. Not that she had a lot of experience, but...well she’d had enough. But this...this was different.

His lips had moved from hers to her neck, nibbling seductively as she tried to keep her balance against the wall of the alcove. His right hand that had been at her waist had made its way to her bum where it cupped her and urged her to lift her thigh.

“Harry…” she breathed.

His wet mouth traveled to her ear then where he whispered her name.

“Leave with me,” he requested.

“What?”

“Come with me to my hotel. Stay with me tonight.”

With a quiet yes and moan of agreement, Bronwyn turned her head to meet his lips once again.

“Let me um…” she stammered, “I need to get my bag and camera. Meet me...by the lifts? Fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded as he stood straight, adjusting himself. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Tugging on her dress, Bronwyn gave him a sexy smile before a quick peck on the lips.

“See you soon,” she murmured, heading down the hall.

Finding her camera quickly, she took a trip to the loo to freshen her makeup and get her bearings. Looking in the mirror, she saw a right mess staring back at her.

“Oh Bronwyn, look at you,” she tsked. “You already looked absolutely fucked.”

Applying just a touch of cosmetics, she finger-combed her hair the best she could, trying to tame the frizzies and lift the flat parts. Then after a tiny spritz of perfume, she stood back and examined herself.

She’d never been terribly fond of her body. In fact, she’d always thought herself fat. But tonight...she felt pretty, beautiful even. Harry made her feel that way. He’d even whispered how he found her sexy whilst they’d made out in the alcove. And if someone like him wanted to sleep with her...well, she couldn’t be all bad.

Dropping her lipstick in her bag, Bronwyn slung it over her shoulder and pushed the bathroom door open. Halfway down the hall, towards the lifts, she heard voices. Slowing her steps, she came to a large door that was ajar. Peeking inside, she saw a circle of boys, and quickly recognised them as Harry and his bandmates. Harry seemed to have his back to her, and she couldn’t make out their words. That is, until she heard her name.

28 February, 2020 - New York, NY, USA

12:13 AM. Bronwyn kept clicking the button on her phone to check the time. She’d been doing that for the last forty-five minutes. Perhaps it was too late to call. He might be asleep.

But maybe not.

She didn’t like the feeling in her stomach. It turned and flipped like one of those children’s toys with the water inside. After Harry’d left, she’d let herself cry on her bed until she’d fallen asleep. When she’d risen, she’d barely eaten a few crackers and cheese before settling on a glass of wine and some tunes.

Eyeing the tote bag on the counter, Bronwyn had pulled out the other vinyl Harry had brought her. It was Wings - Back To The Egg. While she was a fan of Paul McCartney and had several of his albums, this was one of a few she’d been missing. The notion that Harry would have known that was ludicrous, but it warmed her heart just the same.

After listening to the entire album, and then the Donny Hathaway one again, Bronwyn had resolved that she might have been an idiot. Maybe Harry wasn’t a phony. Maybe she didn’t hate him anymore. And maybe...just maybe...she actually kind of liked him.

Pressing the button one last time, she unlocked her phone, finding Harry’s number easily. Her head and heart pounded as she heard it ring.

“Hi.”

Bronwyn thought she might throw up as she swallowed hard. “Hi.”

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t either.”

Eeeek! What do you think happened??

Please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[doggernaut]

5, 9, 17!

Thank you for these asks!

5. What's something you learned while researching a fic?

Good question! I'm always looking up little random things, like flight times and locations of things. But big things I've learned? I wouldn't say I have any special knowledge I can pull out about a specific topic due to fic research. Not in the way I remember random details from old New Yorker articles about the history of the disposable diaper, for instance. Huh. I did do a some research about East Coast surfing and tides when I was writing we'll make out and take a mouthful of the summer time, since I'm only familiar with West Coast beaches. But I avoided going into too much surfing detail in that fic.

9. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I mean, if you want the real answer, it's when I was seven and was mad because I'd finished reading all of Beverly Cleary's Ramona books and my dad suggested I write my own Ramona stories. But I didn't really get into it until like 2006, when a group from the old Fametracker boards decided to write a round robin Baby-Sitters Club fic and I signed up to write a chapter. I took a long break and then wrote a few vey short Parks and Rec fics in 2011 or so, then took another long break before I fell headfirst into the Check, Please fandom. With both Parks and Rec and Check, Please, it was simply because I had ideas that I couldn't stop thinking about. (RIP to the super angsty Parks longfic I never ended up writing but still lives rent free in my head.)

17. What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

This is a hard one because writing has been hard lately and I haven't felt like I've written much to be proud of. But I really like this banter from my most recently posted chapter of If I'm not too much for you, then sign me up. (Which ... I really need to buckle down and finish the next chapter...)

Jack raised an eyebrow and Eric knew a chirp was coming. Was it possible for an eyebrow to smirk? Because that was definitely what Jack’s eyebrow was doing. “Didn’t take you for the type to stress about carbs, Bittle. You know, since you’ve written multiple books devoted to dessert.” “I don’t, usually,” Eric said. “But two weeks of nonstop travel does have a way of bringing out my worst habits, and I think it’s safe to say that some things need to change in the new year. I don’t need grilled cheese from the late night room service menu as a late night snack every night.” But grilled cheese was always better when you didn’t have to make it yourself, and it had been so easy to fall into that habit. “Probably not,” Jack agreed, “but don’t go too crazy. You probably should figure out a better balance of carbs and protein, but if I hear that you’re working on a salad cookbook I’m going to start to worry.” “No need to worry, I just realized I can’t remember the last time I ate a green vegetable. Don’t tell my kids; they’ll be thrilled if this becomes a trend.” “I don’t know, I think it would be kind of fun to let them know the truth about their dad,” Jack chirped. “I don’t think Sam and Lizzie would mind eating grilled cheese every night. I could totally sabotage your efforts to ever get them to eat a vegetable again.” “You wouldn’t!” Eric gasped in mock horror.  “Nah,” Jack said. “But I do have some extra tubs of protein shake mix from one of my sponsors. I’ll bring one over when we’re both back in town.” “Oh my god, what did I do to deserve this?” Eric said with a laugh. “You know what? Fine. Bring all the protein powder. Maybe it’ll inspire my next dessert. I’ll call it the Zimmermann Special.” Jack bumped Eric with his shoulder. “You’re punchy tonight. I like it.” “Well, somebody ordered dessert drinks after we drank that bottle of wine,” Eric retorted.  “Somebody demanded a taste of my drink with the excuse of quality control.” “Oh, hush. I told you when we ordered that I couldn’t decide. You said I could try yours,” Eric reminded Jack. Then, realizing they’d walked several blocks and he hadn’t been really been paying attention to where they were, he glanced at the map on his phone. “I think I’m this way,” he said, nodding in the direction of his hotel. Jack’s was two blocks over. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way,” Jack said. 

[gabessquishytum]

Did you know Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman once spent an intimate evening together? Which makes me wild, if you'll pardon the pun, and also reminds me of Poet!Dream from Moorishflower's recent cowboy au.

My particular riff would be similar. Dream is a young poet on a speaking tour of the UK and the US espousing the ideals of a more bohemian lifestyle versus one grounded in reason and security. One should strive to see all of his dreams come true. He doesn't quite know what his tour exists partially to promote a rather scathing play based on him and his enclave back in London, but the seats fill themselves and he's getting a very nice pay. One such person who attends his talks is Hob.

Hob is not a young man anymore. He's spent the better part of his life working the trades and molding himself into being the sort of intellectual that he wants to be. He's entirely self-taught in most of his artistic matters and has only recently become a national sensation after a volume of poetry he has written about his life as a poor workman and of the intense friendships he's had with other men becomes a best seller. He thinks Dream is a little naive, but appreciates his fight for the arts.

They both happen to know the same literary agent and said agent gets them to correspond with each other. Both make horrible first impressions as Dream, who has never read a line Hob has written, basically stands in awe that someone without a formal education could be so good. Hob responds in kind that living a life focused solely on art must be heaven when he doesn't have to worry about paying his rent. They volley back and forth for a few weeks, trading well-humored insults and falling ever so closer in love than before. That is until Dream's speaking tour comes to an end and he must leave. Hob concedes then and invites him over for dinner.

At dinner, they drink wine and talk philosophy. Dream is much more humble in person than he is via correspondence. Hob also is much more learned than he comes across. Dream is actually in awe of him making the best of his life no matter the situation. Which Dream simply didn't think was possible. He places his hand on Hob's knee and one thing leads to another. About three months after he's returned to London, he reads a new poem from Hob that's just been published in a highly respected magazine and while it's titled "An Ode to Somnus", he knows it's about him his heart just soars.

- 🤜 Anon

This is a great AU, I absolutely love it. If you guys are interested in reading more about Oscar and Walt's romantic evening, there's a fantastic little article in The Toast which I'll link here.

Anyway, I can't stop thinking about Dream putting his hand on Hob’s knee. And Hob calling Dream a "great, splendid boy". God, yeah. Hob taking Dream into his lap and telling him that he's so pretty and clever. Dream pressing coy kisses to the edge of his mouth until Hob takes him properly in hand, slides rough fingers into his neatly combed hair, and kisses the soul out of him.

Dream lies in bed at home and luxuriates in the memory of Hob’s touch, and he has never been so happy. He takes a clipping from the magazine and presses it against his heart. The next time he writes to Hob, he leaves kiss marks stained with rouge on the paper. And he's already begging for another speaking tour - he already has so many new thoughts to present, about following one's dreams and the nature of love. And he wants very much to give Hob a private performance.

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress Two Kinktober Time Three: Return of the Kink

Day 2: Slow and Steady (Fantasizing)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Spy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spy fantasizes about you in his smoking room

Tags: Masturbation, reader isn’t directly involved, oral, fantasy, smoking, edging, praise

Word Count: 1.9k

The Masterlist

Slow and steady. It had become a kind of mantra that Spy reminded himself of almost daily. Slow and steady wins the race was a proverb to be held in high regard, whether it involved pursuits of the athletic kind or the romantic kind. Slow- Spy couldn’t rush and risk coming on too strong, thus scaring you off. Steady- Spy had to make sure that he was consistent in his flirtations, but still subtle, to keep you from growing distant or bored. If he kept this up then he would soon have you, and you would have him.

Spy considered himself a sort of aficionado of seduction. Different people required different methods, and with you, patience would be key. You put up walls and barriers around yourself that would take some time to break down. Luckily, Spy also considered himself a patient man. Yet, even the most patient of men were bound to have bouts of restlessness. He couldn’t let overexcitement get the better of him, especially now that he was finally starting to see past those walls. No, this wouldn’t do at all.

Sitting in his smoking room, Spy considered his next steps between sips of wine. A recently extinguished cigarette sent wisps of smoke and ash lazily swirling into the air. Despite the relaxing atmosphere, he couldn’t seem to stay focused. Thoughts about continuing to court you subtly, or even simply inviting you out on a date, would eventually get derailed as his mind jumped ahead to what Spy truly wanted, what he was growing desperate for.

Spy wanted to have you, to take you, to make love to you the way you deserved. That wouldn’t be for a while yet, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help but ponder the scenario on lonely nights. He exhaled softly, palming the front of his slacks to find that, sure enough, he was already semi-hard. It had been a while since he had last indulged. Perhaps a bit of stress relief would quell this eagerness and get his thoughts back in order.

With a casual flick of a match, Spy lit a fresh cigarette, holding it to his lips with his free hand. He wasn’t going to rush, continuing to palm himself through his trousers as he gave in and let his fantasies truly take over. Spy could see it now, you glancing away shyly as he undressed you, stripping layer after layer with care, admiring the way every article of clothing discarded would reveal more of your gorgeous form. Eventually he would be met with your undergarments, a lovely bra and panty set with lace that framed your curves perfectly.

Of course Spy knew you probably wouldn’t be wearing lingerie during his first time with you, but a man could dream.

Next, he would invite you to undress him, if you were feeling curious. You would approach him shyly, clumsily unfastening his tie. “Adorable,” he would whisper just loud enough for you to hear, taking in the sight of your blush, a beautiful shade of red spreading over your cheeks. That flush would only deepen throughout the night.

Spy moaned, now fully hard and becoming uncomfortable in the confines of his slacks. He undid his fly, pulling his cock free with a relieved sigh. His strokes were lazy and slow, showing a great deal of self restraint. He still didn’t want to rush. This was no cheap, quick jerk off session. There was still so much of this fantasy to play out.

Once bared to each other, Spy would motion for you to sit at the edge of the bed. He would lean down, kissing you deeply and feeling you melt into his touch as his lips began to trail lower. Listening closely, he would take in every little noise you make, every barely stifled whimper- oh, how Spy hoped that you would whimper for him. When he found himself at the junction of your hip and thigh he would nip and tease at the soft flesh before pushing your legs open, feeling you shudder beneath his touch as he did so. You were a smart girl, and you could tell where this was going from the moment he started descending down your body.

Even so, the way you cried out when his tongue dipped between your folds, lips suckling gently on your clit, would be heavenly. Going down on you was such a massive turn on for Spy, no matter the situation. Perhaps you would catch him trying to relieve some of his own tension while down there on his knees. More than anything though, he would be sure to treat you like a goddess. He would worship you as you deserved to be worshiped, down on his knees as if to pray, lavishing your cunt, giving his tithes in the form of your pleasure.

“Merde…” Spy’s hand went still suddenly. He hadn't realized how dangerously close he was getting, taking a drag to steady himself, exhaling the smoke slowly with a sigh. Only his thumb moved, gently rubbing over the head of his cock. Precum slickened the circular motions, dripping down the shaft and over his knuckles. Spy was almost embarrassed that he had nearly lost control at the thought of simply going down on you. After a few moments the feeling of building pleasure passed, and he cautiously resumed his previous pace.

He had no qualms about edging himself. If anything, he rather enjoyed the practice of denial and self control. He wondered if you would enjoy it too. It would be quite fun to bring you to the brink of ecstasy just to leave you right on the edge, forbidding you from touching yourself, seeing how long it would take to turn you into a begging, whining mess. But that was a fantasy for another day. For now, Spy continued with his previous train of thought- his first time with you.

Picking up right where he left off, he would make you come with his mouth at least once, although you certainly deserved more. It all depended on how desperate Spy was feeling, and right now, he was apparently quite needy. Just as he had descended, he would kiss his way back up until his lips met yours once again. With a gentle push he would have you lying back on the bed, the kiss deepening as he leaned over you. You would moan at the taste of yourself, which still lingered on his tongue.

Oh, that taste, that which was so uniquely you, Spy hadn’t even considered it until now. He licked his lips, imagining how he would savor you, quenching his thirst with his head buried between your thighs. The thought nearly made him salivate.

However it was his fingers that would be of use now, thrusting in and out of you while his thumb applied pressure to your clit. He would bend them just right, reaching that sweet spot inside of you, making you writhe and squirm. Spy would let you choose this time- “Would you like to come on my fingers, or move on to the main event?”

He could imagine your face twisting up in that adorable way it did when you were making a difficult decision, trying to choose between two very tempting options. In this case, you would ultimately ask him to fuck you. While three orgasms would be nice, you weren’t sure you could handle all that stimulation- or rather, Spy wasn’t sure he would be able to last long enough to let the fantasy fully play out if he chose to imagine the former. Perhaps another time.

He would be sure to enter you slowly. Whether it was your first experience or not, Spy wanted to take his sweet time. Long, languid strokes ensured that you could feel every last inch of him. He would feel you tighten around him with every shudder, but never too tight, never uncomfortable. You were relaxed beneath him, melting under his touch as he brushed your hair from your face so that he could see your every reaction, every twitch of your lips, every flutter of your eyelids. But most importantly, Spy was in the perfect position to hear exactly when you would begin to beg for him to go faster. He would oblige you, but on one condition.

Spy knew that you would agree. He had long since sized you up as someone who followed orders quite well, at least based on your battlefield performance. Even more so, you lived for the praise that came with obedience. That was why Spy knew that if he asked you not to come, you would hold back.

Spy took another drag of his cigarette, watching the orange glow at the end flare to life for a moment. The deep inhalation of smoke would usually help calm his nerves, but it did nothing to bring him any further from the edge. It was clear he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Come,” he muttered aloud, unable and unwilling to hold back any longer, pumping his cock faster. So much for holding back. Your moans would nearly drown out Spy as he whispered soft praises into your ear. “Good girl, such a good girl.”

There was the breaking point. A soft mantra of praise compounded with pleasure beyond your wildest dreams would overwhelm your senses. Like a dam crumbling, your orgasm would rush over you in waves. Your face would contort so beautifully as you grasped onto Spy, singing your rapture to the ceiling.

It was that final, blissful vision that pushed Spy headlong into his own climax, uttering a barely restrained groan as he spilled over his own hand. A few unsteady, sloppy, languid strokes eased him through the aftershocks until he softened and slumped back into his chair with a sigh. He closed his eyes, basking in the afterglow that settled over him. It was the most calm Spy had felt in a long while. He really needed this.

He let his mind wander aimlessly, not trying to focus on anything in particular, that is until his thoughts eventually came back to you. Spy was glad to find that he could now plan his next moves with much more clarity, but that wasn’t what he wanted to spend his time on right now. Instead he let his thoughts roam wild. There were so many other parts of your body that he had yet to explore. That mouth of yours was certainly tempting. Perhaps his next foray into self pleasure would involve the mental image of your tongue feverishly swirling around his-

Spy shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. It was true, every part of you offered its own temptations, all worth pondering in their own time. However, thanks to a little thing called a refractory period, it wouldn’t exactly do Spy any good to indulge in them now. Besides, some things were best left to be explored in reality. He took a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out, smoke curling upwards from the ashtray. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was incredibly late. Spy should have retired hours ago. He sighed, exhaustion catching up with him as the afterglow began to fade. At least he wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping tonight.