#because in recent years in particular he’s good at it

[randomfoggytiger]

The Truth Is Out There: Dispelling the Lingering Mysteries behind Chris Carter

OBSERVATIONS

To better understand the dynamics behind-the-scenes of The X-Files set, I invested in a six-part book series, the first of which is "The Truth Is Out There, The Official Guide to The X-Files" (written by Brian Lowry.) Well. More accurately, I wanted to delve deeper into the motivations of Chris Carter.

Even more particularly, I wanted answers to a few remaining questions. What was the point CC lost interest in and passion for The X-Files (because his perfectionistic, hyper-focused, workaholic drive drifted away from his first love to greater and grander things.) How could a man so woo the studios that he was given unparalleled control, without question, for nearly eight years? And how was this same man so beloved by everyone he came across, yet turned his own fans (and Nic Lea and Gillian Anderson) against him? If you want the answers to those, skip to the CARTER’S PHILOSOPHY, AND GUARDING THE VISION and FINAL THOUGHTS AND ANALYSIS sections.

**Note**: Most of this post will be directly quoting the book-- cutting out all but the most necessary context, of course (go read it)-- and, thus, will be fonted in italics.

ONCE UPON A TIME: CARTER’S JOURNEY UPWARD

Context: Lowry's book was written while "The Blessing Way" was being filmed.

As with most Hollywood success stories that don’t involve flat-out nepotism, the labyrinthine journey that resulted in The X-Files is almost as twisted as an X-File itself….

Carter began dating his wife, Dori Pierson, four years after leaving college…. Pierson prodded Carter to write movies, and his work caught the attention of Jeffrey Katzenberg, then Disney Studios chairman, who signed Carter to a writing deal. There he was put to work writing such Disney TV movies as "B.R.A.T. Patrol" and "Meet the Munceys". 

A pickup softball game in Brentwood, California, provided another inning in Carter’s career, since that was where the writer met Brandon Tartikoff, the president of NBC Entertainment…. After Tartikoff had a chance to read some of Carter’s work he brought him over to NBC, where Carter developed a number of pilots. “Chris wrote a good script,” Tartikoff says, adding that, to a degree, he was victim of NBC’s success, since the network was riding high at the time and didn’t have a need for a family series. 

…Tartikoff left NBC to become chairman of Paramount Pictures and says he tried to bring Carter there, but it wasn’t to be. In recent years, the relationship has been mainly of a social nature, and as Tartikoff puts it, “He’s too busy to play softball now.” 

Still, Tartikoff wasn’t Carter’s only admirer. His writing also impressed Peter Roth, the president of Stephen J. Cannell Productions. …”I loved his feel for dialogue,” Roth remembers, shortly thereafter trying to bring Carter in as writer-producer on a CBS drama series called Palace Guard. 

That show was canceled, but Roth kept Carter in mind when he moved from Cannell to Twentieth Century Fox as president of TV production. In 1992, he took a chance by signing a few relatively unknown producers, among them Carter….

Despite his association with comedies and family-oriented Disney fare, Carter had been kicking around for years a darker concept stemming from his childhood love of programs like "The Twilight Zone", "Alfred Hitchcock Presents", and, in particular, "The Night Stalker"…. 

Roth expressed some enthusiasm for that notion, indicating that vampires, which were at the heart of the original movie, might indeed be hot given that a big-screen incarnation of Interview with a Vampire was in the works at the time. Carter wasn’t interested in vampires per se, saying his vision had more to do with UFOs and, more broadly, the paranormal. 

…Various ideas were batted around, but Roth and Carter felt they were on the right track in trying to do a contemporary variation on "The Night Stalker". “It was just something that had been lying there sort of dormant since I was a kid,” Carter says…. 

In retrospect, Carter clearly sensed a void-- and thus a window of opportunity-- in the crowded primetime marketplace…. “You look at the TV schedule,” he told Roth as they munched on their entrees, “and there’s nothing scary on television.” 

…Carter didn’t remember many specifics about "The Night Stalker", other than how the show made him feel as a teenager. “I just knew that I couldn’t get enough,” he says. When he revisited the show he realized that it had a confiding premise: Carl Kolchak, an unlucky newspaper reporter, kept stumbling upon vampires, werewolves, and zombies. Starring as Kolchak was Darren McGavin, who Carter considered to play Mulder’s father in homage to the series, but schedules couldn’t be worked out.  

…The Oscar-winning movie The Silence of the Lambs had just been released, which helped spur the idea of using the FBI as a natural means of entry into this world of the paranormal. 

With some further modification and research, Carter had his foundation-- namely, that there must be somebody at the FBI investigating unexplained cases. The show, then, would focus on two FBI agents-- one a believer, the other a skeptic-- investigating cases involving paranormal phenomena. One of the main characters would be driven by personal experience, having witnessed the abduction of his younger sister, Samantha, when he was 12 years old. 

The cherry on top for Carter came when a friend who happened to be a research psychiatrist at Yale showed him a Roper Organization survey saying, essentially, that three percent of the U.S. population believes they’ve been abducted by aliens. Whether those results were valid or not, Carter felt he’d found a potential well-spring of interest in a topic getting short shrift elsewhere. “I thought, ‘This is too good to be true,’” he recalls. 

…Delving into his own skeptical nature, Carter also planted seeds for what was to become an integral part of the show….

CARTER’S FOCUS FOR THE SHOW

Though he was still a teenager at the time of the Watergate hearings, those events clearly left their mark on Carter, who admits that coverage of the scandal and President Richard Nixon’s subsequent resignation was “the most formative event of my youth.” Small wonder that he named a key character Deep Throat after the Watergate reporters’ shadowy source, and that he came up with lines like “Trust no one” (“My personal philosophy,” he says with a laugh), “I want to believe,” “Deny everything,” and “The truth is out there”-- the last in that series a double entendre, he suggests, nicely summing up the atmosphere he wanted the show to convey. Given his acumen for sloganeering, Carter muses, “I guess I’ve got a bit of the advertising man in me.” 

THE PITCHING PROCESS 

According to Greenblatt [Fox’s vice president of dramatic series development], those initial meetings in late summer and fall of 1992 were somewhat awkward because "The X-Files" concept was so difficult to pitch verbally. Roth also remembers Carter being somewhat uncomfortable during the pitching phase, network and studio executives second-guessed the elements within each show. “Chris and I mixed it up pretty good during that process,” Roth adds.

…”I pitched it once and they said, ‘No thank you,’” Carter recalls. “I pitched it again and they finally said, ‘Okay, we’ll buy it, leave us alone.’” 

…Carter didn’t quit there, becoming, as he puts it, “my own public-relations agency.” He created visual aids-- charts that looked like little TV screens-- as a means of selling Fox executives on the show. 

Certain frustrations nevertheless continued to dog Carter, among them questions as to just how “real” the show was going to be. Reality programming like "Cops", "Unsolved Mysteries", and "Rescue 911" was popular…. “Everyone thought this has got to be as real as possible,” Carter says. “No one could understand why someone would want to watch a show if it weren’t true.” 

…According to Greenblatt, the fact that the production company is also part of Fox probably helped the network make the decision to take a gamble with the show, even if there was still considerable doubt regarding its viability. “It’s easier to take a flier with your sister company,” he admits. 

CASTING CHALLENGES AND PRODUCTION HURDLES

…As is usually the case, various actors read for each part before the field was whittled down to a few contenders. The decision on Mulder came down to David Duchovny…. And one other actor. The alternative was “cooler, and a little more tortured” than Duchovny’s take on the character, says Carter. Though Fox officials maintain Duchovny pretty much walked away with the role thanks to his wry sense of humor, which came across in the audition and meeting, Carter says he had to steer them a bit toward his preferred choice. 

A more rigorous wrestling match ensued over Scully. …If some Fox officials were looking for the equivalent of Baywatch’s Pamela Anderson, however, Carter and Twentieth Television’s casting chief, Randy Stone, immediately locked in on Gillian Anderson…. 

“When she came into the room, I just knew she was Scully,” Carter says. “I just felt it…. She had an intensity about her: intensity always translates across the screen.” 

Anderson had her own misgivings about doing television but circumstances had softened her reluctance-- having found film work scarce and her bank account dwindling. The actress hoped a few weeks working on a television show might increase her profile, at least, when she next came calling for film roles. 

What Anderson didn’t fully realize was the battle taking place behind the scenes over casting her. Carter maintain that he “had to put my career on the line to put Gillian in the show,” still taking some delight in “proving the naysayers wrong.” 

“They didn't see the package,” Carter says. “There was one actress who did an okay job, but she wasn’t, in my mind, Dana Scully.” Finally, Carter recalls saying, “‘Look, this is the person I want. This is Dana Scully.’ And everybody looked at me and said, ‘Okay.’” 

Even so, there was still some head-shaking, and Carter clearly felt as if it were “me versus the world” in that room. Millions of dollars were at stake, and at this point the pilot was only days away from shooting….

Still, doubts about Anderson didn’t end with her casting. Even as footage started to come back from the pilot filming there was, Roth says, “tremendous negativity toward Gilliam” from some quarters-- questions as to whether the character was too cold, or if she was likable enough. Carter remembers hearing qualms about Anderson, in fact, even after the pilot was completed.  

Another point of contention involved the nature of the relationship between the leads. Carter insisted that they stay clearly platonic despite those urging him to establish more sexual chemistry. 

Filming began in March 1993, and the first scene… involved the sequence where Dana Scully first meets Fox Mulder…. The actors had only been able to rehearse at what’s called a table reading, not on the set, and Carter knew those first dailies… would be closely scrutinized-- in part because of the haggling that preceded Anderson’s casting, in part because the nature of the actors’ relationship would be central to whether the show itself would work. 

That first meeting, Carter says, was “all-important” to not just the show but to the future of the project….

The actors, however, had an immediate rapport (Anderson has joked that Duchovny has a pretty good rapport with most women…) despite difficult conditions. Duchovny, in fact, was taken with Anderson’s grit and determination as they filmed on scene in the face of freezing rain….

The two-week shoot completed, Fox received the pilot that spring just as dozens of other contenders streamed in hoping for a slot on the primetime lineup…. Postproduction, which includes adding music, sound effects and editing, wasn’t completed until early May….“Each step of the way,” Carter says, “until that day in May when the pilot was seen by Rupert Murdoch and the Fox brass, they really did not know what they had.” In fact, when the rough cut came in, someone at Fox who’d seen it told Roth simply, “Nice try.”  

…During the screening for Fox executives, [Greenblatt] recalls, “There was some nervous laughter in the room, and I though, ‘Oh, we’re dead.’” The conclusion, however, was met with applause-- a rare occurrence…. 

…Hands shot up immediately when he asked what everyone thought. People spoke over each other to get their opinion in, which was unusual in such sessions. 

…when Fox saw how the audience responded to "The X-Files", the network quickly increased promotion for the show, which lagged at the outset….

…Fox was equally pleased to discover "The X-Files" could play as more than just a one-note concept. “The first year we analyzed the show a lot,” says Greenblatt. “We didn’t want to become ‘The UFO Show.’” 

By the second season that issue [lack of closure], at least, had almost entirely subsided, as the network began to realize that the cryptic, spooky endings served as an integral part of the show’s appeal…. 

Carter did agree to come conciliatory modifications… and even he says some of those changes have been for the better. The idea of a Scully voice-over while typing up her field report notes, for example, was tacked on to the first regular episode, “Deep Throat,” to mollify Fox’s desire to provide resolution to the story-- “bringing closure,” as Carter puts it, “to a non-closed case.” While he resisted the idea initially, Scully’s narration “became a kind of a staple through the first season,” he says, “and I think it actually added to the show.” 

Carter also notes that the Cigarette-Smoking Man was a mysterious figure in the pilot and was supposed to remain that way. “I never anticipated that he would be speaking as much as he is,” the producer notes, “but I don’t care who you are, you can’t think that far ahead. The show takes on a life of its own, and you sort of have to be true to it and ride it into the sunset…” 

Indeed, any casual glance at the Nielsen standings provides a misleading appraisal of the show’s first-season performance. "The X-Files" finished the 1993-1994 season ranked 113 out of 132 primetime series broadcast in terms of the number of homes tuning in; however, that ignore the fact that she show aired Friday-- a night when fewer people in general, and younger viewers in particular, are apt to be home watching television…. 

CARTER LEARNS TO DOMESTICATE THE SHOW… ON HIS OWN TERMS

Another unplanned event in the show’s evolution involved Anderson’s real-life pregnancy, which came at a critical time in the show’s cycle and sent panic running through executive suites in regard to what it might mean for the series’s production schedule, particularly on such a two-character concept. “As an executive, if you weren’t concerned about that then you didn’t have a pulse,” Grushow laughs. “At the time, the real question was how do we turn a potential liability into first, a non-liability, and second, a possible asset.”

“I think we were all very upset,” says Roth, noting that various scenarios were tossed around-- down to having Scully give birth to an alien baby-- before settling on the story arc, told in the memorable episodes “Duane Barry,” “Ascension,” and “On Breath.” 

The actress herself feared that she might be dropped from the show, first confiding in Duchovny about her condition, then Carter. Whatever angry rhetoric might have greeted the news from executive suites, replacing her, apparently, was never seriously considered, though her pregnancy was kept secret from the crew and press for several months….

Ultimately, Anderson’s grit and dedication impressed everyone involved, with Roth calling her “a real trouper,” in the old-time show-business sense of the word, as she filmed up to and just six days after the birth of her daughter, Piper….

Again, Carter admits he didn’t initially intend to head down that path [Scully being abducted, resulting in emotional resonance between the lead characters.] “I think it actually forced us to make choices that helped the show,” he says. “It proved to us that people wanted shows about characters and their lives. 

“It was a way for me to do what I had resisted doing, which was to domesticate the show. I don’t want to know what Mulder does with his softball team. I don’t want to know what Scully does with her friends. It’s just of no interest to me.” Their breakup and reunion at the start of the second season, he says, provided “an interesting way to explore the characters that I hadn’t anticipated doing.” 

Fox immediately renewed the show for a second season….. Certain episodes actually drew bigger audiences for repeat airings than their first showing, and that snowball effect was evident in the second-season premiere: a 10/3 rating (which translates to more than 9.8 million households) and 19 percent of the audience, a 17 percent jump over the season finale. Still nervous about Anderson’s status, Fox breathed a sigh of relief, as "The X-Files" had clearly established its credentials as a bona fide hit. 

…To its credit, Fox’s patience allowed the program to reach that plateau, and Carter says he “never got a sense that there was any fear” about the show’s ratings, even at its Nielsen nadir…. “I always said that we would have to create an audience on Friday nights, not steal one, and that I think that’s what we have done,” Carter notes. 

CARTER’S PHILOSOPHY, AND GUARDING HIS VISION

Not surprisingly, the arduous trek that took "The X-Files" from his boyhood memories to the television screen has made Carter both protective of his vision and secure in his belief that he knows what’s best for it. Asked about maintaining the quality of the special effects, he says, “Part of the job-- and I’ve learned this in the process-- is never accepting ‘No’ for an answer. There will be a final ‘No’ if the answer is ‘No,’, but ‘No’ is always the first answer you get, and you’ve got to make sure that the final answer you get is ‘Yes.’ That’s really the way I proceed.” 

…”I was really the lone voice saying we cannot have these people romantically involved. There cannot be real TV sexual tension here or else the show won’t work. As soon as you have them looking googly-eyed at each other, they’re not going to want to go out and chase these aliens. The relationship will supplant or subvert what’s going to make the show great, which is the pursuit of these cases.” 

…Even so, Fox still harbored various creative concerns, not the least of them being the issue of closure, or how completely and neatly the episodes would be resolved. Carter remembers having a shouting match with a Fox programming executive who wanted the endings to be more explicit, helping the audience make sense of what happened. “There’s no sense to make!” Carter told him angrily. “You make the sense yourself.” 

…”I feel like Lewis and Clark: I know where I’m going, but I don’t know what the hills and valleys and streams that I have to cross are.” 

The producer has no qualms about letting his star [Duchovny] in on that [contributing] process. “He’s got good ideas for the show,” notes Carter. “Why not use them?” 

“Everything else I do past this is a big question mark to me,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t know if it’ll be a hit or miss. It’s a business of failure mostly. While I’ve got this garden growing, I want to make sure that I tend it and that it represents my best efforts.” 

Carter, for his part, remains vigilant regarding over-exposure while still submerged in the series itself, spending about 12 days each month in Vancouver during production. Although some executive producers create a series and then segue in the second or this season to new projects, Carter has stated that he made a commitment to the actors to stay with the program as long as they do…. 

…“You can lay on really thick if you lay on a good scientific foundation,” notes Carter. “The show’s only as scary as it is believable. Everything has to take place within the realm of extreme possibility.” 

Carter himself takes pride in "The X-Files" never settling for routine, even as he tries to manage the equivalent of juggling and tap-dancing at the same time. As for his attention to even the smallest elements in each episode, Carter-- his desk awash in material from past and future episodes-- simply considers that a responsibility that comes with the territory. “If you don’t know what every frame is going to look like,” he says, “you’re not doing your job.” 

Carter’s role is not unlike the side-show act of spinning plates, a task that requires keeping an eye on various objects simultaneously, lest one of them spin out of control. “You’ve got five shows going at once,” he explains. “You’re writing a show, prepping a show, shooting a show, editing a show, and adding the sound and music to the show.” In fact, he adds, the show runner (a Hollywood term that applies to the main executive producer) really has to have his head in seven shows at the same time. 

Seven shows and at least two places, since Carter, the writing staff and selected crew members spend most of their time in Los Angeles while production takes place nearly 1300 miles away in Vancouver. The L.A. contingent includes a visual effects supervisor Mat Beck and postproduction whiz Paul Rabwin, who oversees the sound, editing, Mark Snow’s evocative music composition, and other measures required before raw footage can achieve broadcast quality.

A DAY-IN-THE-LIFE, ON THE SET: ULTIMATE FREEDOM

I decided to include this section to give a broader scope of CC "at work"-- another link in the chain of repeated compliments his friends, cast, crew, coworkers, and overhead gave him over the years.

…The Los Angeles office, housed in its own bungalow, is nicely appointed but relatively spare. 

The [Los Angeles] office itself is bustling this particularly morning, as writers move in and out--- occasionally invading the space of researcher/officer manager Mary Astadourian, where various drawers full of research material are kept. In there, the scribes will find literature on the paranormal, diseases, viruses, and various monsters, with folders that carry labels like “Roswell” or “Loch Ness.” 

…Part of the morning is devoted to the regularly scheduled writers’ meeting, with the entire staff… assembling to go over that week’s script, blocking out the teaser and all four acts….

The other writers question each nuance, throwing out suggestions to refine the story and make sure it’s clear…. Despite the need for exposition, Carter also stresses not letting the pace drag, wanting to spread action within the hour (or more precisely, 44 minutes or so minus commercials) allotted them. “Make sure you keep it hoppin’,” he says. 

…Eventually, it’s suggested they shift some action from the second act into the first in order to achieve the proper sense of pacing. The move requires some reconfiguration of other plot elements, but once those are blocked out the producer and other writers seem content. “That works for me,” says Carter, sending the show’s writer off to do another rewrite. 

Carter’s daily schedule, however, is just beginning. The writers’ session is followed by what’s known as a concept meeting-- a teleconference with the staff in Vancouver to grapple with various production issues before the begin filming a new episode…. 

Other issues involve the number of extras they can use….

Because money is always an issue, and time a luxury the crew usually doesn’t have, compromise and ingenuity remain key….

The producers also pride themselves on finding means of scavenging resources, then developing different ways to capitalize upon them. A prime case involves the crew getting access to a Canadian Navy destroyer that was then used in three different episodes, including “Dod Kalm”... and “End Game”.... “It’s fun,” Carter says, “to make something out of nothing.” 

Episodes must be plotted down to the most minute details-- in part because Carter is a perfectionist, and in part because the show is under a microscope now, with fans picking and nitpicking every conceivable aspect. Issues raised include what sort of garb Native Americans depicted should wear, with an emphasis on being as faithful as possible to tribal customs. (A Navajo group has complained because a character wore his hair down, something the elders in that tribe wouldn’t normally do, in the episode entitled “Anasazi.” Carter subsequently visited a Navajo reservation and attended one of their ceremonies.) 

From a more practical standpoint, the Vancouver team wants to know whether they can wardrobe the actors in blue jeans because some postproduction special effects shots use blue-screen, which essentially eliminates that color. 

The L.A. staffers are also assured that a shoot-out sequence will be top-notch, with bullet hits and ricochets plus a movie-style car explosion. Can it be done? “The answer’s yes… with disclaimers,” quips Beck good-naturedly adding, “One big disclaimer: How much money you got?” 

…The crew clearly takes enormous pride in the series, which presents them with such challenges on almost a daily basis and allows them to put their skills to the fullest possible use. Some freely admit, in fact, that they’ve been spoiled by their involvement with "The X-Files" and would have a hard time working elsewhere. “They’d have to drag me kicking and screaming off this show,” Gauthier says. 

The same goes for makeup special effects supervisor Toby Lindala…. Still, Lindala has proven up to most any task, with the Flukeman-- a costume his crew created in 10 days that had to weather water and other shooting ordeals-- still his proudest accomplishment. “That was probably the most insane undertaking for a time period,” says Lindala, who worked a 28-and 28-hour day during that stretch to get the suit ready in time. Even so, Lindala grew up watching monster movies and isn’t complaining, relishing the opportunities the show has provided to fool around with such projects. “I love making ‘em,” he says. 

Goodwin, a veteran producer who has worked on such series as "Life Goes On" and "Mancuso FBI", now tries to provide more lead time to prepare such major undertakings, but in most instances Lindala and his team (four people, including Lindala, work full time in that area) have just seven days’ notice to put a makeup effect together, and his services are needed in virtually every episode. 

…Careful planning remains the main hedge against both cost and time crunches, with Goodwin pointing out that in television time essentially translates directly into money. “The quicker you have to do it, the more it costs,” he says, adding that while some in the industry are tempted to cut corners, “My motto is, ‘Quality, whether they want it or not.’” 

…Kim Manners, also one of the show’s pool of directors, lauds Carter for treating each installment like a mini-movie. The process gives the individual directors-- who in episodic television, which is dominated by executive producers, are often viewed as transient guns for hire-- the opportunity to truly ply their trade. “He insists that you go out and be a filmmaker,” Manners says. “He doesn’t want you just go out and be a traffic cop.” Because of that freedom, he adds, the show is “the zenith of my career.” 

…Unlike most television shows that shoot on location, on "The X-Files" whoever scripted that particular episode goes to Vancouver to scout out locations and do other preparatory work. “To make sure,” as story editor Frank Spotnitz puts it, “everything is in sync with what the writer had in mind,” from casting to production design. In the cryptic vernacular of the show, the process stems from commitment to “purity control.” 

…For the episode in question, that means co-executive producer Howard Gordon, the only member of the writing staff other than creator Chris Carter who has been with the show virtually since the beginning, has made the sojourn to Vancouver. “As a writer, you don’t get that experience on any other show,” says Gordon. 

…Other matters have also arisen, some remarkable in their degree of minutia. Gordon’s script for the episode being prepared, for example, contains a seemingly innocuous reference to being “in the mood for some Quarter Pounders,” and Fox’s legal department wants them to clear the wording with McDonald’s…. “That’s a great line,” says an only slightly exasperated Manners…. Hours later, it’s decided to change to a more generic term rather than hassle the legal issue. 

…A later shot involves disposing of the [dead] cow, and Gordon-- a city kid from New York-- has actually researched the matter…. …But in light of McDonald’s headache, Carter has another suggestion. “How ‘bout if we just have a truck with golden arches on the side?” he jokes, spurring laughs from everyone in the room. 

…The attention to detail, again, proves remarkable, driven by Carter’s commitment to perfection. 

The entire process involved in shooting an episode of "The X-Files", from the first day of preparation to the last day of postproduction, usually takes six to eight weeks, with the seven days of preparation key to ensuring that the eight days of production that follow go smoothly-- though even the enormous effort that goes into planning can never account for every detail that can delay filming and raise blood pressure rates all around. In the middle of the season, as time grows shorter, there’s occasionally been as little as five weeks from prep to air. 

Just two days before shooting is to begin, Manners, Gordon, Carter, and co-executive producer R.W. Goodwin cram into a small audition room, where they’re scheduled to see more than 20 actors in just over an hour….

Manners, Gordon, and about 15 crew members, including special effects ace Dave Gauthier, production designer Graeme Murray, and others from various departments, later embark on a technical survey. They pile into an air-conditioned bus to scout out all the locations that will be involved in the upcoming shoot, usually a six-to-eight hour pilgrimage. “And this is the easy part,” laughs set decorator Shirley Inget. 

Carter follows the group to the door but has too much work at the office to come along. “I’m gonna miss this one, you guys,” he tells them, which is met with a collective “Aw” from the bus. 

…The bunch straggles back to the studio around 7:30 P.M., almost eight hours after their departure. On a near-by soundstage, meanwhile, Bowman is directing stars David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, trying to keep the level of enthusiasm up with another long night of work to do. Shooting is frequently a tedious process, with long lapses between the action as shots are set up. The two stars carry out an emotional scene in front of an elevator that isn’t really an elevator, with a crew member behind the soundstage wall sliding a wooden door closed to approximate the effect. “I love it!” Bowman proclaims as the scene ends, watching the shot through a monitor and lauding his star as “One-take Duchovny.” 

Outside, Anderson’s baby, Piper… plays with various staff members as well as her father, assistant art director Clyde Klotz, who’s just returned from the technical survey. Piper shows off her mother’s piercing eyes and frolics later with Duchovny’s dog, Blue (his constant companion on the set), both seemingly fascinated with and a bit perplexed by the other. "The X-Files" is, indeed, a family affair, underscored when Goodwin brings his 10-year-old son and a friend into the production office the next morning, the latter collecting autographs from everyone on that week’s script. 

A short time later Duchovny and Anderson arrive, enjoying a few quiet moments while Piper plays nearby in a small red tub, watched carefully by her nanny. …Though he isn’t shooting that day, actor Mitch Pileggi (who seems to create quite a stir among the female office staff) also pops by to look over dailies, or raw footage, of a fight sequence featuring him shot earlier in the week.  

…Bowman has to deal with five actors (Anderson, Duchovny, and Gunmen Dean Haglund, Bruce Harwood, and Braidwood) in a relatively confined space, so the staging will be critical. After Bowman aligns them one way, Duchovny suggests an alternative in handling the shot, and various configurations are tried. As they begin rehearsing, everyone still seems a bit punchy, and the mood is light. Haglund keeps wanting to call a Nazi scientist “Kempler” instead of “Klemper”, and Duchovny has a hard time not laughing each time Braidwood (who comes up roughly to the actor’s chin) approaches him, with Frohike supposed to act relieved to see Mulder alive after the events that closed the second season. “Did you ever see the Star Trek where Spock thought that Kirk died?” Duchovny tells him with his trademark deadpan delivery. ‘That’s what you want to be doing.” 

Production ultimately won’t conclude until near 2 A.M. that morning…. 

FINAL THOUGHTS AND ANALYSIS

A few key points stand out.

Chris Carter miraculously won the trust of Fox, and maintained that trust (and an ability to be creatively liberated, by and large) until Season 8 (upper-left corner of the screenshot here.)

Carter has a perfectionistic, remembers-every-detail brain: he was, in essence, the show bible. ...Unfortunately, his memory (like anyone's) is faulty; and that began the slow, gradual collision that marked later mytharc entries.

Chris was at his best when he was hyper-focused on and passionate for the show. As Brian Lowry notes, Although some executive producers create a series and then segue in the second or this season to new projects, Carter has stated that he made a commitment to the actors to stay with the program as long as they do…. The problem became: his aspirations towards a movie franchise turned his focus away from "The X-Files"; and that, along with compounding projects (i.e. Millennium and The Lone Gunmen), further scattered his attention. By the time Season 7 rolled around, there was no mytharc, no movie franchise, and no other successful venture that was equaling the show's former height.

CC learned that 'No' is not the concluding answer in show business. Like Lowry wrote earlier: Not surprisingly, the arduous trek... has made Carter both protective of his vision and secure in his belief that he knows what’s best for it. Asked about maintaining the quality... he says, “Part of the job-- and I’ve learned this in the process-- is never accepting ‘No’ for an answer. There will be a final ‘No’ if the answer is ‘No,’, but ‘No’ is always the first answer you get, and you’ve got to make sure that the final answer you get is ‘Yes.’ That’s really the way I proceed.” To Carter, the initial 'No' often proves to be a first, but not final, hurdle (which explains his self-righteous anger at Gillian Anderson post Revival.)

Chris Carter had an idea where the show was going-- the feeling he wanted it to evoke, the journey he wanted to take himself and others on-- but not the important markings along the way. Mulder and Scully were created to have unspoken chemistry (we'll get to that), Scully was coded to have a maternal interest (we'll get to that), and Mulder and Scully's final coming together (a kiss) was planned for the last scene of the series.

CC planned MSR from the beginning (post here) but on his OWN terms.

Chris thought that character exploration was "domestication"-- that exploring Mulder's life outside of work or Scully's friends or motherhood aspirations in any depth would distract from the show. Why?

Carter always envisioned Scully as someone who wants children (noting in the Pilot's script The hour closes with Mulder calling Scully after the evidence relating to their case has disappeared, saying he’ll see her the next day. As the description in Carter’s original script eloquently puts it, “...there’s no doubt from the unsettled tone in her voice that it is much more than work. It will become the defining event of her life. Nothing that comes now-- religion, motherhood, anything-- will not pass through the filter of this experience"; and bringing back her interest in "a normal life" and families and dogs repeatedly throughout the show, i.e. [The Jersey Devil] subplot shows Scully trying to balance having some semblance of a personal life against the dedication (bordering on obsession) that Mulder has toward his work. She meets with a married friend, Ellen, who has a child and asks her if Mulder is someone with whom Scully might get romantically involved. Though she does go on a date, Scully opts to pursue cases with Mulder instead of that path. The purpose of those scenes, Carter says, was “to show the life she’s passing on. I just wanted to open up Scully a little bit for the audience.”)

However, he envisioned that "domestication" in the same realm as her and Mulder's romance: a hypothetical, post-series conclusion-- the happy ending as both leads ride away from the files and into the sunset. "The X-Files", to him, does not coincide with "domestication"-- therefore, Mulder and Scully must be free of it in order to have their happy ending.

However, again: CC is easily distracted.

These are my four key takeaways:

Chris Carter consciously linked Mulder and Scully as a couple from the start-- giving him a transitional goal (finding his sister) and her an end goal (settling down and enjoying a "normal" life) for their journey. He tied up the possibility of a relationship and the conclusion of their hopes in the files-- which were to take precedent over the accomplishment of each character's aspirations-- and used "the work" as the vehicle (and sole focus) to "reach" those "happy endings". In effect, the show is wired around "the truth" because it is the ultimate tease: we are teased about Mulder and Scully's relationship, we are teased about Samantha's return, we are teased about Scully's hopes to be a mother, and we are teased about a resolved mytharc and final ending.

Chris Carter is easily distracted from his own vision. He'll try anything once, then backtrack to his original "vibe". He remembers how he felt, as a boy, watching "The Night Stalker", but not the details of how bad the plot sometimes was. He remembers that Mulder and Scully became partners in the rain, that Mulder lost a sister, that Scully was abducted and returned; but not that Samantha's abduction story changed, not that you can't give Scully a daughter on a show that eschews domestication, and not that Mulder and Scully can't kiss until the last episode of his show (especially when his crew tempts him to have a big, grand, once-in-a-century kiss on-screen.) He then projects that distraction onto others, and scolds those others for bringing up abandoned plot threads and character arc trails.

Chris Carter doesn't believe in anyone-- he quite literally trusts no one-- not their praise, and not their "no". So many times in Hollywood, 'No' is the default until backs are scratched and concessions made; and when Gillian Anderson said "No" after Season 10, then changed her mind and did Season 11, he saw that as just another stepping stone to a "Yes" after Season 11. She had, many times, changed her mind in the past-- signing on for Season 9 after his wheedling, for example-- and he (assumed (wrongfully) that this would be exactly like other "No"s. When GA publicly flamed his finale episode, that shocked, angered, and mortified him, because--

Chris Carter is chronically afraid of failure. As he says: “Everything else I do past this is a big question mark to me. I don’t know if it’ll be a hit or miss. It’s a business of failure mostly. While I’ve got this garden growing, I want to make sure that I tend it and that it represents my best efforts." When that garden begins to fall apart (due to neglect), he panics, and rushes back to rehydrate, prune, and fertilize it. When it wilts and dies, he blames other sources-- Fox (who gave him unlimited creative freedom, within reasonable limits), the fans (who "didn't understand" his vision), and Gillian Anderson (who publicly pronounced My Struggle IV as a failure.) Anyone who forces him to face reality-- boiled down: the reality of his failures-- causes Chris to protectively lash out, blame others, and shift goal posts to distract himself from facing that fear.

CONCLUSION

It's hard to dislike the guy when you read about his sacrifices, easy nature, and complete dedication. But that history and those qualities and my charitability are, unfortunately, then consumed by Chris's most recent escapades-- a shame, that his past isn't his lasting legacy.

Still, one question remains: at what point, exactly, did CC lose interest in The X-Files?

Final note: this took an absurdly long time to type (and there are more parts still coming), so future installments won't be as... extensive. But it was important to lay the foundation, here; and so, it's been done.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[redux-iterum]

Under normal circumstances in ThunderClan (ie: a mentally sound leader, Cloudy not being given to Fire as a kit and Fire promising to mentor him, etc), how long would it have taken before Fire & Raven were genuinely considered as mentors? Are older warriors considered more favorable to have as mentors than the younger/less experienced adults, or does it solely depend on the personalities of everyone involved? Would Raven have been a contender for Snowpaw's mentor anyway, since they seemed to be interested in/get along with each other when Snow was a baby? Or would he have been assigned to someone like, say, Whitecloud, for example? Given his apprenticeship would inherently be more challenging w/ the mentor having to adapt their training to work with his disability.

TLDR: are older warriors more favored as mentors than young warriors, and who would Frost & Brindle's litters have gone to, were Bluestar more mentally sound when they came of age? Especially the latter group. (Assume Cloudkit was not added to Brindle's kindle) (rhyme not intended haha)

I'm sure this is probably a tedious question considering all the recent dog-related deaths, so no need to agonize over it if you don't want to, LOL. I just adore all the thought that's implied to go on "behind the scenes" when it comes to those involved with pairing up mentors & apprentices, so I'm curious if it's ever crossed the author's or editor's mind before!

Does any of this make sense or am i just rambling nonsense at y'all right now? /LH

A warrior can become a mentor pretty much immediately! There are plenty of -path cats who get an apprentice as soon as the next litter of kittens is ready to become -paws, and that can be only a month after they get their name. Rainpath received an apprentice early, as an example.

The question is not "how old should a warrior be to get an apprentice", it's "what can this warrior offer to the right apprentice". A leader ideally looks for pairs that are most advantageous for the Clan, or that will help each other grow, or even just mesh well and like each other. You don't need years of experience in the world (though it helps); what's more important is that what is essentially a third (or second) parent to any particular apprentice will be the best match to the apprentice they're given. Whitecloud may be a senior warrior, but he was given Ravenpaw specifically because of his calm and soothing nature. His age had nothing to do with it. They just paired together well.

All that to say that Fireheart and Ravenwing's mentorship wouldn't have changed. Ravenwing would just have been talked to way earlier and eased into the idea of becoming a mentor, rather than having it forced on him without warning. He's the smartest cat in the Clan, sensitive to others' behavior and a quick learner - he's perfect for a special-needs apprentice like Snowpaw. And even aside from that, Snowpaw thinks Ravenwing is the coolest cat in the whole forest, so regardless of his disability, a sound-minded Bluestar would have seen the two's interactions and decided they'd be perfect for each other. Likewise, Fireheart was good for Cloudpaw and the two share a mutual adoration. They'd be a match even if they weren't related.

Bluestar got insanely lucky at that point that almost all of her pairings were well-suited to each other - Thornpaw and Dustpelt, Mousefur and Brightpaw, and Ravenwing and Snowpaw. The only change would've been giving Brackenpaw to someone else. I could see Teaselfoot being the first option. The two are happy fellows that see training as a fun game, and Teaselfoot would do well being given an apprentice that learns quickly and makes friends just as fast.

As for Ashpaw and Aspenpaw... I think Ashpaw would have gone to Whitecloud in the hopes of easing his unsteady emotional state at that point in time, and Aspenpaw would've gone right over to Goldenflower. No need to waste time with her being with anyone else.

[age-of-moonknight]

“A Little Chaos,” Moon Knight Annual (Vol. 5/2024), #1.

Writer: Dan Watters; Penciler and Inker: Marco Renna; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[jemandrr]

Unironically, Ben Shapiro's greatest win against the left was turning left/centerleft laypeople off from the idea of a 'debate with facts and logic' because of his bad faith arguments. Like it's almost...triggering to people, and that leaves a lot of people with unsharpened ideas and an unwillingness to explain them in a rigorous manner.

One example phenomenon that this has fed into is a continuing degradation in the lines of thought people use to reach certain conclusions - so person A expresses opinion X that person B agrees with, but because person B never really sees the entire line of thought laid out by anyone else, their formulation of opinion X based on their own intuition might randomly lean on some idea Y which person A doesn't care about. As a result, if Idea Y lacks actual backing, person B might wrongly defend opinion X and give an impression that the entire thing is flimsy, or person B might lose their own footing and assuredness and change sides.

I also think that he so badly mangled the concept of debate in the casual public consciousness that it's a contributing factor to the vague anti-academic sentiment in recent years. (Which, while academia as an institution has problems, there's certainly an undercurrent of less directed discontent that is contributing to low public opinion of education as a whole - and a greater feeling expressed on social media that 'casual reference of marquee media' is in a way insulting to people who have not consumed it, rather than an invitation to partake or something you can pass by without caring. Not on tumblr though, where we see Dracula and then we read Dracula.)

tl;dr his pseudo-intellectualism meaningfully contributed to certain common sentiments of anti-intellectualism because of how badly and annoyingly he and the people who emulate(d) him did/do it.

[sysig]

Not going the best (Patreon)

[freebooter4ever]

What do you miss most about Pittsburgh?

Oh gosh, that's a question! I mean aside from the obvious answer of my old dance buddy lettia or naeem.

I miss pittsburgh's community, specifically the very music and art oriented one i was in. There's community here in LA but its all about fame, and money, and celebrity, and how you can use other people to get ahead. Just the other day i saw an influencer i actually kinda admired brag about meeting someone who out of respect for them + their privacy i have never never mentioned because i met them as a friend first. And it felt so weird seeing this person i know be used as click bait for the influencer's hits/likes/subscriptions. It kind of jolted some reality into me about how this city operates even in the smaller circles i run in. Its like the vibes in LA are all about 'being someone' and self importance. If someone is only going to respect me for my money (or disrespect me for my lack of money), or who i know, or credits to my name, i dont think i want their respect anyway.

Pittsburgh though - nobody was anybody in pittsburgh so we didnt fucking care, lol. It was a lot easier to go to things, to feel connected. There was an emphasis on diy, where it didnt matter who you were or who you knew if you had a good idea there was a chance it could happen. There were things like Art All Night and the various music festivals in the different neighborhoods. I was most connected to the music scene so i miss the casual afternoon concerts in someone's tiny apartment with everyone crowded around the band. The basement parties, the dancing. Ted's rowhouse was on fisk street so when i lived there with friends i really enjoyed how much of a community space it was - people were always coming and going off of butler street, movie nights, human chess parties. It definitely could feel too small sometimes - literally everybody knew everyone and everybody dated everyone. The year i left two of my ex boyfriends were living in the same house and i cant tell you the number of 'male harem' jokes i got about that one. Or the number of times a dude wanted to date me and when i said 'no' i immediately got excluded from an entire friend group. But no matter how frustrating the smallness got, i still was also aware of how special it was. Its also mostly over - a lot of my friends from that time have since dispersed to other cities. I think moments like that are fleeting, but thats what makes them unique.

But even with all that said, you know what my favorite thing to do in pittsburgh was?

Driving

and ok ok that probably sounds stupid. And it probably does not help that im in LA where driving is now the second level of hell. But even compared to seattle or nyc or other places i lived, driving in pittsburgh was just so much fun and you cant recreate that anywhere else. I once saw a data visualization of the main cities of the US and places like LA and even NYC were nicely laid out squares but pittsburgh was just this insane clusterfuck pencil scribble, and thats truly it. Cause not only do you have over 100 bridges and lots of one way roads that will funnel you onto a bridge you absolutely dont want to go over but whoops guess you're going anyway, but this city was also built on a cluster of hills. Thats what makes up the various neighborhoods - and the roads that connect these hills through hollows and over forests - are the most confusing rat maze you can imagine. For every one way to go there's also probably a dozen other options and mentally calculating which route will be fastest taking into account traffic and distance and 'speed limit' is a skill only acquired after years of living in the city. And if you have a tiny car and nasc*ar level driving skills thanks to the multiple generations of engineers in your family....driving up and down those hills is just a joy. It also, uh, helped that I made my own hours so worked from 11am - 3am most days and avoided all traffic. And in the city proper the pigs arent allowed to r*adar so as long as you knew where the speed traps were you could...uhhh... Be lenient. I only ever got pulled over once and that was because one time in the spring of 2016 i went home from work early one night and these asshole hockey fans were taking up the entire street around the rink that would get me onto bigelow and connect me to lawrenceville. And since i couldnt go down that one street, becaues its pittsburgh, i had to go in the complete opposite direction to find another route home which took like an extra fifteen minutes. And yeah i got pulled over, started crying and explaining i was just trying to get home from work, and they let me go. But damn those hockey fans. :P (but also had i realized you could go hangout outside and watch the hockey game on giant screens with a huge crowd of fellow broke but dedicated weirdos, i totally would have loved that. Thats what pittsburgh is all about lmao)

Anyway one of my old friends moved from pitt to LA, and then he moved from LA to shanghai. And i once asked him would he move back to LA and his response was that he couldn't imagine living in LA again after living in a Proper City like shanghai. And he made it clear that he saw being able to 'make it' in larger and larger cities as like...a mark of his personal progress. But me? Im a small town girl unfortunately. I still dream about the day i can fuck off to live in a cabin in the woods somewhere.

[coveredinsun]

unironically being on twitter for 5 minutes has me wanting to write thinkpieces about media and morality and the harshness of twitter. and that one long quote about the topic i reblogged once but unfortunately lost

[blackwaxidol]

I'm so pleased with how Ru'thûn's disguise is turning out. She looks great...

[hannieehaee]

HOW SWEET

18+ / mdi

summary: after years of an unspoken fight between you and your self-proclaimed enemy, you find yourself forced to work with your life-long rival, kim mingyu, as your father offers him a position at the family bakery. with such forced proximity and endless arguments, how are you supposed to cater to your duties when mingyu's presence brings so much tension to the kitchen?

content: baker!mingyu, enemies to lovers, pining, one sided crush that becomes two sided!, afab reader, smut, teasing, semi public sex (its done in a public establishment but no one is there), breast play, food play (frosting on tits basically), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 8.4k

a/n: i know nothing about cooking or about how a bakery runs so please take everything here with a grain of salt and just enjoy it for what it is: self-indulgent smut

masterlist | patreon

Twelve years.

Twelve years dedicating yourself to your craft, attending summer camps, taking elective classes, paying for extracurricular classes, working summers at your dad's place, making all effort known to man, yet this is how it all ended.

Maybe claiming this to be the end was slightly dramatic, but that's how it felt at the moment. As you stared up at your dad and the excuse of a man standing next to him, far too cocky for you to allow your anger yo subside.

Today had been an average day. Throughout your life, you were content to admit that most of your days could be categorized as good, especially after years of having found comfortable employment at your father's renown bakery soon after high school (thank you nepotism). Attending culinary school whilst managing a part-time job at your dad's place had been anything but difficult. It was quite an easy and enjoyable job, one in which you could proudly say you'd had the chance to grow up in.

Your father had owned the place since before you could even walk, building it up to become a favorite in your city. Business was always booming, and it just so happened to fulfill your passion for baking — one which your dad had obviously passed down to you, but you weren't complaining. You occasionally took up shifts during high school, only becoming a full-fledged part-time employee during university, recently graduating and upgrading to full time. Life was good and steady.

So, it was fair to say that most of your days were good.

However, there was the occasional day that was ruined by the mere presence of a particular individual.

You hadn't meant to dislike him as much as you did. Anyone who knew you could vow for your likable personality and charismatic demeanor, meaning it was difficult for you to bump heads with people (at least most of the time). But there was just one particular person who made your blood boil from the day you met him. It had been so long ago, you couldn't date back the moment — nor the instance — in which your dislike had begun brewing. Fortunately, the dislike was completely mutual. You didn't have to feel like an asshole for scowling at the man any time you saw him, because you were usually met by a mirror of your expression or an annoyingly frustrating smirk — similar to in this moment.

The frustrating man in question was none other than Kim Mingyu, the resident heartthrob and well known for his passion and talent for baking. Hatred for the insufferable man aside, his abilities as a baker, and chef in general, could not be denied. The mere implication of praise made you gag, but you liked to think you were mature enough to admit talent when you saw it. This was something you'd never verbalize, however, knowing the man to also be one of the cockiest people you'd ever met.

There were a myriad of reasons as to why your current predicament ruined not only your day, but likely many upcoming ones. The main reason could be boiled down to the smile on Mingyu's face as he stood to your father's side. The cockiness emitting from him was enough to get your blood boiling and to create a carnal desire within you to beat him to a pulp.

The reason for his smile, however, was what truly took the cake.

Within the past moments in which you'd been processing your father's words, you remained silent and stagnant before them, leading your father to repeat the cursed sentence once more.

"Mingyu's going to be working with us from now on," he'd said with an innocent smile on his face, unknowing of your feud with the man in question.

Everything had come crashing down in that moment, but any more silence from you would mean Mingyu won this round, which was something you simply could not have — even under these circumstances.

Shaking all the anger and hateful memories from your head, you straightened your back and morphed a smile onto your face, one good enough for your dad to buy and for Mingyu to be unable to judge. Your hand extended as a courtesy, offering itself to Mingyu as a form of welcome, something which your father likely expected from you.

"In that case, welcome to the team," you spoke for the first time, sweetly enough to grant you a satisfied smile from your father. The poor man was blissfully unaware of your dislike for Mingyu, so no blame really fell on him for his blind decision.

Grasping your hand in his larger one, Mingyu shook hands with you, satisfied smile still on his face, "Looking forward to working with you," he said, far too content for you to not want to take him out back and-

"I know you kids already know each other from back when you were in school, so it should be easy for you to show him the ropes, right, kid?", asked your dad, interrupting your violent thoughts.

Your head whipped to him, "Show him the ropes?"

"Yeah. I was thinking you could train him? He's already an amazing baker, but maybe he should shadow you for a few weeks. You know, just in case," your father clarified.

Mingyu's close-lipped grin grew wider somehow, almost as if the knowledge of your discomfort at being around him overpowered his own dislike of your presence.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, dad," you found yourself agreeing against your will.

Your dad clapped his hands once in satisfaction, then proceeding to patting your back in encouragement as he tended to do.

"Thanks, kid. Well, I'll leave you two to it," he then turned to Mingyu, "Welcome to the team, son. Y/N here will show you where you can get your apron and give you a general overview of the place before your first day tomorrow," and with that, he made his exit.

Behind, he left a fuming you and an overly pleased Mingyu. Silence filled the room for a few moments until you found it vital to curse out the infuriating boy in front of you.

But, as per usual, he beat you to it.

"Happy to see me, cupcake?"

God damnit. You forgot about the annoying nicknames he'd insisted on calling you by since meeting back in high school.

Cupcake, baby, sweetheart, sweetiepie, babe, honey, darling. And these were the more tame ones. You did not want to think about the instances in which he'd called you hot stuff or sexy in public. They'd led to public displays of aggression you weren't exactly proud of.

"I thought you were studying culinary abroad. What happened? Got yourself kicked out?," you grumbled, walking over to the back of the restaurant with him following close by.

"Nope. Just decided my expertise could be used back home. And clearly since you seem to be the best they got around here."

It was as if he was allergic to not bugging the shit out of you.

You turned to face him, blinking harshly at the unexpected proximity before taking a step back and responding to his smirk with a frown, "Listen, Mingyu. You heard my dad. I'm in charge of you. If you disregard my authority, I won't hesitate to send your ass running. Do you understand?"

This made his grin grow bigger for some reason. Knowing he was getting under your skin was great for his entertainment.

"Yes, ma'am," he bit his lip in amusement.

Training Mingyu was entirely unnecessary.

To your disdain, he was actually quite good at what he did. It was as if baking was second nature to him, just something he'd somehow been born with.

And worst of all, everyone else working at your dad's shop seemed to notice this and could never let anyone forget.

Every day there was one or another form of praise for Mingyu. Whether it was regarding his baking or his people skills, Mingyu was practically employee of the month as far as you were concerned — despite having been around for only a week. He was an overachiever as always, and it unfortunately always worked in his favor.

Mingyu, as per usual, basked in on the constant praise. He was a social butterfly at heart. Everywhere he went, he left with at least one new friend.

You were suddenly feeling alienated at your own family's business.

"What's with the sour face, pumpkin?" he nudged your shoulder as he joined you on the counter, needlessly helping you frost some cupcakes.

"You're ruining my life."

Okay, that might've been a tad dramatic.

"I've followed your every rule. I'm literally the perfect employee."

"I meant with your presence."

"Princess, I thought we were done with this whole 'will they, won't they' thing. I think what you're feeling might just be sexual frustration."

You puffed out some hot air in frustration, not bothering to look at him as you continued to do your work.

"Do you think my father would fire me if I strangled one of his employees?"

He pretended to ponder over it with a hum, "There's way more fun things you could do to me with your hands," was what he settled with.

"Is flirting with me your new method of torturing me with your presence?"

"Nope. Just decided to find a new approach to make my interest known."

He'd said it so nonchalantly you'd almost missed it. It made you halt your movements, allowing Mingyu to fully take over on what you were doing.

"What?"

"This can't come as news to you. I've been flirting with you since middle school," he kept up his nonchalance, not even looking at you as his eyes remained glued to the task at hand.

"Flirting? You call being the bane of my existence for the past twelve years 'flirting'?", you gaped at him, regaining your snark back and snatching the half-frosted cupcake from his hand.

"Everyone else sees it," he shrugged, "You just need to catch up."

Then he left, putting his hands on some other part of the kitchen and leaving you to ponder on that.

Was this supposed to be a confession?

It was entirely too cliche — competitors turned enemies due to circumstance, with one of them being hopelessly in love with the other.

God, that was a dramatic way of putting it.

It has been suggested by other people in the past. Onlookers, classmates, friends, you name it. Everyone had at some point suggested that Mingyu might have feelings for you (or you for him). That your rivalry was born out of that dumb cliche. Pulling at a girl's pigtails to get her attention.

Maybe it seemed that way from an outside perspective, but your disdain for Mingyu was genuine, and you were certain the feeling was entirely mutual.

You couldn't imagine the thought of Mingyu actually being in love with anyone, much less you. The guy was far too in love with himself to allow room for anyone else. Plus, all past interest he'd shown in you had been through insulting you and getting in your way. What was he, seven?

This was probably just another way of getting in your nerves. There was no reason for him to suddenly confess, after all. He'd already gotten a job at your dad's bakery — the most renown in town. What else could he possibly be after?

You scoffed at the thought, opting to put it in the back of your mind as you finished off the last few cupcakes and boxed them to prepare them for pickup.

Turning around with the boxed cupcakes in hand, you just so happened to make eye contact with Mingyu as he prepared some dough across the room. His annoyingly short sleeves gave perfect view of his strained arms as he battered at the mixture.

You let your eyes wander to his muscular arms for a mere half second, but that was enough for Mingyu to catch you with a smirk and a wink, flexing a little extra just to piss you off. Your eyes rolled as you looked away, but you were pretty sure you felt yourself flush a bit.

Mingyu's looks had been something you'd always attempted to ignore, but fuck, you suddenly felt all the more aware of them after his stupid confession.

Confession, if you could even call it that.

~

It didn't take you long to entirely disregard Mingyu's mind games. No stupid allusion to a crush would get you out of focus, especially not now.

Upon your return from being away at culinary school, your dad had begun instilling more and more trust in you to take care of the shop. As time passed, he'd occasionally be absent in order to test your skills as a trustworthy employee. You were sure even more responsibilities were to fall on your lap soon, and you were hopeful that was the case. You'd performed well so far, and Mingyu's presence was not going to deter that progress.

That instance, however, had not been the only time in which Mingyu decided to mess with your head. Gone were his boyish attempts at bothering you, the many that you'd gotten used to throughout the years. No, now he'd decided to play nice. He decided he'd be helpful and some sick version of charming that would have any other girl swooning.

But not you. You knew better. You weren't sure what game he was playing at, but you weren't going to fall for it like every other person in his vicinity.

Sure, maybe you looked like a dick to everyone else around you, constantly shooting Mingyu down when he'd try and help you out in the kitchen, but they didn't know about your history together. Mingyu had always made it so that you'd be painted as the mean girl. He'd get in your way, sabotage you, question your skills. But he'd always do it in an ingenious way that left you dumbfounded, looking ungrateful and just plain mean.

So when he suddenly decided to play nice, both for any onlookers and for you, it was difficult for you to actually take him seriously.

But still, you couldn't deny the effect his confession had had on you. You might've disregarded it as a simple play of his, but it still remained in your head, itching at you every time he so much as walked into the bakery.

"Sup, babe. Need help with that frosting?"

Speak of the devil.

Not even facing away in a lone corner of the bakery as you worked on a menial task could he take the hint.

"What are we making?", he tried again, now invading your personal space as he peaked at what your hands were working on.

"Is silence an option?"

"You know I'll just keep bugging you til you answer me. Make it easier for the both of us."

His head was now low enough for his chin to rest on your shoulder. His annoyingly strong arms were resting on the counter in front of you. One of them was conveniently rounding your body as he reclined on the counter. It was a pain to admit even to yourself, but the proximity made you lose focus.

God, what was wrong with you?

You'd always known Mingyu to he attractive. Sue you, okay? But his annoying personality was always in the way of any possible attraction you could've had for him. It wasn't until his stupid, idiotic, unnecessary, unprofessional, annoying, fake confession that you'd begun feeling this way. His constant suggestive stares and proximity were not helping your case either.

"Hmm, you need more strength. The consistency's gonna be all off if you do it like this. Here, let me ..."

Then his hands held onto yours, guiding you as you whisked the butter into a creamy consistency.

You couldn't even react. Your fight or flight reaction failed you, instead choosing to freeze at his touch.

Had you ever touched his hand before?

"See? It's like this. You should just use the electric whisk, that way you don't need all this strength- Oh, shit, am I hurting you?"

He backed off a bit, taking note of your frozen state. Fuck. If he noticed you were actually flustered, you were done for.

"No, just get off me, god," you huffed as a cover.

Mingyu scoffed at this, going back to helping you upon realizing he hadn't actually been doing any more harm than usual.

"You make it kinda hard to be nice sometimes, you know? But that's fine. I'll keep doing it. When you least expect it, you won't even remember hating me anymore," he sounded sure of himself.

Now was your turn to scoff, hands working on the frosting despite Mingyu practically doing all the work for you, "What makes you so sure?"

He took a moment to himself to chuckle.

"You're breaking down. Two weeks ago you never would've let me this close to you," he leaned right into your ear for the next part, "It's nice, isn't it? When you're not in denial?"

That's when you finally pushed him off, huffing at his boldness.

"I'm still your boss. Get your ass out of here and get to work."

That was the best cover you could come up with. He had been right. You'd been letting him get away with more and more as the days passed, and now he was messing with your head.

"Yes, ma'am," he was smirking. Your back was facing him, but you knew him well enough to know.

The job in front of you was practically done. Anything else would be overkill and you knew this, but he'd gotten into your head again. His mere presence had distracted you. Again. And the worst thing of all was that he'd been right. You were wearing down. Becoming more susceptible to his flirtatious advances and even forgetting why you hated him in the first place.

Mingyu had never deliberately hurt you in all those years you'd known him, nor had you him. In reality, it had all been a childish feud you'd grown far too used to to ever let go. But at the same time, giving in to him made you feel weak. You couldn't let some stupid charm break you down so easily.

You had to stay strong, even if that meant embarrassing yourself in front of Mingyu every once in a while.

The next development of your reaction to his shamelessness had been the worst. It made you feel like you were existing outside your body, watching yourself slowly crumble under the extra attention he'd been giving you.

By this point, not only were you constantly flustered at his proximity, but you found yourself affected even when he wasn't around. All it took was a few more suggestive glances and the occasional gracing of skin as a lame excuse to pass by when the kitchen was crowded to get you thinking about him outside of work.

You'd even come to dream of him, waking up at 3AM in a cold sweat, gasping for air at the vivid memories of what'd he'd done in your imagination. Seeing him after such instances made you an even bigger mess in the kitchen. It affected your work at times, causing you to require even more unwarranted help for him, thus being in closer proximity and continuing the endless cycle.

The first time it happened was the worst of all. You hadn't known how to handle it. How to behave around him when your mind was clouded with false memories of a Mingyu that didn't exist. It was your first time embarrassing yourself in front of him. Your usual collected demeanor, able to fire back at him without a second thought, was frozen in place.

You'd avoided him all day, knowing you'd lose focus the moment you met his eyes. The way he'd touched you in that dream was between you and God. Even if you liked to deny it, Mingyu was a smart man. He'd trace that look in your eye right back to dirty thoughts and never let you live it down.

Avoiding him was your only option.

But, of course, that was entirely impossible in such a small kitchen. That, and you were pretty sure god just didn't like you very much.

It was an accident. You had practically ran from him the moment he stepped foot in the bakery. You'd even managed to avoid you must of the day, but when your eyes accidentally met, you freaked out, dropping the batter you'd been making in the process.

It had, of course, caused a huge noise, halting everything else happening in the kitchen as Mingyu rushed to your side. You'd gotten your shoes dirty, with some batter even making it to your legs. It was fortunate you'd been wearing a knee-length dress, or else you would've needed a change of clothes.

Unlike what you'd expected, he didn't mock you. He got attention away from you, picking up after you and taking you to the back in order to help you clean up. You were mortified, knowing that the cause of the mess had been the same boy kneeling in front of you, cleaning you with a few rags he'd taken from the kitchen.

Even your current predicament made you blush. He'd been on his knees in your dream too.

"Are you okay? You haven't said anything all day."

He broke the silence, finally looking up at you as he continued to rub at the leftover batter on your legs.

You looked away immediately. This was not a sight you could handle right now.

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure? I won't make fun of you. You've already given me enough ammunition, but I held back," he joked, "C'mon. Is something bothering you?"

Letting your eyes find him again, you gulped. His furrowed brows told you he meant it, but you were too distracted by everything else about him. He was wearing a very short-sleeved shirt, and his muscles popped a little extra due to their grip on your leg. The world just wasn't on your side today.

"Just distracted today, I guess."

"Oh. Well, can I take advantage of that, then?", he smiled, "I know I'm the one kneeling, but maybe I still have the upper hand."

He got up then, having finished cleaning you up. He then leaned down, hands on his knees to meet your height as you sat down. There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, almost as if he'd been reading your thoughts from the moment you walked in today.

"Are you distracted enough to say yes if I asked you on a date?", his fangs showed as he smiled.

Your eyes widened.

"What? What are you talking about?"

You didn't even process the words. Your mind was still busy thinking about him on his knees.

"No? Okay, I guess I'll try again tomorrow," one of his hands reached to your own, tracing it with his thumb teasingly before standing to his full height again, "I'll break you down soon enough. I'm sure you're aware of that."

With that, he left, clearly satisfied that he'd somehow numbed you. You weren't sure if that was the result of his usual cockiness, or if you'd been too obvious in your avoidance of him today, but it still made you flush.

He was right. He did have the upper hand.

It'd now been a little over a month since Mingyu had begun working at your father's bakery. It had also been only a month since his confession, which had been accompanied by endless heat on your cheeks and an embarrassing burning in your stomach.

Mingyu's flirting had persevered, with a mixture of subtle physical contact, pet names, longing stares, hell, he'd even caught you in a back hug a few times (his large frame dwarfing you from behind was something you prohibited yourself from thinking about after such instances). It was safe to say that you were now pretty convinced that your original assessment had been wrong.

Mingyu did genuinely like you. And he was not shy in his attempts to make you his.

He'd been nonchalant about it, but he'd asked you out a few times so far. When you'd reject him, he'd only chuckle, biting his lip and eyeing you up and down before leaving with satisfaction in his eyes. It was like your constant rejections kept him going. It was driving you insane.

Knowing someone like Mingyu — tall, handsome, intelligent, accomplished, etc. etc. etc. — was so into you was breaking you down little by little. It was safe to say that your attraction to him had grown with the passing of time. There was just something about his insistence that got to you (that and the yummy packaging he happened to come in).

It was winter at the time, which usually came accompanied by lots and lots of business. Whether it was for winter themed celebrations, or the holidays themselves, you received personalized orders quite often. Sometimes you'd even have to manage all the catering when it came to sweets.

Winter also came with its downsides. Such as sickness going around. The kitchen just so happened to be a place small enough for sickness to spread quite quickly. And it just so happened that most of your staff had fallen ill, including your father, who usually liked to oversee this specific time of the year with a watchful eye.

Down to four people, you'd have to handle most of everything on your own for at least the following week.

And, of course, Mingyu just so happened to be one of those people. That left you with Mingyu, yourself, the delivery boy, and some poor unsuspecting soul who'd have to bare witness to the tension that'd undoubtedly fill the bakery while you and Mingyu were there almost completely alone.

It almost made you feel bad for them.

Almost.

"Well, Lucy called in sick. It's just you and me now," was the first thing Mingyu said upon clocking in, already tying his apron behind his back — always tight enough to show off his godly form.

You had already been freaking out at the consistent decrease in healthy employees. This did not help your nerves at all. You were sure the grimace on your face must've shown it.

"W-what? Lucy's gone? We can't get all this work done with only three people, much less just us!", you felt yourself start to freak out.

Mingyu crossed the threshold of the kitchen then, hands going directly to your shoulders to direct your attention to him.

"Listen. I graduated with honors in culinary school, and so did you. We got this, okay? Your dad trusts you to be in charge for a reason," Mingyu reassured.

For once, there was no flirtation or teasing in his voice, but instead compassion.

Somehow, he managed to calm you down immediately. You almost fell for the care in his eyes and initiated a hug to express your gratitude.

Almost.

Snapping out of it, you took his hands off your shoulders and stepped away, huffing out an awkward 'yea, thanks' before walking over to get your own apron. All you got from Mingyu in response was a chuckle, leading you to believe he'd noticed your flustered state.

Whatever. You had more pressing things to worry about today.

~

Three hours into the day, everything was more calm. You'd gotten over the biggest hurdles of your current orders. There were a total of three large catering orders to fulfill, seeing as you'd closed down the shop due to illness suddenly falling to literally all of your employees.

As of now, you and Mingyu had a pretty good handle on it. You'd managed to work smoothly with each other while you didn't bicker.

Currently you were working separately, you decorating the frosting of a mass amount of cupcakes for a winter wedding while Mingyu stood at the opposing counter and worked on the cake, quietly humming some tune as he did so. It was calm and quiet. Quite odd for the two of you.

Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you. But you remained focused.

"You're kind of slow at this."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him.

"I could help you," he sing-sang.

"Are you done with the cake already?"

"What can I say? I'm the best at what I do."

"Is this your plan to get me to like you back? Bug me until I break down?", you finally let yourself look to the side, being met with the sight of a very pleased Mingyu.

"Oh, no, I have way better plans for that."

He didn't say anything after that. Not until you felt a huge presence wrap itself around you from behind, once again taking a hold of your hands and beginning to guide your movements as you frosted the cupcakes with their intricate designs. You weren't sure why you let your body be limp and allow him to do as he wished, but you did so anyway.

Your body worked against you, leaning into him as he got closer to you by the second. It wasn't long until his mouth made it close enough to your ear, breath hitting it and resulting in a barely-there shiver.

"See? It's easier when I help you. Not so bad, is it?", he murmured.

You used your shoulder to nudge him away, creating some distance between you and scoffing at his boldness. You shuffled a few steps away, leaving him leaning against nothing as you continued to do your work. Maybe you were weak, but you would not let yourself fall so easily. That'd mean giving him all the power.

"C'mon. You know this isn't one sided. I've seen how you look at me," he chuckled in disbelief.

You continued to give him the cold shoulder while he took a spot next to you on the counter, a smirk on his face as you petulantly ignored him. It was clear to you he was entertained by the concept of chasing you. It was unfortunate that you also kind of enjoyed it.

Mingyu scoot over more and more by the second, not bothering to be subtle at all.

"So you're saying that these past twelve years have been a genuine feud to you? You actually hate me?", he didn't believe the words as he asked him, disbelief in his tone.

"Shut up, Mingyu."

His body fully faced yours now, only able to see your side profile as you continued to stubbornly work, your attempts in ignoring him decreasing by the minute.

"Well, it wasn't like that for me. I always kind of hoped we'd both come back home from college, fresh and new, and completely forget about the stupid games we played when we were kids," he took a few steps forward, "And I know that you want the same thing. Maybe you didn't plan for it to happen, but now you're changing your mind about me. I'm not an idiot. I know you better than you think."

"It's not like that," you finally turned to face him, exasperated, "It's the forced proximity. You're just getting in my head and-"

"Am I?", he cornered you once again, hands stopping your own from their movements.

"Or maybe I've always been in your head," he turned you to face him, completely crowding you against the counter and leaving not an inch of space between you. Your middles were connected and your chest went up and down in such deep breaths that your upper halves were almost touching.

"I think you want me too. And I think you never really hated me. It was all just in your head. Just a sick amount of sexual tension hidden by some stupid rivalry," his hands locked around your wrists, placing them flat on his chest as he dared lean down.

Contrary to the cold, unaffected facade you wanted to present to him, you gulped up at him. He'd been right with the 'sexual tension' bit. It had been bugging at you for days now, invading your time alone and even, on occasion, your dreams. And now that he stood so close to you, acknowledging that much as he stared down at you with full intent on following through with whatever tension was filling the room at the moment ... it had you heating up, to say the least.

But still, that stubborn part of you at the very back of your brain still insisted on attempting to hit the brakes one last time — even if it was the last thing you actually wanted to do.

"Mingyu-"

"You know, you've never actually rejected me. You've told me you hate me, that I'm the bane of your existence, that you hope I get fired, but you've never actually told me to stop," he interrupted, "So. Tell me. Tell me to stop. Tell me that no part of you wants me back and I'll stop."

He looked at you with a mixture of conviction and self-assuredness in his eye. As if he knew what the outcome of his challenge would be.

A few silent seconds passed. Your body was not cooperating with your mind. The former wanted to pull him down, close the distance and damn any work you had left to do. The latter, though, prevented you from even speaking. Your mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.

Mingyu tilted his head to the side in amusement before putting you out of his misery. One of his hands left the counter where it had been bracketing you against it, coming up to your chin and tilting it upwards, challenging you even further.

"I know you. I know that stubborn brain of yours won't let you admit to defeat. It's one of my favorite things about you," he breathed against you, face close enough that his airy voice landed directly on your lips, "Which is why I'm going to do this for the both of us."

Nowhere in your mind had you ever expected Mingyu to kiss you softly. Up until a month ago, you had never even entertained the thought of it ever actually happening (except maybe once or twice in passing — moments you'd buried deep down due to your burning dislike for him). It didn't come as much of a shock when the first kiss he'd given you was filled with more passion than your body could handle.

Mingyu pressed up against you, with an aggression that suggested any amount of space between you offended him. His hands went to your waist, ensuring there was no escape from this (not that you wanted any). And in a similar fashion, you mimicked the fervor of his kiss, hands already pulling at his hair and earning groans of pleasure vibrating into your mouth.

It was very reminiscent of your relationship. It was a competition. An attempt to show the other who was better, who was in charge.

But as per usual, Mingyu just so happened to get the upper hand.

His lips traveled down to your jaw, finding your neck and leisurely making a home there. Heavy breaths were released by the two of you as you attempted to catch your breaths. Mingyu had started panting out words, but it took your brain a few moments before it could begin processing words after that kiss.

"Fuck ... Can't fucking stand being around you. You drive me insane," he groaned when his hips couldn't help themselves but begin a slow grind against your own.

You still couldn't say anything. Only embarrassing mewls and pathetic excuses for his name would leave your lips as his hands felt you up, the simple movement of his hips already making you lose your mind.

"Made me work so fucking hard for this," his lips found your ear, one had tilting your head to the side so he could bite and the lobe and lick at it teasingly, "But it was all worth it ... Look at you, being so nice and pretty for me."

A sigh left your lips at his whispers. Had your brain been at full function, you would've argued back, would've maybe tried switching your roles and taken charge. But, as embarrassing as it was to admit, turning off your brain and becoming a dumb, brainless version of yourself as he dry humped you to heaven was too enticing to pass up.

His hands made work of both your aprons within seconds, finding comfort under your shirt quickly after. The teasing touch of his cold fingers tracing your skin made your breath hitch, but still no coherent words left you. You continued to be limp against the counter, happy to be sandwiched by him.

"'m just gonna take this off ... Okay, baby? ... Yeah, see? Fuck, so pretty. Show up to work with this pretty thing? Shit ..."

That's how you ended up shirtless in your parents' bakery, a pretty lace number covering your breasts while Mingyu pawed at it with awe. His lips trailed down to your chest, kissing at the bare skin with a starved demeanor. Hands continued to play at your clothed breasts, with your hardened peaks receiving just enough stimulation to have your head falling back.

Mingyu nosed at your skin. His kisses were endless despite the limited skin available. Your mind felt dizzy at such stimulation so close to your nipples. You were aching for more.

Your back arched, pressing your chest closer to his lips and mewling when he took the hint, wrapping his lips around your nipple through the thin fabric of the bralette. Teeth toyed teasingly at you through the cloth, but it still had your eyes fluttering.

Fortunately for you, Mingyu was just as desperate as you for more direct contact, which led him to ripping off the flimsy piece of lace separating him from your breasts. A gasp was all you could do to complain, too distracted to actually scold him for his carelessness when his hands began to teasingly toy at your bare tits, giving you some stimulation, but still not what you were truly aching for.

But as soon as he started, he stopped, pulling an annoyed whine from you.

"Gyu-"

Disregarding you, he reached over to the frosting you'd been working with before he interrupted you. Swiping a few fingers through the cream, he brought his hand forward, causing your eyes to follow it as if entranced.

His movements led you to believe that he wanted you to suck the cream from his hands. Something which made you pulse down south, as embarrassing as it was to admit. But before his fingers reached your awaiting mouth, he redirected them towards his own, humming in exaggerated bliss as he sucked at his own fingers, eyes zeroing down on your face.

Your eyes may have expressed some annoyance, but you both knew you were aching for him.

"Mm, it's good," he hummed, "Wanna try?"

You made it. You knew it was good. But you nodded regardless. You wanted to taste it. Taste him.

He kissed you again, tongue going directly into your mouth and passing any remnants of it from his tongue to yours. Meanwhile, you froze, shirtless, waiting for something, anything else, while he abused your mouth with his tongue.

Embarrassingly enough, you couldn't help but try and suck any sweetness out of his tongue, moaning into his lips as he reacted to you, a slight smirk forming against your face.

"Good, huh?," he smiled satisfied once he pulled away, "But I think it'd taste better if I ..."

Then you felt a sudden coldness on your chest, making you gasp at the cold feeling on your burning skin.

The bastard had smeared frosting on your tits.

Your breath became even heavier than it already was. The falling and rising of your chest said everything your horny brain couldn't muster out. And similarly, Mingyu's breath hitched at the sight, eyes glued directly to your tits with eyes that told you he was pained to not have you in his mouth at this very moment.

So then he remedied that problem.

He started off teasingly, as he always did. His tongue was tentative as it made contact with your cream-battered nipple. The tip of his tongue circled at it, finishing off with what you could only call sheer desperation as he wrapped his mouth around it, suckling at it until nothing was left and refusing to stop there.

One of his hands gripped at your waist harshly, insistent on keeping you folded against him while the other held onto your tit, angling it towards his mouth so he could continue uselessly cleaning it from the mess he'd made. The same happened to your other breast, licking, biting and sucking to the point where you had trouble remaining standing.

"Tastes way better like this," he mumbled with a mouth full of tit.

You'd never seen him like this. So depraved and insistent on making out with your breasts. The usually put-together Mingyu was gone, instead replaced by what embodied the spirit of a hormonal teenager. His groans of pleasure made your head fall back, acting as if he were the one receiving the pleasure. Multiple times he went back for more cream, teasing your nipples with his fingers as he smeared it on you before continuing to clean it up with his tongue.

"Fuck. Thought about doing this so many times. All the dirty, depraved things I've been wanting to do to you in this kitchen," he sighed once he took a break, puffing out a warm breath against the abused skin.

Your head was fully empty by now. There was nothing but hot air swimming up there. Mingyu had made you a useless version of yourself, uncaring about the poise you were supposed to display in your workplace and only wanting to offer yourself up to him to do whatever he wanted.

His lips trailed their way up, hands replacing where his lips had just been, and reconnected your mouths, humming in pleasure at touching you. His hips began moving with yours, forcing you against the counter while your tongues squelched with one another.

"Wanna fuck you. Do you think your dad'll fire me if I fuck you in here?"

"Don't care," you huffed, hands going to his jeans and haphazardly undoing the belt, "I'll fire you if you don't."

He chuckled mid kiss, "Don't worry, pretty. I'll fuck you. We're going to have to work overtime cleaning up from all the dirty things I'm going to do to you."

Aiding you in the removal of his pants, he lowered them just enough to pull his dick out of his boxers, groaning when you took hold of it and began playing with it. The size had your eyes rolling. You'd always assumed, on lonely nights under your sheets, that Mingyu would be well endowed. He was a perfect 10 in every other area of his life, so of course he'd have a big dick. But knowing that the monster you were currently holding in your hand — not even able to circle your entire hand around it — would be breaking its way inside you made you shudder.

In retaliation to your touches, he did the same to you, forcing your pants down to get easy access to your wetness and groaning when he found a mess under your panties.

"This wet, baby? Just kissed you a little and you're this wet for me? I thought you hated me," he gave you a cocky look as his knuckle pressed onto your clit, adding some pressure as he circled it.

You gasped out your response, calling him a dick and squeezing at his tip to get him to shut up.

He must've either taken the hint or taken it as a challenge, opting to readjust his hand so he could push in two fingers, managing to push you onto the counter whilst finger fucking you. The speed of his fingers was precise, hammering in and out of you and curling at the perfect time, hitting that one specific spot inside you that made your voice go a few notes higher.

You couldn't form any words, barely able to keep working him in your hand either. You were completely lost to the pleasure, especially when his mouth climbed back down and went back to your overly sensitive tits. They were swollen and completely abused with spit, but his attention was still more than welcomed.

"Need you to cum before you take me, okay, pretty?," his request was muffled against your breast.

"Want it now," you whined, hips uselessly grinding into his hand.

"Shh. You'll have it, pretty girl. Just, fuck, need you to cum for me just this once, okay? I'll give it to you, I promise. I'll give it to you and never stop," it was easy for Mingyu to lose himself in his dirty talk, but you adored every word that left his lips. He could threaten you with pleasure all he wanted, you'd take it the same way you'd taken all his snark against you all these years.

When he introduced another finger to the mess between your legs, you finally came. You were sure the sight was as messy as it felt, your body arching impossibly closer to the source of pleasure, head thrown back and internment gasps leaving your lips. Your fingers dug into his muscles, unsure of when you'd clawed his shirt off but thankful for the access to his skin.

You were welcomed back to reality by uncharacteristically soft kisses pressed to your neck, moving their way up to your cheeks and then your lips, ending with a pleased hum.

Your eyes finally opened, taking in the boy in front of you, practically fully nude and with his skin now full of scratch marks (courtesy of you), skin sweaty and hair an after-sex mess.

"Fuck, you're so fucking hot."

He chuckled at your bluntness, eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Yeah, pretty. I think you're pretty hot too. Always thought so. Prettiest girl I've ever seen," he managed to turn it into something soft despite the shared knowledge that his aching cock was currently pressed against your thigh.

"You'll fuck me now, right?", you put your arms on his shoulders, pulling him towards you with seduction in your eyes.

"Y-yeah, I- shit, yeah, baby."

Scooting to the edge of the counter, you wrapped your legs around his waist, forcing him as close as physically possible before reaching down to his hardness. His arms held onto your legs, pulling you towards him and angling your hips so your cunt could face him better.

Deciding to be a tease this time around, you held onto his dick, circling his tip around your clit and sighing at the hot, wet stimulation, earning a similar reaction from him.

"Hmm, fuck. Put it in before I lose my mind."

That was good enough for you.

It took a few moments to get his torturously big length inside you, earning constant cries from you followed by grumbles from Mingyu. He buried his head in your neck, suckling at your skin any time you pulsed a little harder as he intruded inside you.

"Warmest fucking cunt, god," he sighed, "Been wanting to feel you since high school ... Prettiest cunt, oh, fuck. Can I move? Hm? Need to move, baby, tell me I can."

This was the first time you'd ever heard Mingyu beg. And as much as you wanted to bask in it, maybe get him on his knees, pleading to get his fill of you, you were far too gone to do anything more than whine at him to move, to break you and render you useless.

Your mouth dropped open when he began hammering at you, hands wrapped around your thighs and pulling you as close as possibly. His inhuman strength managed to move your body in sync with his thrusts, doing all the work himself as you became a limp doll for him to use. All you provided were cries of his names and red lines drawn down his back. But he seemed to enjoy it. Each scratch, each squeal of his name was met with groans and with an extra harsh thrust into you.

"G-gyu, fuck, just like that. Oh, fuck, please," you had no idea what you were pleading for, but you needed more.

You'd never felt this needy. Never felt such a carnal necessity for a man like you did for Mingyu. It felt like a full circle moment. Your disdain for Mingyu had left you weeks ago, replaced by a sheer thirst for him, but not only sexually. Even as he humped into you, you felt an sense of completeness from being in his hold.

And then, before you knew it, your second orgasm consumed you, causing you to tighten around him and earning an uncharacteristically high cry from him. His hips sped up, desperate to reach his own high, hands practically pulling you off the counter to push your hips against his own. The repetitive slapping of skin was loud and resonated into the empty room.

"Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna get you all pretty and creamy for me," he huffed out between breaths, "Wanna see me dripping down your legs before I clean it all up for you."

And he fulfilled his promise, squirting his cum deep inside you with a groan of your name. Once finished, he finally deflated against you, loud as he attempted to regain his breath back.

There was some silence for a while. Maybe because you both needed time to learn how to breathe again, or maybe because you were both still in shock at the intensity of what'd just happened. Regardless, you held onto each other, uncaring that you were still very much naked in what was supposed to be a public place, creating a safety hazard in your workplace.

"Well, that was ..."

"Yeah," you agreed.

He pulled his head away from your neck, offering you a bashful smile. His hands stayed on you, though, caressing at your skin with a contrasting softness.

"Does this mean you'll go on a date with me, or am I fired for jumping you in the kitchen?"

You laughed, genuinely so. This was probably one of the very rare times in which you did so in front of Mingyu, but you meant it. No longer did you feel like scowling at his presence.

You realized now that his feelings had been mutual. Too many half-baked inferences to his feelings were had in the throes of passion for you to question it anymore.

And maybe the feeling was mutual.

"Yes, Mingyu. I'll let you take me on a date."

to read short 2k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my svt monthly tier on patreon!

content: smut, afab reader, mentions of previous semi-public sex, nipple play (m receiving), dry humping, penetrative sex, mentions of blowjob, food play (frosting), etc.

wc: 426 (teaser); 2007 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"I'm very proud of the work the two of you did last week," your dad began, "The workload was too big for two people, but you two managed to get it done. Great job."

When your dad had called you and Mingyu over for a private meeting after last week's events, you had to admit, you were terrified.

After that first day alone playing around in the kitchen and wasting perfectly useful frosting in activities you could never reveal to your father, you ended up having to work the entire rest of the week alone with Mingyu. And it was safe to say that the events of that first day repeated time and time again. The two of you made use of the empty space, disregarding any possible health violations.

Fortunately, your fears of your father possibly finding you out were alleviated by his sudden praise.

You had to agree. It was surprising that you and Mingyu had been able to get all that work done. Not only due to the impossible amount of work, but also because of the constant distractions you provided for the other.

Standing next to you, you could feel Mingyu's enormous sigh of relief at your father's words. Before making your way into his office, the poor boy's tanned skin had gone pale at the paranoia of what was to come.

"Maybe when this one takes over for me, you could he her second in command," he turned to Mingyu with a smile, "The two of you make a great team. And for your hard work, I'd like to give you the day off. Full pay, and you can also take one of the leftovers cakes from last night."

Before you could respond with wonder, your dad spoke up again.

"Here. Take my car keys. You kids go have fun," he patted your back as he walked away, leaving the two of you in his office as he went back to the bustling kitchen.

The two of you stood there, not having expected such sudden reward. It had only been one day since everyone came back to work, joining you and Mingyu with the heavy workload that always accompanied winter, yet you were suddenly being offered time off and free pastries.

"I think your dad wants us to have se-"

"Don't finish that sentence," you slapped at his chest, earning a wince.

"I mean. A car, money, cake? Do you remember what we did last time we had cake at our disposition? I ate it off of your-"

"Mingyu!"

"Okay, fine!"

...

find the 18+ continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

[clownzaf]

No one in the family understands the connection between Tim and Talia, not even Damian.

Talia would be in Gotham to visit Damian and will fight and disagree with every movement of Tim’s like a disappointed mother, but the moment Tim get distressed or even a little bit upset Talia will be tripping onto herself to be with the boy.

They think Talia adopted the boy like she did with Jason.

They absolutely don’t know that Tim has long ago accepted Ra’s invitations for dinner, (even if it’s only to ensure the safety of his family and friends from the league of assassins) and Ra’s has long ago since pseudo-adopted Tim. He will call to ask about his day, and give shovel talks to his partners via assassins, and just simply drop to his apartment to watch a movie.

He is still trying to get Tim as his heir but eventually decided to drop the ball (for now). He kept Tim tho, at this point he simply grew fond of the boy.

One time Tim spent a entire week training with the league—It was a plan of Ra’s to make him see what he could have if he joined him and Tim agreed only for the extra training and maybe he could get some extra intel just in case— and in that week he became friends with Talia. They were practically siblings right now and it was useful for both parties. Tim would tell Talia all about Damian, even the specific details (Like his favorite breakfast food, one thing in particular he gained interest recently or if he made any new friends in school) and Talia would train him to the best of his capabilities. It also made “Family dinners” a lot less awkward. He has come to be quite fond of Ra’s over the time but sometimes it was better to have someone a little bit younger to talk to and not just the 6000 years old man.

So, now every time Talia drops to the manor to say hi—Knowing things about Damian or the family that she shouldn’t know— she always ends up in a corner watching TikTok’s in Tim’s phone and petting his hair like it’s something that happens everyday.

Damian and Jason were furious about this, it was THEIR mom/mentor and it was unfair for Tim to take that away like everything else in their life.

But they don’t suspect anything else until one day they are invited to have a formal dinner with the Al Ghul’s, just to find Timothy Drake-Wayne (Al Ghul) already in the table dressed in a green silk robe with golden accents chatting with the ninjas in the walls like they are good friends and kicking Ra’s down the table.

It was in fact the most uncomfortable dinner ever, even more so because Tim refused to give them more information about any of this more than a “I’m still in the good side don’t worry”

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy Meets Batfam

First | Previous | Next

"Relax Batty, it's just one dinner." Dick parked the car inside the Wayne family manor's garage.

"But I hate billionaires. Can't we just go to Batburger and go home." Danny whined slumping in his seat.

"What's so bad about it? He's your grandfather now." Dick asked.

"The last billionaire I met was the only other of my kind. And he was awful. Tried to kill me, clone me, marry my mom, kill my dad, ruined my life. That last one was something he achieved." Danny's wings materilized and wrapped around him as he sulked.

"I know it's hard Danny and I can't promise no one will ever try to hurt you like that again but I can promise I'll stick by you. I can also promise to kick the butt of anyone who tries messing with you." Dick said ruffing Danny's black hair that popped out from under his leathery wings.

"Still don't wanna go." As Danny said this he began to shrink.

Dick sighed, he had learned recently that Danny was a shifter of some kind. It was useful to hide his identity but he would also use it to get out of doing things. When Dick told Danny to clean his room or study Danny would shrink to the size of a toddler and say "Im baby" to get out of it. Dick is ashamed to admit that he's let Danny get away with it because baby bat pictures are precious and worth their weight in gold. He has a wallet full of pictures now.

But Dick has to put his foot down this time.

"Danny being little won't get you out of this. Do you really want to meet your new family like this?" Dick asked.

Danny huffed and turned in his now ill-fitting hoodie the size of a 3-year-old.

"Alright come on." Dick gave up scooping the toddler-sized teen under one arm and walking into the manor. "Alfred still has Bruce's old baby clothes somewhere."

"Ahh!"Danny yelped.

"What? Don't want that? If you show up as a baby, they will think you are one. You know Tim Drake is going to be there. He's going to be in the same school as you. Do you want him to think you're a baby?" Dick said holding the kid at eye level.

In surrender, Danny grew back to his normal size.

Dinner was oddly quite as everyone studied Danny closely.

Barbara was the least concerned as he talked about work with Dick and pushed Danny a bowl of strawberry salad. She wanted good aunt points. Danny would love her the most.

Cassie studied Danny's features. It was almost creepy how much he looked like Dick. She'd believe it if Dick was his biological father. Except for the eyes. Danny had a very particular eye color they were blue in the center but kind of had a green ring on the iris. The condition was called central heterochromia and it's rare.

Damian wasn't glaring like he usually would. He looked almost wide-eyed at Danny but remained silent.

Jason was absent as always apparently he was moved by Dick's announcement.

Then again Danny was supposed to be a surprise.

Tim and Danny seem to strike a cord immediately. Danny despite how silly he was the teen was very intelligent. Tim wasn't as subtle as he wish, mostly because Danny cornered him in conversation.

"So you're more used to living in a small town?" Tim smiled politely.

"Hmm? I didn't say that exactly. I said Im just new to the city." Danny responded.

"So you're from a different city? Metro or Star?"

"Neither, It's nowhere you'd know. Not really notable."

"You're going to be family soon, of course i want to know."

They went back and forth for a while. Tim was probably irritated after finding nothing about Danny's identity. And that meant Bruce was probably suspicious as well. Dick had to bet that Bruce's overactive paternal instincts would overwrite his need to investigate.

"So Danny, have you heard of the new vigilante in Bludhaven? The one they call Batboy?"Bruce asked wiping his mouth with a napkin as he ate.

This was the question Danny was waiting for.

"Of course! Have you seen the pictures on social media! Everyone is talking about him. Like, he has wings like a bat. Do you know what I'd do to get that power?! I mean he's not Superman but come on its so cool. We don't have metas-Is that what you call them? Yeah, metas. We don't have them where I'm from so I didn't think I'd ever met one. Dick said he met him the last time he saw Nightwing and promised to get me a picture but he didn't and he said he forgot." Danny put on a pretty convincing fanboy routine.

"I see. So Dick told you he's friends with Nightwing?" Bruce probed.

"He didn't need to tell me. Nightwing found me after I ended up in Bludhaven. I was pretty banged up and he parched me up and took me to the police station. I tried to leave but he told me that Detective Grayson would look out for me." Danny said digging through his salad to pick out the fruit and nuts.

"What about your parents?" Bruce asked softly.

"Bruce," Dick said in warning.

"Its fine...my parents didn't want me anymore. I can't go back. They'd probably kill me. But it doesn't matter anymore, they aren't here." Danny said stiffly feeling uncomfortable for saying a bit of truth.

They say the best way to lie is to have a bit of truth. Danny disagreed. The best way to lie is to have no truth, so they can't tell the difference.

Dick pulled the teen closer as Danny pulled his hands inside this hoodie hiding one of the burn scars on his arm but just enough to show that they were there.

Bruce didn't say another word.

Damian seemed to make his mind up at some point and joined in the conversation.

"Do you eat meat, Nightingale? I've noticed you haven't touched anything with it." Damian sounded oddly cordial.

"Ew, no. I don't eat meat. My friend always said meat was murder and taught me about how evil slaughterhouses were. We once raided a local farm to-oop. I forgot there are detectives at the table. I promise I'm a law-abiding citizen and not an eco-terrorist...anymore." Danny smiled too innocently.

Damian nodded in understanding. They had found common ground. That still doesn't mean he liked Nightingale. But he couldn't fight him since he didn't seem to know anything about their vigilante lifestyle.

Damian had to begrudgingly admit that Danny's presence was welcome. Soothing even.

It didn't matter. He and Drake still had bigger plans. Finding out who this "Batboy" was. They just needed Dick give up some information about the bat metahuman.

Tim had his suspicions that it was Danny but Batboy had stark white hair with black streaks and green eyes. Not to mention wings.

They would have to agree to disagree.

"Danny you have to eat something other than fruit. Eat the rest of the salad." Dick tried to sound stern but caved almost immediately when Danny pretended he didn't hear that.

Bruce internally sighed. Does he step in and help or let Dick figure it out. How does one be a grandpa to a non-vigilante who you can't threaten with no patrols?

*Bonus*

Danny when he see fruit.

[champagnefountains]

LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Genre: Angst and hurt; somewhat fluffy (but only for a brief while). Warnings: Swearing. Unhealthy relationship/coping mechanisms (?). Word count: 2.2k+

Lucifer had been courting you for a couple of months already, the King of Hell finally deciding it was time to make the two of you official. The tension was so incredibly thick, that even the hotel’s patrons were growing sick of having to watch the two of you dance aimlessly around each other. Charlie included. 

The past couple of months were more than delightful – Lucifer treated you like a Queen, taking you out almost every other night, having nice candle-lit dinners, and dancing the night away. And if you weren’t really feeling the glamour, the both of you would stay cuddled up against one another whilst watching some cliche rom-com. It was like a dream. It was perfect…well, almost. 

The very source of your concerns was the golden band that remained in Lucifer’s ring-finger. 

You knew about the heart-break and torment that Lucifer underwent following his separation with Lilith. Understandably, having been together for many decades and centuries, the King had a difficult time trying to move on. Even in the earlier stages of your relationship, when he had been comfortable confiding in you, it was evident that he still deeply cared for Lilith, despite her absence. 

You tried to be understanding – you really, really did. But every time you held his hand, the cold metal feeling against your fingers set a painful reminder that maybe he still hasn’t moved on completely. 

It filled you to the brim with self-doubt. Perhaps he was just keeping you around just to fill in the void she had left. And if that were the case, were you even doing a good enough job in that? Hypothetically, if Lilith were to waltz in front of the hotel’s doors one day, was he going to throw you off to the side and run away with her? What if he’d grow bored of you all of a sudden?

Questions such as these would linger at the back of your head constantly, and as they did, you would cast a longing gaze in his direction. When he catches your eye, he would automatically send a smile your way, pearly-whites in full display. It would make you smile without fail, because how could it not? You loved that dashing smile of his. But everyday, you wondered if you could continue to maintain that smile in your life. 

One night in particular, during dinner at one of Hell’s finest establishments, Lucifer noticed that something was off. Your smile hasn’t been reaching your eyes, and you seemed like you were anywhere but here. Your eyes had a distant look to them and whenever he’d ask if something was wrong, you would become dismissive. It concerned him a lot. 

“Darling, are you alright?” Lucifer carefully asked once you both made it to the front porch of the hotel. “Was it the food? Was it not to your liking? Because the chicken was a bit off to be honest, it could’ve been a bit more seasoned–” 

“Luci,” you intervened and grabbed his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The food was great, really. It’s just…” As your voice trailed off, you were quick to feel that damn ring around his finger. Because, of course you did, and it didn’t help your mood at all. You force out a huff and pull away, causing the demon’s frown to deepen, “I’m feeling a little under the weather tonight – probably just lacking a bit of sleep.” 

Lucifer scanned your face all over, his brows furrowed in worry. “Well…I guess you have been working harder for the hotel recently.” There had been some truth in that – after all, there had been an influx of sinners in the hotel since the cancellation of this year’s extermination. But he didn’t seem to stop there, not fully convinced by your reasoning, “...But are you sure that’s all, my dear?” 

You looked at him, surprised, as if suddenly caught red-handed. He was quick to pick up on that too, confirming his suspicions and making him all the more nervous.

 “What are you trying to say?” You ask. 

“Well, i-it’s just that I noticed that you’ve been acting a bit off recently,” he splutters. “And not only tonight. You’ve become a bit more…I don’t know, distant with me. And it worries me, y’know? I just…I really, really care about you. A lot.” He almost looks defeated as he rubs anxiously at his nape, “And if I’m being honest, it scares the absolute shit out of me that what I’m doing now isn't right."

Your brows crease in confusion, “...What are you talking about?” 

Lucifer closed his eyes, dragging a palm against his face as an exaggerated groan leaves his lips. “Look, I’m not exactly experienced with all…all this – the one woman I’ve ever been in a committed relationship with left me. Just like that!” He lets out a humourless snort. “A-And I don’t know what I did to make her leave and I for sure don’t want to make that same mistake again. I…I want to be assured that I’m making you happy.” 

Lucifer looks up at you, eyes filled with warmth, as he places a gentle hand against your cheek. He breaks the distance between you to press his forehead against yours. You automatically lean against him out of habit. “I don’t want to lose you. And if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads, his voice almost falling into a whisper. The unexpected confession left you speechless, your chest feeling all the more tight. It was making you feel worse than you already did. 

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to keep the pending tears at bay. “Luci, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Trust me when I say that you’ve been nothing more than a gentleman, and every moment we’ve spent together has been magical. I appreciate you so, so much, and I could never, ever ask for anything more.” 

You shut your eyes tight, shame filling your very core. “I’m just being a little silly–”

“No, no. Don’t say that, darling. Please tell me what’s going on. It’s okay,” Lucifer encourages softly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against your cheek. 

You grab his wrist and gently pull your face away from him. With the hand on his arm, you slide it down to grab at his own, bringing it up into view and in-between the both of you. Almost instantaneously, both your eyes lie on the golden band on his finger – to Lucifer, it suddenly clicks. But he couldn’t help but feel an internal conflict brew within him. 

“I-I know how much that ring and Lilith means to you. I really do and I feel awful having to feel this way, but I just…I can’t help it,” you mutter, finally allowing the first couple of tears to fall, “I-I often find myself counting the days and hours when you’ll suddenly realise that I will never be good enough for you. It feels like I’m constantly having to compete with her–heck, what am I even saying? I know I’ll never be able to compete – because, I mean, come on. I'm a nobody!” You chuckle tearfully whilst gesturing to yourself with a free hand.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you’d ever settle for someone like me. I’m not nearly as important, nor am I the best-looking demon out there. I’m just me.”

“But Lucifer, whenever I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I smile more. Laugh more. I even enjoy the little things more. And I don’t want that to go away. And I’m just hoping– Satan, I’m fucking hoping that it’s the same for you. And if it is, then how long is that going to last with me?” 

Completely shocked, Lucifer watched in silence as his love sobbed their heart out in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to go and wrap you in his warm embrace, and whisper reassurances and hush down your cries. Because, you were right – you did make him happy. So unbelievably happy. You had been the light that casted away the shadows in his darkest times. And yet, why? Why did he remain where he stood, unmoving as tears pathetically poured from his eyes? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

There was a brief, stagnant moment of contemplation where the both of you just stood there. It was the realisation that Lucifer didn’t make any effort to formulate some form of response, that disappointed you even further. It only made the doubtful voice in your head louder. 

It was you who ultimately decided to make the first move, wiping tiredly at your reddened face as you glanced at the hotel’s door. “I’ll be heading off first. I’ll be in the guest room tonight – it’s been a long day,” you raspily say, hiccuping as you pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Lucifer alone outside. 

As you entered the hotel, you immediately noticed Husk’s presence by the bar, who had been polishing some glasses by the counter. In front of him was Angel, who was making some sweet, small talk with him. They were both alerted by your entrance as the doors flew open, and as Angel was about to greet you in his usual playful fashion, his voice fell flat when he saw the depressed state you were in. 

“Woah, there. What the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Angel asked, standing to meet you half-way, “I thought you and Short-King were out on a date. Did something happen?” 

“We were but we had a fight or something,” you tiredly shrugged as you walked past the arachnid and plopped yourself down on one of the bar stools. You swirled yourself on the seat to face Husk. “Give me the strongest shit you have. And make it double,” you waved absently at the feline-demon, who raised an incredulous brow at your bluntness. “Damn, it must be that serious considering you don’t even drink,” he grumbles as he turns to start brewing a glass of something, “...do you wanna talk about it?"

You contemplated his offer for a second and realised that you did. For the next five or so minutes, you ended up recounting everything that happened earlier tonight, all the while shedding even more tears. Angel was kind enough to supply you with a mountain of tissues to cry into.

“Well, it sounds to me that your man’s got a whole lot of thinking to do,” Husk clicks his tongue. “But what you’re feeling is completely valid.” “Yeah, who the fuck wears their ol’ wedding ring while dating someone else? What an asshole,” Angel hisses. 

“S-So you guys think there’s a possibility that he might consider ending things with me?” You question dejectedly. Husk and Angel share a look of uncertainty, suddenly feeling the need to be careful of their words. Because they genuinely weren’t sure.

“I–Look, that’s not something we should be focusing on at the moment– I mean, of course, let’s hope that that’s not where this is going. I just think he needs some space to think things through properly,” Husk says. 

“And I know I was talking a whole lot of shit before but let’s take the benefit of the doubt and look at things from his point of view. He was in that boat for more than a couple thousand years. And shit, that’s a lot of fucking years.” Angel points out. “It might take him a while longer to adjust to that, y’know?” Angel places a hand on your shoulder, grinning at you reassuringly, “But there’s one thing for sure that myself and everyone else knows: the guy loves yah, toots. Anyone with eyes can see it, and you guys are really fucking disgusting about it too–ow!” 

Angel suddenly lunges forward against the counter as one of Husk’s wings swipes down to slap the back of his head. “‘The fuck was that for?! It’s true, ain’t it?!” Husk rolled his eyes at his dramatics, before turning back to you. “He’s right, though. Just…just give him a bit more time. I’m sure in the end, the both of you will be fine.” 

Meanwhile, Lucifer decided to head back to his own castle, wanting to be alone to sort through his cluttered thoughts. He was beyond upset with himself for making you cry like that, because it was the last thing he wanted. But he was more upset at the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate through his emotions, despising that he found himself second guessing his feelings. 

As you explicitly implied, was he really still unconsciously longing for Lilith? Was that why he kept wearing his ring? Why was he still wearing it? Was it just for his own comfort? But why would he need it anyways? You were there, weren’t you? All he had said to you tonight, he was contradicting himself, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s scared. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. But, why would he be with you if he didn’t think so? What exactly were you to him? And what exactly was Lilith to him now?

Lucifer was a complete mess, and that night he couldn’t find a single blink of sleep as these thoughts plagued him. And neither could you, as you scrutinised every aspect of your relationship, thinking of what this could mean for the both of you, moving forward.

Yeah…perhaps you both needed some time. 

Chapter II [x]

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

[rafesbowbunny]

𝜗𝜚 bunny!reader has always had a thing for a regular at her bookstore, older!rafe only comes in to see her

c!w; mdni !! older!rafe, dom!rafe, bunny!reader, age-gap (reader is 18+), size kink, rafe gets called 'daddy' a few times, dirty talk, mutual pining obviously, 'unprotected' sex, p in v, creampie, overstimulation (if you squint), cum play, cum eating, oral (f. receiving)

notes; i had such bad writer's block during the making of this so i apologise if this isn't my best work... also its kinda long before the smut but it needed some plot !!

you'd just gotten a job at a new cozy bookstore in town. it was perfect, had rows and rows of every genre of book a person could think of and a lovely little cafe with a cozy area to read in too. you loved working there, and had recently gotten much more comfortable after finally getting the hang of everything.

there were quite a few regulars that would come in for the coffee and a book, lots were mothers with quiet children that would sit down in the children's corner and read, others were just people of all ages that particularly enjoyed sitting in the bookstore for hours.

you were stacking shelves the first time you saw him; tall, gorgeous and smiling slightly under his cute scruffy moustache. he was flicking through the non-fiction books. though he didn't look like someone that read, adorned in workwear and partially grubby clothing, most likely from his blue collar job.

you could tell he was definitely older, around ten years your senior but still so pretty. after that first minor interaction you started seeing him come in a lot more, every other day basically. you'd worked up the courage to say hi to him after a few more times of seeing him and although your face was probably bright red, he smiled wide and started a conversation with you.

after the ice had been broken you would always talk to him when he came into the bookstore, it got to a point where he wasn't even pretending to be interested in the books around him anymore, he obviously had come in there to see you again.

rafe had also started coming in early before work started, he looked so good in his carhartt jacket and big boots, not yet dirty from a days work. he'd make sure you were the one to make his coffee, always mumbling something about you having a secret gift as he grinned, letting his hand linger over yours when he'd take his cup.

the tension between the two of you was palpable, your friends and co-workers would make jokes about how no one needed to read romance books in there anymore, they had a whole story playing out in front of them.

you would always laugh and smile at their comments, smitten over the idea of being with rafe but there was always the lingering thought that it was just friendly flirting. nothing more. he probably had a girlfriend, or a wife or something. he was too old and too gorgeous, why would he actually want anything to do with little old you.

these thoughts had you spiralling significantly on one particular day; what if you were wasting all your time and feelings on this older guy that would never want you? would you ever get over him? would you be alone forever?

you were zoning out - hard - as you slid the last few books of your shift onto the shelf, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw him standing in front of you with a grin.

"sorry, did i give you a fright?" he mumbled, steadying you with his touch, "'thought you'd heard me when i said y'name but there must be s'much goin' on in that head of yours."

you took a breathe and smiled weakly at him, not being able to shake your pessimistic thoughts from seconds before as he stood in front of you, handsome and speaking.

"no, sorry- lots on my mind i guess" you shrugged, fiddling with your fingers. rafe's brow furrowed, he'd seen you stressed and frustrated because of work but never like this, anxious and pensive.

he tilted his head a little, "what's wrong hm?" he softly coaxed, looking deep into your eyes as he reached out and rubbed your arm with his thumb.

you looked up at him through your lashes, "nothing.. nothing really..." you mumbled, chewing your lip a little.

his gaze darkened as he watched you, "something you wanna ask me bunny?"

you shook your head after shuddering at the nickname. a nickname only rafe used with you, it never failed to give you goosebumps down your body and cause your thighs to squeeze together a little, "don't worry.. er, i'm about to close up in a minute - you don't mind walking me to my car do you?"

his pursed lips melted into a smile and he looked up for a second before nodding. you smiled at him before finally putting away the last few things and grabbing the bookstore's keys. rafe followed you out as you left the store and locked the doors from the outside.

"cold tonight hmm" rafe remarked, looking out at the dim parking lot and neighbouring streets as he walked close to you. you hummed in agreement, readjusting the jacket tighter around you.

when you finally reached your car you looked up at him with a longing smile before he tilted his head, grinning at you, "you gonna tell me what you were thinking about earlier?"

you shook your head, nerves chewing at your lip again.

"c'mon, 'm not gonna see you tomorrow, 'ts your day off bunny, can't make me just wonder all this time hm?" he playfully whined, inching his body closer to yours. you were a little stunned by his words.

"you remember my day off's tomorrow?" the nerves were rising in your tummy now, bubbling around and exploding.

he smirked, sliding your hand into his, "course i'd know when the only reason i go into that bookshop isn't there."

"rafe" you gushed, covering your face a little and shaking your head. you couldn't believe your ears, you thought you weren't stupid or anything but here you were, hearing that he wanted you the whole time. "i thought you were just.. i don't know, entertaining the idea of me this whole time..."

his lips parted and brow furrowed as if it was completely incomprehensible that he might've not actually wanted you, "bunny... you must be talking pure shit now because i thought i'd made it obvious i wanted you from the second i'd gotten to know you."

you chewed at your lip, heat pooling in your tummy as he instinctively inched closer to you as he spoke. all you wanted to do now was jump his bones, and you kept glancing down at the bulge in his pants as it became closer and closer to you.

he noticed your wandering eyes and laughed a little, throwing his head back before sliding both hands up your arms carefully, "...so you said you don't have heating huh?"

you nodded, feeling dizzy at the realisation of what he was about to ask you.

he scoffed with a grin, "see, i've got heating at my place that works pretty well, and - bunny, with the way you're looking at me right now, i think we're better off going there."

you smiled, staring up at him through your lashes before nodding and in an instant he'd grabbed your hand, leading you to his truck. the drive was probably fairly quick, but it felt like hours of agony to the both of you as you patiently waited. rafe's hand was possessively gripping your thigh and you felt wetness in your panties thinking about where else his hands would trail to.

it was a blur, stumbling out of his truck and into his house, you barely looked at the place before the two of you, sloppy and all over each other, had made it to his bedroom. your body was on vibrate but he took a second to take his huge jacket and long sleeve shirt off.

you breathed heavily, eyes widening when street light through the window illuminated his toned chest, he was built like a greek god and you nearly moaned at the thought of all that being all over you.

he teasingly peeled your clothes off, article by article, grinning all the way. he could see you twitching and heavily breathing at every movement, it only fuelled him more.

finally you were in nothing but panties and a bra, matching of course, which made rafe's eyes go wild, "jesus, look at you." he breathed, running his hands along the side of your body as you lay under him.

you slid your arms around his neck and tried to pull him in but he grinned at your lack of strength and you frowned playfully, squirming at the lack of action.

"you gonna ask nicely bunny?" his lips were centimetres away from yours, he was really enjoying teasing you now.

"please... please i want you inside me so bad" you whined, pouting and running your hands into his shaggy mullet. he smirked and leaned in, passionately pressing his lips to yours, engulfing you in heat.

your hands pulled at his jeans, ripping down the zipper as you slid a palm across his clothed cock, gasping at his lips over how big you found him to be.

he tugged himself out of his boxers before lowering down to your core, you burned with desire as you watched the greek god looming over you, slowly bully his cock into your weeping hole.

you groaned at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt. your grip around his neck tightened, along with his hands holding you steady at your hips.

he drilled into you at an unrelenting pace, the sound of his cock diving in and out of your wet pussy causing him to groan gutturally, "uhghh, you like this big cock baby? c'mon, tell me you've been thinking about daddy's cock since you met me hmm"

you eyes were rolling back, the pleasure becoming too much already, "mmmh i think about daddy's cock all the time... oh! fuuuck."

you looked down at your tummy, a clear huge bulge poking everytime rafe drove his dick into you, only making you dizzier. he was just so big.

a creamy line of arousal was thick around the base of rafe's cock, your breath all ragged as he continued to drill into you, toying with your clit to overstimulate you.

you were shaking under him, one hand gripping onto a bicep and the other tugging the sheets beside you. the sheer girth of him was splitting you open, rafe grinned at the yelps escaping your lips with every thrust.

"pussy's swallowing me whole, fuck bunny" he grunted into your lips, launching in for yet another seering kiss while his thrusts became sloppy but deeper. plap-plap-plap filled the room along with your pornographic moans.

"nghh daddy, i'm- oh, g'na cum!" you cried, nails digging into his flesh.

he was panting into your neck, "'know baby, can feel your pussy milking me- fuuuuuck" you felt the rush of your orgasm as rafe's thick white ropes coated your insides. he continued to thrust into you a few more times, watching your pussy swallow all his cum before pulling out.

"such a good bunny, look at that shit.." he mumbled, dragging a finger over your wet whole, playing with and pushing his release back into you. "so wet..."

he dipped his head down, lapping up both your juices that had coated your folds. you twitched from the sensation, still recovering from his cock.

"rafeee- oh god- too sensitive.." you whined, hand laced in his hair. he lifted his head and looked at you with a grin, his moustache gleaming with wetness.

"oh bunny now that i've had you, shit, i'm never letting my little girl go."

[insomniumstella]

baby, she's all yours

bucky x fem!reader

warnings: free use (consent to be "used" anytime & anywhere), explicit language, fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), a sprinkle of degradation, a sprinkle of breeding kink, dom!bucky, public sex, light spanking, daddy kink (i should be stopped). this one is bad, so it goes without saying, but MDI

word count: 1,240

author's note: this is a lil' story in celebration of kinktober, which time won't permit me to participate in, but my thoughts always wanted to. ➼ sharp, but oh so gentle

James was hesitant to explore the concept you described as free use at first, and maybe a fraction scared. The two of you had been dating for close to three years, and though things were great, the idea of you introducing free use into the bedroom days after knife play troubled him. His heart has always been heavy with the notion of being too difficult to love and too bothersome to deal with, but you made him feel enough; more than. Special in public when you would proudly hold his hand, and special in the comfort of plush sheets when you would let him cherish you — use and mould you into a drooling mess, obeying every demand. Was proposing a fresh kink a silent plead to advise him you have gotten bored? 

As it turned out, it was. Kind of. The itch beneath your skin urging you to explore foreign waters wasn’t boredom but rather lust. Fiery hot and addicting type of lust that ignited every nerve ending in your body around him. Still does. Introducing Bucky to free use was the best—and the most deliciously infuriating—thing to soothe your constant yearning for his touch. 

It caught you off guard, the first time he complied with the request. Steve had recently purchased an apartment in Brooklyn and organised a small housewarming celebration. You slipped out of the living room and into the kitchen once your glass turned empty, oblivious to the very needy pair of eyes studying you. The music muffled your soft moans then, as James fingered you against the blonde’s new refrigerator, suffocating the whines his thick fingers caused with passionate kisses. 

The second time it happened, it was winter. Powdery layers of snow covered the entirety of New York City, and, as the sun laid to rest for the evening, the streets seemed magical. James and you were rushing to Natasha’s birthday dinner, stopping by Bergdorf Goodman for a last-minute gift. Time around holidays is always strenuous, but the missions almost doubled last year, rustles of a deadly biochemical weapon dampening the joy of Christmas and stealing your attention away from getting Natasha a gift early. Bucky tackled the three bottom floors whilst you handled the other three, scouring the variety of fine jewelry and designer clothing. As fate would have it, a gorgeous sequinned dress piqued your interest, the colour of it overly harsh for the redhead’s complexion but perfectly complimenting to yours. James practically pleaded for you to model it, assuring nobody would notice you being late a minute or two. Desire waltzed in his eyes when you agreed at last, twirling around to present the garment and flaunt how well it flattered your curves. He shoved the two of you into the private dressing room once the sales associate disappeared to bring out a pair of matching heels, closing the curtains and hiking the dress up to your waist. “Be good for me,” he spoke, undoing his zipper and slipping the tip of his cock into your dripping heat, “you wouldn’t want employees to hear us, would you, doll?” You couldn’t think of the gift you ended up buying Natasha, but you can still remember sobbing into Bucky’s hand as his hips feverishly snapped into yours.  

Sometimes, that particular memory makes you wonder if introducing James to free use was a mistake — you’d be lying if you said it was because the thrill of being played with at times you least expect is exhilarating. The agreement caused many risky scenarios, though. There was that instance of Bucky between your legs, lapping at your core during a video call with your sister. The wooden desk shielded him from view as he relished you, but the grimaces on your features were a smidge more difficult to camouflage. “You taste incredible, baby,” Bucky mumbled, flesh and metal hands gripping the softness of your exposed thighs, before eagerly licking your clit. “Couldn’t ever get enough of this pussy.” You inadvertently moaned thrice during the call, disguising the sinful sounds by feigning coughs and attributing your strange demeanour to a common cold. “Tell her the truth,” James teased then, slipping a metal digit inside your needy hole, and you sneakily slapped his shoulder. The unsuspecting woman on screen continued to babble about her upcoming visit as you hit the mute button on your computer because the man below you had zero intentions of easing up. “Can feel you squeezin’,” he groaned, slipping a couple more of his metal digits inside. “Please end the call, peach, so I could fuck you atop this desk already.” 

There was also the time he got annoyed on a road trip, freeing his cock and guiding your head downward to silence your complaints about his driving on unpaved roads. “Be a good girl and put that mouth to better use,” he grunted as you licked drops of pre-cum off his skin. “Na uh, doll,” with his left arm on the steering wheel, James forced the entirety of his length into your mouth, “we ain’t got time for any foreplay shit right now.” 

Furthermore, introducing him to free use is the reason for your current predicament — being bent over the sink at a local bar with Bucky balls deep inside you. 

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” James praises, catching your gaze in the grimy mirror before spanking your velvety hips. “My girl’s such a slut for me, letting me play with her in a random pub’s bathroom.” It’s more of an observation than dirty talk, and you bite back a moan, nodding. “Bet you’re always thinking about daddy’s big cock, wishing you could be bursting full of me forever, aren’t you?” A harsh spank lands on your scorching skin when you don’t immediately answer. “I asked you a question, peach.”

“Yes,” you sob, digging your manicured nails into the base of your palm. “Love it—,” another wail slips past your swollen lips, “love it when you use me, daddy.” 

The pace of his hips slamming into yours remains brutal as he studies your expression in the mirror. “Look at you,” he clutches your chin, the slight pain of it forcing you to peel your eyes open, “my baby’s so fucked out, she’s having trouble speaking.” The steady pulse of your approaching orgasm heightens as Bucky admires the whimpering mess that is you, leaning lower until the slight stubble on his jaw tickles your ear. “Should I let you finish, or should I leave you all desperate and stuffed full of my cum until happy hour’s over?” 

“Please,” you plead, “I’m so close.” 

“That’s too—,” James chuckles through a groan as his own orgasm bursts in syrupy waves, “—bad.” The rhythm of his movements falters and then stops, and if tears weren’t streaming down your face already, you would’ve cried at the loss of contact, feeling terribly empty without Bucky to keep you warm. Though you don’t say a word to him, he can sense your frustration, the weight of your emotions lingering in the atmosphere around you. Slithering his metal hands between your legs, he pushes the cum that leaked out back inside you, thrusting a couple times to soothe your disappointment before withdrawing his touch and shoving your discarded panties into the pocket of his jacket. “Don’t let it drip out if you want a reward when we get home.” A lazy grin stretches across his features. “I promise to make it worth your while.” 

[takami-takami]

UHHHH so like Keigo getting wholeheartedly distracted from his daddy issues on Father's Day because he has a single passing thought about making you a parent and now the baby fever + breeding kink combo are beating his ass

Thoughts?

- magpie anon ✦

Keigo's hell begins over coffee.

Coffee and a mindless, paltry comment.

Keigo has always been chipper in the morning, if not a little understimulated by the rest of the world taking its sweet time catching up to his trademark speed. Like most mornings, your boyfriend is a blur of red and gold, flitting about the kitchen to prepare the perfect breakfast for you two to start off the day.

Pots and dishes click and clatter around you, and you swear you see a dollop of pancake batter go flying as a stray feather does its work mixing the bowl to free Keigo’s hands to cook.

You, on the other hand, are perfectly content sulking by the coffee machine.

You take a sip. Your coffee is dark roast— a little reminiscent of the bags under your eyes, as you force yourself to keep them open long enough for the caffeine to hit your system. If they close for more than a second, you fear they won't open again.

Perhaps letting sleep take you would be preferable. You want nothing more than to crawl back under the quilted covers, to drag your boyfriend back in bed with you for ‘just five more minutes’ and bury yourself in his warmth; but judging by the way he’s bouncing off the walls today, you don’t suppose convincing Keigo is an option.

Breakfast looks practically gourmet as Keigo drizzles strawberry syrup in creative shapes. He arranges fruit slices in the shape of a heart for your plate.

You’re doing your part, though. You dunk sugar in Keigo’s coffee and rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I’m bored,” Keigo suddenly asserts.

“Mm,” you hum, warming your hands against the mug.

“We never do anything this time of year,” Keigo says. 

“Do you want to,” you respond, with a raised brow.

Keigo hums. He gets it. You both do. Still, every year, something unknown itches and claws at the back of his throat.

“Tsukuyomi asked for the day off today,” Keigo continues, almost shyly. He stares into the crackling eggs that are about to char on the frying pan and pokes them with a spatula. “Wanted to spend it with his folks again.”

“Yeah? He deserves it, honestly,” you say. “Good kid. What, are you jealous or something? Want a day off too, huh?”

Keigo shrugs. You almost snort as you make your way to leave the kitchen and set the table. 

As you pass Keigo by, you push his mug into his chest and plant a peck on his cheek.

“If you’re that bored on father’s day,” you yawn. “You could always just knock me up.”

Keigo forgets to flip the eggs. 

He forgets a lot of things, actually. 

You could always just knock me up.

Several of his interns ask Keigo to write letters of recommendation for them at work; and his handler reminds him today is the last day of the week, so he needs to look over the particulars in the database for his agency to be sent to the higher ups. 

Thus, even as he dons the visage of the hero Hawks, Keigo is confined to the torture chamber that is solitary confinement in his office with his thoughts.

He could always just knock you up.

Several chewed pen caps litter the expanse of his mahogany desk, another falling with a thunk to join its brethren among the pen cap graveyard.

I could always just knock them up.

Keigo decides to take the train ride home, opting to give his wings time to recover from a recent fight against a particularly tricky villain. He watches the scenery blaze by in a fog, pensive as the raindrops plop against the window.

He should probably just knock you up.