#but somehow they still manage to break in

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us

In which Max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing.

Warnings: jos verstappen mention ew Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 2.5k plus social media posts

TheYappingHour posted:

349,219 likes liked by redbullracing, charlesleclerc, and others TheYappingHour Back at it this week with a very super top secret special guest. I simply can't wait to reveal who's on this weeks pod, you guys! You're going to DIE. (peep the clue in the second picture!) user928 her podcast set up is so aesthetic i can't user0928 RED BULL??? what does this meeeeeean??? >>>user1211 she hasn't done a ton of athletes in the past, maybe she got one of the Red Bull athletes!! user00291 DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN. (shhh let me be delulu for a minute) >>>user221 as much as i'd love that, we all know how much Max hates interviews.

There was absolutely no reason why having Max Verstappen on your podcast should be making you this nervous. You’ve interviewed actual heads of state, a former president, and royalty for crying out loud and you’re losing your mind over Max fucking Verstappen? You supposed it came from the fact that you had spent most of your childhood traveling from track to track to watch your dad race in NASCAR, racing was in your blood and you knew how revered and idolized Max was. And how rabid his fans could get. You wanted to get this interview right. Needed to get this interview right. Motorsport were still a huge part of your life, even if you weren’t really outwardly an active fan. You never missed a NASCAR or F1 race and while you considered yourself a Ferrari girlie, Red Bull was most certainly your second team. 

“Everything ready?” Your assistant Shannon pokes her head in as you fluff the last throw pillow on the cream colored lounge chair. Scanning the room, everything looks to be in order. The two overstuffed chairs dominate the center of the small recording studio, each with a microphone set up on a small side table next to each chair. Instrumental versions of Taylor Swift songs floated out of small speakers tucked away and a few candles burned in the low light of the studio, creating the exact ambiance you were famous for. 

You’d been doing your podcast, The Yapping Hour, for nearly five years now and it was now one of the most popular podcasts being produced. You specialized in relaxed interviews of people that the general public don’t get to see relaxed very often. Your big break had come about 3 years ago when you had somehow managed to land an interview with Michelle Obama, her episode was still the most streamed episode of yours to date. Everyone had fallen in love with your interview style, how you got these normally highly media trained individuals to drop their guard down a little and be real for even just an hour. It gave people such a unique glimpse behind the curtain of fame and your fans ate up every bit of it. 

“I think so!” You nod, smoothing down the front of your boyfriend cut jeans even though the denim is perfectly ironed without a single wrinkle. 

“Good, because he just pulled in the parking lot.” Shannon smirks. She knows how nervous you are for this interview and is insisting it’s because you have a crush on the driver. Which would utterly unprofessional if it were true. But it wasn’t true. At all. “And he’s driving this matte black Aston Martin.” She closes her eyes as she bites her lip, smirk growing even wider. 

“Okay, let’s cool it on the hero worship.” You warn, following Shannon out into the lobby of the building. 

 Outside, it’s a dreary late April morning in the heart of downtown London. You had traveled from your home base in New York City just for this interview but had been surprised at how much you liked the ambiance and energy in the city. So much so that you had extended your stay a few extra weeks. The good thing about being your own boss of a podcast was that you could literally work from anywhere you had your laptop. 

Peering out into the parking lot, you’re surprised to see a lone figure in jeans and what looked to be a Red Bull windbreaker, hustling across the pavement towards the door. When he approaches the door, Shannons steps forward to open the door, a gust of wind whipping at your hair when Max comes bustling in through the doors. 

“Hello!” Max’s voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, a feeling you fight hard to shove down. This is not the time to be a fan girl, you remind yourself. 

“Hi Max, thank you so much for joining us today! Can I get you some water or maybe some tea?” Shannons steps forward first, extending her hand. 

Max takes it and gives her a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Water is fine, thanks.” 

“Max, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” You step forward then, the heels of your black Louboutain’s clicking on the hardwood floor as you approach him. It takes every ounce of focus you have not to react at what feels like a white hot spark flickering over your skin when his hand touches yours for the first time. 

“Pleasure is mine.” He murmurs, cat like smirk replacing the warm smile that had greeted Shannon. Your social media did you absolutely no justice and Max was finding it hard to keep his composure you were so pretty. 

“Are we waiting on anyone else or is it just you today?” You ask, eyes darting above his shoulder to see if there was anyone still in the parking lot. 

“Why? Will I be needing my body guard today?” He quips as he follows you towards the recording studio.  

You pray the dim lights in the studio hide the way you’ve gone pink. “Of course not! It’s just that normally the people I have on the show travel with an…entourage.” 

“I don’t like people.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “I prefer to travel solo. Besides, I’m no Queen of the Netherlands or Justin Trudeau, I don’t really need an entourage.” 

He casually drops two of your biggest interviews like it’s nothing and you feel the pink tinge of your cheeks heat to a crimson red. “You’ve listened to the show then?” 

He nods, taking the seat you offer him as Shannon and your AV guy Steve bustle around getting things set up. A bottle of water appears for each of you and you take out the pages of notes you’ve made even though you’ve got all the questions memorized. You like to be prepared and prefer your interviews to be more conversational, less question and answer. 

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” His eyes hold this glint of mischief that if you were less of a professional, would have you biting your lip and kicking your feet. Truth was, Max had spent an ungodly amount of time on your socials and wikipedia page, obsessing over you and your career. 

“And yet you still came.” You tease.

“I did.” He says simply and you can’t help but notice how his gaze briefly drops from your eyes down to your lips and quickly back up. It’s so quick that if you weren’t in the business of watching and observing people, you probably would have missed it. But those baby blue eyes of Max’s are so easy to read, all you can do is grin back at him. 

“Well, thank you for making the trek into London today. I do appreciate it.” 

You briefly explain how the interview is going to work, how Steve is going to make sure everything is set up and recording, how you’ll post audio and video versions and that he can have final say in anything that goes in or stays out of the interview. You’ve found that a lot of your guests appreciate that little clause and in the five years you’ve been doing the show only a handful of bits have been kept out. You like to think it’s because you’re good at what you do and get people to open up on a level that they feel comfortable with. 

Steve finally gives you the okay and you settle into the cozy lounge chair, Max sitting comfortably in the one opposite you. 

“Thank you again for joining me today, Max. I’ve got to admit, I was a little surprised when your manager said you’d agreed to come on the show. You don’t do a lot of lengthy interviews and I could only find a handful of podcast appearances over the years. So, why The Yapping Hour? Why now?” 

Max takes a sip of water before placing it on the table beside him. His shoulders are relaxed, his ankle sitting on his knee is a causal pose. You’ve become a veritable body language expert since starting the show and you can already tell this is going to be a good interview. 

“I like your style.” His blunt answer throws you off for a moment and your cheeks heat. Again. You make a mental note to make sure they edit your complexion in post production to take the blush out. “GP sent me the one you did with Dale Earnhardt Jr a few months ago and I was impressed at how authentic you were. Dale is a character but you got a lot of depth out of him. Your questions went beyond the typical ‘what’s your favorite race track.’” 

“Well, thank you. That is quite the compliment coming from you.” For the third time in a short time, you blush at the compliments this man is handing out left and right. 

Your eyes flicker above Max’s shoulder to where Shannon and Steve sit, their smug faces tell you that you’re not imagining him flirting with you. 

“I have to tell you, I went karting with a few friends in prep for this interview and oh my God, I’ve been sore ever since! I can't imagine how hard an F1 car is on your body. Talk to me a little bit about your training sch-…”

“You went karting as research?” He interrupts you, face a mask of disbelief. 

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Of course, I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You toss him a wink and enjoy the way your stomach flips when his ears go a bit pink. “My dad beat me by almost 20 seconds and I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it, but it was worth it. I can see why so many people get hooked, it was so fun.” 

“Karting with a NASCAR legend had to make it a little better though, yeah?” 

“You know my dad?” Your brows nearly hit your hairline, you’re so surprised at this. Your dad had been long retired before Max had come onto the racing scene and there wasn’t a huge overlap in fan bases between F1 and NASCAR. 

Max nods, “He was racing around the time Jos was in F1. I still remember that one Daytona 500 where he stole the win from Earnhardt Jr on the last lap after he’d led for the entire race.” 

You tilt your head back laughing and Max thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever heard, fully entranced by the long column of your neck that’s suddenly exposed. “Oh God, dad is going to die when he hears you know about that race.” 

“Have either of you been to an F1 race yet?” A plan begins to form in Max’s head. 

“No!" You lean forward to swat at his arm playfullt. I’ve tried a few times but it’s always fallen through. I do watch most of the races though, as long as my schedule permits. Sometimes it’s easier when you guys are in Europe because the races are so early in New York, it’s easy to watch them from bed on Sunday mornings.”

The image of you wrapped up in a fluffy duvet wearing nothing but his t-shirt as you watch him race nearly sends Max into orbit. He blinks furiously, trying to get that vision out of his mind so he can pay attention to you. 

“Tell me this then, if you could pick any garage to watch the race which one would it be and why would it be Red Bull?" 

You can’t help that laugh that explodes from you then and Max preens under your attention, smile stretching wide across his handsome face. “You know, I could have sworn it was my name on the podcast Instagram page.” You tease, giving him a wink. “You keep asking me questions, I’m going to be out of a job, Verstappen.” 

“I can’t help it when the interviewer is much more interesting than I am.” He murmurs, taking another sip of water without taking his eyes off of you.

The rest of the interview continues on for the next two hours and you get so much content you feel a little dizzy at the thought of having to cut over half of the episode. For the first time in the podcast’s history, you may have to split this into two episodes. Max doesn’t mind one bit, finding that he’s not as nervous as he thought he’d be with how easy he finds it talking to you. 

You wrap up the interview over an hour past the time you had told Max’s press officer it would last but neither of you make any movement to get up, despite both Shannon and Steve beginning to wrap things up. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you this long, Max. I know you’re not a huge fan of lengthy interviews.” 

Max just shrugs, “If all interviews were like this, I probably would say yes to a lot more of them.” 

You grin over at him as you rise, realizing the sun is setting outside and your stomach is aching for food. Max follows suit, although he feels a clench in his stomach realizing that his time with you is coming to an end. 

“Can I ask you something?” He says when Shannon and Steve walk out of the studio, leaving the two of you alone. 

You look up at him and nod earnestly, “Of course!” 

“Why didn’t you ask me about my childhood? Usually it’s one of the first things people ask me, especially in these kinds of interviews.” 

You shrug, face heating at being found out. “Like you, I do my research and I figured you might not want to talk about that part of your life. I want my guests to feel comfortable when they come on the show, not immediately put on the defensive. I guess I thought there were other more important topics…” 

Your words hang in the air, heavy between you two. Something in Max’s chest aches at the simple kindness you’ve extended him. It’s true, he doesn’t like revisiting his childhood very often, especially when it’s recorded and will be put on the internet. His dad was very much still in his life, obviously, and while he had done a lot of work to move past his childhood, it was still painful to talk about.  

“Thats…wow. Thank you.” Is all he can manage, voice thick with emotion. 

“Of course.” You murmur, reaching out to touch his elbow in what you hope comes across as a comforting gesture. 

Max’s eyes drop to where your slender fingers rest on his bare arm before a smile stretches back across his face. “I know it’s kind of last minute but you were saying earlier you’d never been to a race. We’re in Miami next weekend and I’d love it if you were my guest…” 

You can’t help the flutter in your chest at how nervous he appears standing before you. Your eyes dart over to Shannon, the official keeper of your schedule and are delighted when she nods vigorously, phone in hand with your calendar already pulled up. You made a mental note to give that girl a raise ASAP. “I would love to, Max.” 

“Yeah?” He sounds almost shocked that you had agreed so quickly. 

“Yeah.” You say, a hint of a giggle at the edge of your voice. 

“How about I take you out to dinner tonight and we can work out the details.” 

“Why Max Verstappen, I had no idea you were this smooth.” 

TheYappingHour posted

987,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, susiewolff, and others TheYappingHour SURPRISE! Part one of my interview with none other than 3 time F1 world champion Max Verstappen is live on all socials RIGHT NOW. (yeah, I said part 1! We both yapped so much you're getting a part two next week!) user9382 the chemistry between these two was OFF THE CHARTS >>>user111 ikr? i felt like i was interrupting something the entire hour. MaxVerstappen1 it was a pleasure meeting you! can't wait to see you in Miami this weekend! >>>user2999 MAX WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T WAIT TO SEE HER IN MIAMI. >>>user999 stfu she is so coming to the Miami race?? MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN. user3210 has she ever done a two parter before??? not even the Queen of the Netherlands got a two parter!! user9928 i don't think i've ever seen Max this relaxed during an interview EVER. >>>user222 seriously! He was like a little boy with a crush then entire time.

yourpersonalinsta posted

234,100 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, michelle obama, and others yourpersonalinsta we yapped some more and stuffed our faces. til next time, maxie! (tagged: maxverstappen1) user999 not michelle obama herself in the likes maxverstappen1 you're going to be trouble in miami, aren't you? >>>yourpersonalinsta what do you think? ;) >>>user9932 oh my godddddd user028 this is the couple i didn't know i needed

tag list (some of you only requested to be on a series tag list but i am not organized enough for that. lmk if you want to be removed!! also fingers crossed this tag list works this time ffs. sorry!)

@anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @sltwins @linnygirl09 @powerfulmess @technicallypleasanttree @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @strawberryy-kiwii @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @unknownmystery22 @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet blushed a little bit at that "no," worried she had upset her dad, somehow. Luckily, her face was already too red for him to notice, and he softened just seconds later anyway. She managed a wobbly smile and did not push the matter. She didn't know how close to breaking down her father actually was, or that she was the only thing keeping him grounded right now.

But she could tell that her attempts at cheering him up would simply not work. "He was a despicable man, yes," she confirmed, her eyebrows meeting in a frown, "the way I see it, he's just as wicked as Wiley." He had threatened her dad, pushed him into a corner until he was forced to accept his deal. He had framed him and sent him to the ward just so he could get what he wanted from him. Was he still a Delta Green agent? She hoped not.

She happily settled in her father's arms, wrapped in the blanket he had opened for her. He was right, it had been twenty-two years for him, and only a few hours for her. And yet, he was much more rattled than her. Her revelation had opened Pandora's box, and she didn't know how to help him close it. Could he even close it, now?

"I haven't really processed any of it," she explained sincerely, "and... knowin' that it was you... it's helped a lot. It was so sad when I woke up in my bed. I thought I was never goin' to see him again, that all the promises I made him... I thought they were broken. But... it was you all along."

Reckless was a more appropriate word for his teenage plan but it was not something that formed in his vocabulary for the moment. He knew he had been foolish but he also knew, now with very clear and recent confirmation, he had been desperate to get out of the ward. Which had made the trickery of 'Davidson' all the more cruel and brutal. Theo realised of course just how far he had been pushed until he had no other choice but to agree to Davidson's terms. He would have done anything to get out of there.

Violet broke the hug and pulled away from him, he wasn't quick enough to react to it before he spotted her pulling the blanket down and wrapping it around him. It was a comfort, some warmth and weight around him to remind him he was secure and safe, or at least as safe as he usually was anyway.

She offered to fetch him something to drink and he considered it for a moment. He wanted to be alone and to let the wave finally crash down against him, to just feel it all properly somewhere no one could see him in such a state. However, he knew if she left him for even a moment, just to get him some water he would crumble. She was his current reason to keep himself together and it was a tether he knew he couldn't break in the moment. "No." He said plainly before softening, "No, thank you Violet."

How could she think the fight in the ward had been cool? Theo struggled for a moment but he just didn't have the capacity to address it. Much less so as she brought up Davidson. "He was a cruel man." Theo managed for his mention, could he go after him all those years later? Probably not. If anything Theo imagined he had been commended at the time. He saw her eyes welling up again and he caught hold of one end of the blanket and opened it up with his arm like a wing for her to come back and shelter under. "That was twenty-two years go for me," he'd had much worse since, "hours for you." That was the difference in his very troubled and hectic mind.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hey, love you work, I was wondering if I could request a fic of the reader and Hotch being in a established relationship and its when Hotch passed out in the meeting room because of the stab wounds and its him asking the reader if she (or could be GN) was mad that in his dreams (not sure if it was really a dream) he saw Haley, and its the reader comforting him and telling him its ok. Also the reader panicking when he is taken to the hospital.

🫶🏻

Route 66 | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Route 66, hospital, fainting, worry, anxiety, near death.

A/N: ANON!!!! I LOVE YOU! I've had the words Route 66 written in my notes app for so long, meaning to write something for that episode, but by sending in a request you kindly pushed that thought forward by softly "forcing" me to write it 💕💕

You sat across from where Hotch was standing, his hand resting on the back of the chair in front of him, almost leaning on it. The team had gathered to discuss the details of their newest case, but Hotch's expression was off. His usually steely focus seemed blurred, replaced with a distant look and a faint pallor, as though he were lost somewhere far away. You knit your eyebrows, concern building as you watched him. Maybe he’d caught something, you thought — or maybe it was pure exhaustion from the relentless stack of case files and paperwork to be filled out on his desk?

When he met your eyes, he offered a tight-lipped smile, one of those you’d come to recognize as his way of brushing off concern — He could tell what you were thinking just by looking at you. But something in that look made your worry deepen. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his face seemed strained, his breathing slightly unsteady.

"She's been missing for over five hours, and we know how time-sensitive these cases are. The, uh… amber alert is expanding… every hour…" Hotch's voice wavered, the contrast to his usual commanding tone made your worry increase — you made a mental note to force him to take a break once back from the case. He paused mid-sentence, blinking as if trying to steady himself, but his words came slower, each one seemingly costing him more and more effort. "Excuse me," he managed to say before he turned away.

Before any of you could react, he swayed. And then, without warning, his body gave out, crumpling as he fell to the floor.

"Aaron?" you called, your heart jumping in your chest. You shot out of your chair, rushing to his side, barely processing Morgan’s panicked, “Hotch!” before your hands found his shoulders. He was so still, his skin frighteningly pale, and his breathing alarmingly faint.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Morgan’s voice boomed through the room, it was sharp, slicing through the stunned silence around the table.

In what felt like seconds, paramedics were there, loading him onto a stretcher. Everything moved in a blur, your gaze fixed on him, silently pleading for him to open his eyes, for some sign of life, some assurance that he’d be okay. You climbed into the ambulance beside him, not willing to let him out of your sight, clutching his hand as if that small connection might somehow anchor him to you.

The ride to the hospital felt agonizingly slow, each second echoing the sound of your pounding heartbeat. All you could think was that you should have known, should have done something. But then he was there, still and quiet, his hand cool in yours, and the weight of not knowing what was wrong gnawed at you.

One thing was certain: you weren’t getting on that jet tonight. Not without him.

The hours passed agonizingly slow in the sterile surroundings of the relative's room at the hospital. Hotch was still in surgery. Each minute stretched into what felt like hours, causing your worry to increase by the second. The slight mutter of doctors passing by and the rhythmic beeps of machines in the rooms around you faded into the background, leaving you with only the memory of Hotch collapsing, the sound of him hitting the ground, his pale almost ghostly face. The scene replayed in a cruel loop, each moment sharpening the feeling of helplessness in your chest.

You went over every second in your mind, searching for signs you might have missed, something that could tell you exactly what was going on. The tired look in his eyes, his faltering words, the way he’d gripped the chair to steady himself — all of it was unclear. The guilt gnawed at you, growing heavier as you waited — you should've known something was off. You wrapped your arms around yourself as if it could keep the memories, the what-ifs, from pressing in too close and consuming you too much.

Lost in thought, you barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching until the doctor stood in front of you, his voice pulling you back into the present.

“He’s stable now, but very disoriented,” he said gently, and relief surged through you, so overwhelming that it took a moment to fully register. “He’s asking for you.”

You nodded, your body moving almost on instinct as you got up, every part of you focused on seeing him. Your pulse raced as you followed him down the corridor.

You found him slightly sitting up in the bed, he looked weak but alert, eyes softening when they found you. Relief flooded through you — and through him. The sight of him was almost enough to bring you to tears. You reached his bedside, taking his hand and pressing it to your cheek.

“Hey, you,” you murmured, voice breaking as you blinked back tears despite your attempt to stay calm. “You scared me.”

He winced, managing a half-smile. “Sorry for that.”

You took a breath, about to tell him it was okay, that you were just glad he was alright, but he beat you to it, his gaze shifting down to the sheets as he spoke, almost as if he was ashamed.

“I… I need to tell you something. When I was out, I saw Haley.”

The words hung in the air between you. You brushed your thumb along his knuckles, urging him to continue.

“She was… there. It was like I was seeing her for the first time again. My life was playing on the big screen,” he murmured. “And I thought, for a second, maybe I was—” He broke off, searching your face. “I need to know… are you angry?”

The question stunned you. Anger? That was the last thing you felt. You leaned forward, cupping his face, thumb tracing the line of his cheek.

“I’m not angry. Haley will always be a part of you and your story,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “Losing her was… it was unimaginable. You loved her. And seeing her in that moment… maybe it’s what you needed to let go of some of the guilt you’ve been carrying since.”

His eyes softened, his hand lifting to cover yours, holding it close against his cheek. “You’re too good to me.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head with a smile. “I just love you.”

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the tension slowly melting away.

“I can’t imagine how it felt,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “But I know I don’t want to go back there. Not when I have you.”

You leaned in, feeling his breath warm against your skin. “Then focus on healing, Aaron. And let me be here for you.”

It was as if everything else fell away. The hospital, the case, the memory of Haley, even the thought of Jack on his way to the hospital with Jess — it all faded into the background, leaving only you and him, together.

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 4.)

Summary: you learn more about the mysterious fiery redhead and things start to change..

Tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @schmentisgf @dopenightmaretyphoon @pitstopsapphic

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Settling into the passenger seat of Melissa’s sleek car, you tried to calm the flutter in your chest. The entire morning felt surreal—first being invited to stay in her luxurious penthouse, then getting a full tour of her space, and now… a personal shopping trip with Melissa Schemmenti herself deciding everything for your upcoming change of pace on life. You cast a shy glance her way as she adjusted her orange sunglasses, already focused on the road with that steady, unruffled confidence that always seemed to surround her.

Seconds later, the engine hummed to life as she pulled out onto the streets of Center City Philadelphia. The redhead woman had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console, close enough that you could almost—almost—reach out and take it.

But you didn’t. The fear was too strong.

The drive was smooth, and for a moment, the silence between you felt almost too comfortable. You stole another glance at her as she focused on the traffic, her olive eyes hidden behind those pairs of designer sunglasses. She looked so effortless, so polished. Every detail about her—her crisp, tailored blazer, the way her auburn hair caught the sunlight—seemed intimidatingly perfect. You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to break the silence.

You hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. After all, you were just on your way to the mall to pick up a few things. It wasn’t a big deal. But the truth was, ever since that dream—that pornographic dream—you hadn’t been able to look at her the same way. You wouldn’t. You’d never told her about it. It was too embarrassing, too raw. She didn’t need to know, not when things between you two had been just fine as it should be. Right?

The images were still too vivid in your mind. The way her grunts sounded in your ear, the soft pressure of her lips against your skin while her hands had gripped you, steady and strong, the feel of her clit sliding against yours. And then, somehow, that moment had shifted—becoming more intense, more dangerous. The vivid image of Melissa in her bedroom, her pale body stretched out in front of you, her ass glowing under the dim lighting of the room. You tried to suppress the memory, but it lingered like an unwanted guest, haunting you every time you tried to look at her.

The silence stretched on, and finally, you cleared your throat, gathering the nerve to ask her something, anything at all, that might distract you from the thoughts that haunted and terrorized you.

“So… what do you do for living?” you asked, your voice soft but hopeful. “When you were on your way to my apartment complex, you said something about meetings?”

Her fingers curled slightly around the wheel as she gave you a quick glance, just a flicker behind those sunglasses, before returning her attention to the road. “You’re looking at it,” she said, her voice clipped and cold, as if the answer should have been obvious. “When I’m not being some bratty kid’s sugar mama, I work in real estate. I manage a few properties. Very high-end stuff.”

“Oh, that’s—” you trailed off, unsure if you’d be bothering her by asking more and honestly, you felt a bit annoyed by the way she referred to you as a brat. Her responses were so curt, almost as if she was reluctant to share even the basics, and still here she was, driving you around, letting you stay in her penthouse, arranging this shopping trip. “Cool..”

“If you say so... I guess that’s one way to put it,” she sighed quietly.

You took another deep breath, hoping to calm your nerves, and tried again. “What about… hobbies? Do you have any of ‘em?”

Melissa snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I got hobbies.” She paused, glancing your way briefly before continuing in a tone that seemed half-reluctant. “I like to smoke. Cigars, mostly. Relaxing as hell after dealing with some motherfuckers at business meetings. And, uh, I watch Real Housewives sometimes. It’s a guilty pleasure, alright?” She smirked, but you could tell there was no real embarrassment there. She wore her quirks with confidence, her own unique brand of unapologetic pride.

“We all have guilty pleasures, Schemmenti,” you pointed out, feeling more comfortable. “What else?”

“I go to church sometimes,” the redhead added, softening a bit, turning distant. “Not every week, but, y’know… enough.” Her words seemed to falter, like there was something there she wasn’t quite saying. She swallowed, adjusting her sunglasses as she spoke, her tone strangely vulnerable. “Goin’ there, it helps me… forgive. Or try to, anyway.” She let out a small, humorless laugh, as if forgiveness wasn’t exactly something she found easy to come by.

The shift in her tone made your chest tighten. You wanted to ask what Melissa Schemmenti needed to forgive—or whom—but something in the features stopped you. Instead, you just nodded, letting her know you were listening, taking in each layer of herself she offered, even if she didn’t realize it.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, she fell silent. Her words ceased, and the hum of the road filled the gap. It was as if the conversation had taken a sudden detour, one that left you both in the moment of reflection. You could see her green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, not really looking at anything but maybe thinking about everything.

She shifted in her seat, straightening her posture a little, but there was something new in her body language—a subtle withdrawal, almost like she was pulling back from herself. It was an instinct you knew too well, the way people guarded themselves after they’d shared something too raw. Melissa was never one to open up lightly. But now she seemed to be processing something else, something she hadn’t said yet. You wanted to reach out, to break the silence, but you hesitated. Something in the stillness of the moment felt important.

You couldn’t help but notice the way her hands tightened around the wheel, the tension in her shoulders, and the soft furrow between her brows. Her reflection in the mirror showed someone more guarded than she’d been a moment ago, as if the vulnerability she’d offered just a moment ago had been too much to bear. It wasn’t just her words she’d closed off—it was her entire presence.

Melissa didn’t speak again, but you felt it—the shift. And you couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it, what hidden part of her she was wrestling with now.

You glanced out the window, trying to steady your thoughts as the car moved through the city streets. As you sat there, trying to distract yourself from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind, another thought crept in—one you hadn’t dared to voice. You hadn't really thought about it until now, but the more you focused on the silence between you, the more you realized that you'd never seen much of the Schemmentis around.

Her penthouse was immaculate—every surface polished, every corner filled with the sharp edges of modern luxury—but there were hardly any family pictures, no casual snapshots of her childhood or moments with relatives. Sure, there were photos of friends, some from vacations or casual nights out, but when it came to her family, it was almost like a void. That lack of familial presence was... strange, especially considering how many photos of her with some of the Schemmentis were across the internet.

You found yourself wanting to ask, but hesitation gnawed at you. Was it inappropriate to ask about her family? Did it make her uncomfortable? You tried to imagine how she’d respond—whether she’d offer an easy, casual answer or if it would send her retreating into that unapproachable shell she sometimes slipped into. Maybe she didn't want to talk about them, and maybe you shouldn't pry.

But you couldn’t help it. Curiosity gnawed at you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. You wanted to know more about the redhead—the parts of her life she hadn’t yet shared, the side of her that wasn’t just the successful, confident woman you’d come to know.

The absence of family mementos seemed deliberate, almost as if she were keeping her history behind some invisible line you weren’t allowed to cross. You’d heard her mention her family here and there during one of your meetings to arrange your sugar mommy deal—her Italian heritage—but nothing in detail. And the one time she had let something slip, she’d quickly clammed up, her face shifting to that same, unreadable mask she wore now.

But why?

Did she have siblings? Were her parents close? Had she grown up in a family like the one she’d created for herself—one that seemed full of strength, but also a quiet kind of distance?

You turned your gaze out the window again, pretending to focus on the passing scenery, but your mind raced through all the questions you couldn’t ask. The truth was, there was something deeply personal about the idea of her family—or lack of it—that had piqued your interest more than you were comfortable admitting.

What kind of upbringing had made her the way she was? And why had she chosen to leave so little of that behind in her penthouse? Your thoughts spiraled, pulling you deeper into that place of uncertainty and wonder, your chest tightening as you realized just how much you wanted to know.

You felt guilty for even thinking about asking. It wasn't like you had any right to her history, and maybe it wasn’t fair to put her on the spot like that. So you kept quiet, watching her as she drove, her face set and unreadable.

Still, the curiosity lingered.

“Melissa,” you started again, your voice softer than you intended. “You mentioned Pearl earlier. I didn’t realize she’d been around that long.”

“Yeah, she’s been a part of the family for years. Practically helped raise us—me and my siblings. Eight siblings, yeah. Big Italian family—South Philly’s finest.”

You nodded, glancing down to your lap to avoid her gaze. “Eight siblings… that’s a lot. Must’ve been a full house.”

Melissa let out a soft scoff. “You could say that. It was chaos, pure and simple. We weren’t exactly living in luxury back then. Half of us had to share a room.”

The idea surprised you, though you supposed it shouldn’t have. The woman beside you was successful now, living in a penthouse and offering you a fresh start, but she hadn’t always been here. You couldn’t imagine her any other way, though—fierce, determined, always in control. It was… comforting. Attractive, even.

You bit your lip, realizing you were staring, and quickly turned your gaze back to the road ahead. “I guess it taught you to be tough?”

She chuckled, though there wasn’t much warmth in it. “You don’t survive in a house like that without learning a thing or two.” She paused, then cast you a quick look, her expression softening just a fraction. “I don’t talk about my family much, you know. Or my fuckin’ past.”

Her honesty caught you off guard, and you felt a strange sense of privilege knowing she was sharing even this much with you. “Thank you for sharing,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Melissa waved it off as if it were nothing, but the way she looked at you made your heart skip. “Enough about me,” she scoffed, her tone firm but not unkind. “Today’s about you. We’re going to get you set up properly—starting with a wardrobe overhaul.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though your cheeks felt warm. “I don’t think I need that much—”

Green eyes shot you a look, one brow raised. “I’m not taking no for an answer, brat. You’re with me now, so we’re doing this my way.” She glanced at you again, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Besides, I like spoiling you, you little shit.”

Ignoring the last words, your heart fluttered at the way she said it, so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, before you could think too much about it, she leaned over at a red light and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You froze, heat flooding your face as her lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her gaze was steady, almost challenging, as if daring you to react. But words seemed to stick in your throat, and all you could do was stare at her, wide-eyed and flustered.

“Cat got your tongue?” Melissa teased pressing a hand on your thighs, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.

“N-No, I just… wasn’t expecting that,” you stammered, cursing yourself for sounding so awkward.

“Get used to it, honey. Mama’s got a habit of getting what she wants.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, each kiss she placed on your cheek or forehead leaving you breathless and aching to feel her plump lips on yours. You wondered if she could tell, if she noticed the way your hands fidgeted in your lap or the way your gaze kept flickering to her lips when you thought she wasn’t looking. But if she did, she didn’t say a word.

When you finally arrived at the mall, Melissa led you inside with a hand on the small of your back, her presence steady and grounding. You were still a little dazed, still reeling from every soft touch and lingering look she’d given you in the car.

The mall was bustling, but with Melissa by your side, you felt a strange sense of calm. Or maybe it was just that her confidence had a way of rubbing off on you, making you feel like you belonged, like you deserved to be here with her. She guided you through the maze of stores, her hand warm and reassuring on your back, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt, how right.

As you walked, she glanced at you, a thoughtful look in her green eyes. “We’re going to find something that suits you. Something… fitting.” She stopped in front of a high-end boutique, her tongue clicking as she turned to you. “Because from now on, you’re mine. And I want you to look like it.”

Your mouth went dry, and you felt your heart skip a beat at her words. Hers. The idea made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Y-Yours?” you stammered.

Melissa smirked, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “That’s right. My property, my rules.” There was an unmistakable edge of possessiveness in her voice, one that left you feeling both nervous and exhilarated.

You swallowed, your cheeks burning as you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. But She didn’t seem to mind. She simply took your hand and led you inside, guiding you through racks of designer clothes with an expert eye.

“What about this?” the redhead prompted, holding up a sleek black dress, her gaze assessing as she looked you over.

You fidgeted, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “It’s… nice.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Nice isn’t good enough. You’re going to try it on. And a few other things, too.”

Before you could protest, she had already gathered a small pile of clothes and was steering you toward the fitting rooms. Her hand was warm on your back, her presence reassuring even as she pushed you a little out of your comfort zone.

Inside the fitting room, you tried on each piece she’d picked out, feeling more and more like a different person with each outfit. The clothes were sleek, sophisticated, a far cry from the simple, practical pieces you usually wore. But when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel… good. Confident, even.

Melissa seemed to sense it, too. Each time you stepped out to show her an outfit, she looked you up and down with a smile that was equal parts approval and pride. “Now this,” she said, adjusting the collar of a suit you were wearing, her fingers brushing against your collarbone. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, her touch sending a thrill through you that left you breathless. And then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your nose, soft and warm against your skin. The act was quick but enough to make you widen your eyes.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “You look perfect.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. But the Schemmenti woman wasn’t having it. She tipped your chin up with a gentle finger, her gaze intense as she looked at you.

“Don’t hide,” she spoke softly. “I want to see that smile.”

You couldn’t help it; you smiled, a soft, shy smile that felt a little too vulnerable, a little too real. But Melissa just smiled back, her gaze warm and unwavering.

“Good girl,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go pick out some accessories. Can’t have you looking half-done, can we?”

“No, ma'am,”

You followed her out of the fitting room, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. Each touch, each lingering look left you feeling more and more like you were on the edge of something—something you couldn’t quite name, but something you wanted more than anything. And as you walked by her side, her hand resting on your lower back, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were already hers in more ways than you could admit.

As you followed Melissa through the boutique, your mind was still buzzing with the strange excitement and nervousness from her words. You had tried on a few outfits by now, each one more elegant and polished than the last. But something about the idea of being hers lingered in the back of your mind, making your pulse race and your hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Let’s check out the lingerie section,” the green eyed woman suggest, smooth and confident as she steered you toward a secluded corner of the store. The racks here were lined with delicate lace, silk, and satin, all in a rainbow of colors. But it was the deep purple set that caught your eye first.

It was beautiful—luxurious and eye-catching, a perfect shade of rich purple with intricate lace detailing, the kind of lingerie that made you feel like you were stepping into a world of indulgence. You reached out for it, running your fingers over the smooth fabric. The soft, luxurious material felt like a secret, something that belonged to you alone.

The older woman noticed your interest right away. Her gaze flickered to the set, then to you, and the corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

“Like what you see?”

You felt your heart race as you nodded, a small, awkward laugh escaping your lips. “It’s... it’s gorgeous.”

“Good,” she murmured, taking the set from your hands with ease. “I think you’d look perfect in it. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not just buying you clothes... I’m making sure you're well taken care of in every way.”

You swallowed, the intensity in her voice making your stomach flip. You tried to compose yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The idea of her buying you something so intimate felt overwhelming in the best possible way.

Without waiting for you to respond, Melissa walked to the register, the purple lingerie in her hands like it was already meant for you. She turned over her shoulder as she moved, her expression softening. “Don’t worry,” she added, “you’ll wear it for me soon enough.”

“What?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at her words, a heat flooding your body at the thought of her seeing you in it, touching you in it.

At the register, Melissa didn’t hesitate. She handed over the lingerie set along with a few other items, her face unreadable but her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place.

When she came back to you, the shopping bag in hand, she gave you a little wink. “You’re gonna love it. And so will I.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Your mind was still reeling from the intensity of the moment, from the way she made you feel like you were hers in ways you hadn’t even fully understood. The thought of wearing it for her, of being the person she chose to spoil and take care of, sent a jolt through you, and you weren’t sure if it was nervousness, excitement, or something else entirely.

But as Melissa led you back toward the exit of the boutique, her hand once again gently resting on your lower back, you couldn’t help but feel grateful, in awe of her confidence, her ability to make you feel seen and wanted in ways you’d never experienced before.

As you both made your way to the door, the weight of the shopping bags in your hands seemed to make the moment feel heavier, more real. Your nerves, still buzzing, didn't help the heat in your cheeks from all the attention Melissa had been showering on you. You could feel the weight of the purple lingerie in your bag like a secret, a promise, and it made your heart thud in your chest.

But then, as you approached the car, you hesitated. Your fingers clenched around the strap of the bag, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were excited or terrified. You glanced up at her, who was busy unlocking the car, her back to you.

The way she’d spoken earlier, the way she took control, was almost too much to process. And then, as if sensing the shift in your mood, she turned to face you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your lost expression.

Her face softened as she noticed the hesitation in your steps, but her voice dropped into something more serious. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet since we left the store, sweetheart.”

“I-”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You felt as though something was building inside you, a storm of emotions that you couldn’t quite name. The purple lingerie, her touch, the overwhelming sense of being wanted in ways you didn’t know you could be—it was all too much to process.

But before you could speak, Melissa raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing but commanding smirk. Suddenly, she stopped walking. Her hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an unexpected firmness, pulling you gently but decisively toward her.

“Tell me. What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you stood there, caught between the pull of her touch and the weight of her gaze, knowing that this moment was more than you could handle and yet somehow not wanting it to end.

And just like that, you were left hanging—unsure of what would happen next.

[greengoblinswifey]

i need more fratboy Nicholas! Something with his ex girlfriend and the reader get jealous? I dont know, i just love youuuu ❤️

warnings— slight angst, jealous!reader, possessiveness, oral(f), bondage, praise kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, degrading kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fluff, L bombs.

a/n— lyt xx creating this fratboy!nicholas au was the best decision i made, requests are so open for it <33

Nicholas had always been the easygoing guy who somehow managed to calm you down and make you feel safe. But right now, he was inches away from losing that place with you. When you had left the library, you hadn’t expected that run-in with his ex—Amber, of all people. The way she had looked at you, sizing you up, then moved right in on your spot next to him, laughing too loud and touching his arm, was enough to make your blood boil. But you kept it together, stormed off, and left Nicholas to figure things out on his own.

Later that evening, you were still fuming. When Nicholas missed your first call, the pit in your stomach grew deeper. He never missed your calls. And then he finally picked up the second call, sounding cheerful—until you went straight to the point.

“Why didn’t you answer the first time?” you asked, your tone sharp.

“I was in the bathroom,” he said, sounding caught off guard. “I- I left my phone with Amber.”

Your heart sank, but your voice stayed steady. “Amber? As in, the girl I saw today?”

He hesitated, confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, she’s my ex, but it’s really nothing.”

You didn’t bother responding—you just hung up, leaving him in dead silence.

Not even five minutes later, there was frantic pounding on your door. When you opened it, there stood Nicholas, breathing hard, looking both apologetic and scared. He tried to take your hand, but you crossed your arms, blocking the doorway.

“Please hear me out, I’m sorry,” he started, his words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t want her there, okay? She- She just showed up, and I didn’t know how to get her to leave. I swear, I was only focused on studying—she was the one doing all the talking.”

You gave him a hard stare. “So, what if something happened to me, Nicholas? What if I needed you and you were off letting your fucking ex hold onto your phone?”

He looked down, guilt written across his face. “There’s no excuse,” he said, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll never talk to her again, I didn’t even want her there. She’s just very persistent.”

The look in his eyes told you he was genuinely worried. He knew he’d messed up, and he was desperate to make it right. But that didn’t mean you were just going to let it slide. You narrowed your eyes at him, sizing him up as he stood in front of you, looking almost as if he was expecting you to throw him out.

Then, without saying a word, you grabbed him by the belt, pulling him inside and pushing him onto the bed. He looked up at you, startled, the hint of a smirk creeping onto his face as he realized where this was going.

You leaned over him, still glaring, your voice firm. “You’re mine, Nicholas. Remember that. And next time, you won’t even think about letting anyone else close to you. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper, eyes wide and sincere. “I swear. I just—I only want you.”

You finally let a smile break through as you leaned down and captured his lips, letting him know you were still his—at least for now. The thought of Amber seeing his lock screen, a picture of Nicholas kissing your neck, your arms around each other made the anger in you settle, just a bit.

Your smile widened even more seeing him hard already when all you did was kiss him.

“Hard already huh?” you began, “is it for me or that white bitch?”

“You, I’m always hard for you and you only,” he said, looking up at you with pleading eyes, “please, can I touch you?”

You thought for a moment. “You don’t deserve to touch me, but I need your mouth on me.”

He stared up at you in desperation as you pulled out a small rope from under your bed. “Give me your hands.” He complied and though you wanted to punish him, you decided to tie his arms in front of him to make it a bit easier for him to pleasure you. “Good boy, now you can get to eat me out without touching me.”

Slowly, you stripped yourself of your clothing and he watched in awe, wishing he had his hands all over you. He wished he could squeeze your ass, grope your tits and trace his hands over your curves. Why did he have to fuck up so bad.

You pulled him up by his tied wrists and took his place on the bed, spreading your legs as he went on his knees, his mouth immediately on your pussy.

“Y-you taste amazing, but it’s so- so hard to make you feel good with my hands tied,” he whined.

“I’m doing fine and I’m feeling good, shut up and keep going.” You rolled your eyes and pushed his head back into your pussy.

His soft little whines made you throb as you clenched around his tongue, already feeling the impending orgasm.

“You’re close aren’t you baby? Mm— please cum on my tongue,” he said, struggling to keep himself up as he ate you out like you were his last meal.

You grabbed his hair roughly making him wince and began grinding your pussy on his face.

“Don’t let a drop go to waste,” you moaned.

Ever so obedient, Nicholas slurped and swallowed your juices as you squirted on his face. He loved how wet you got when you were turned on. How everything flowed from you so beautifully.

“Did I do good?” he asked, his lips pouty and his cheeks red.

“Hm, maybe, maybe not,” you answered, pulling him up by his hair.

He gasped as you shoved him onto the bed, pulling off his clothes with great force.

“You’re kinda scaring me baby,” he laughed nervously.

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before hanging with your ex.”

He pouted but watched intently as you straddled him, your tits he loved so much but couldn’t touch recoiling in his face.

“I’m really really sorry I— oh.” His desperate apology was cut off by a deep whimper as you sank down onto his thick cock waiting you.

“That’s right, shut the fuck up,” you smirked. You began bouncing and moving your hips, grinding on him using the move that drove him absolutely insane. His head was spinning, his breath was caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back from just bursting the rope and having his hands all over you.

But he resisted. He wanted nothing more than to be your good boy, taking whatever you gave him.

“That’s my good boy,” you moaned. Exactly the words he wanted to hear. Your movements slowed, allowing him to feel every pulse of your pussy. He could feel your juices slide down his shaft making his head all foggy.

“Please,” he whimpered, tears pricking his eyes, “I really need to cum.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you held on to him, leaning forward to keep your rhythm steady and relentless. His breathing turned ragged, eyes squeezed shut, and he barely held on as you bounced, picking up the pace just as he began to tremble beneath you.

“Please… I can’t—” he gasped, voice low and shaky, a hint of desperation cutting through.

But you just smirked, ignoring his pleas as you moved faster, chasing your own release. His hands gripped your waist, fingers flexing as he tried to keep himself grounded.

“You’re fine,” you whispered against his ear, letting your lips brush his skin. “Just a little longer.”

He whimpered at that, his hands tightening, but he didn’t dare stop you, too captivated and too close to deny you anything. The sensation built until you finally tensed, gasping his name softly as your own release washed over you.

Nicholas was close, barely holding on as he whispered, “Please… please… can I—”

“Go ahead,” you murmured, stilling just enough to give him that last bit of control, and he let go, his eyes closing as he got lost into his own release inside you just as you did, his relief echoing in his voice as he whispered your name.

Nicholas’ voice was barely a whisper, his words pouring out between heavy breaths. “Thank you baby, thank you,” he said frantically, as if he couldn’t say it enough. His wrists, now free from the restraints, flexed as he looked up at you with a mixture of awe and relief.

“Can I, um, can I touch you now?” he asked softly, almost hesitant. You tilted your head, pretending to consider, then gave a small nod.

“I guess you’ve earned it,” you teased, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Without another word, his hands cupped your cheeks, rough and warm, pulling you close as he kissed you, slow and full of gratitude. His fingers brushed along your skin like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed you to know how much he meant every word he was about to say.

“I’m sorry about—everything with my ex today. I’ll make sure it never happens again,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. He took a shaky breath. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, you know that?”

The weight of his confession hung between you, and you felt your heart skip, unable to hide the surprise in your eyes. For a second, all you could do was look at him, his gaze so open, so vulnerable. Finally, you reached up, your hands resting over his.

“I love you too,” you whispered, the words coming easily, like they’d always been there. His face softened, and he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as if he’d never let go.

You lay there together, tangled up in each other, his hands trailing gentle patterns along your back as your fingers combed through his hair. The quiet was warm, comforting, filled with a new closeness as you held each other, both savoring the rare, unguarded moment.

[junedenim]

catch some z's

he's lovedrunk.

warnings: smut, blowie, angst, fluff, ambiguity, you get the picture

word count: 4.6k

He’s bored. It's not a major affliction, it just sort of happens at these kinds of things. Parties fall into two categories boring and too drunk to remember. He doesn't want to get drunk so he's bored. Everyone else seems drunk. He knew he had come to this party too early. It's only 10 o'clock and he's been here for 2 hours and he's ready to go home. But everyone else is just getting started. In fact, half the people planning to attend this party have yet to arrive. So, he guesses that's why he's staying. Within that half, there's you. That kind of thing just happens too.

Your relationship has been a fuzzy one. Alex used to date your best friend but now they are just friends. He's also friends with your friend's wife. Everyone just kind of knows each other. It's all very incestuous. But you've always been friends. You're witty, sharp like a whip, and have a laugh so contagious he's gotten stomach aches from it. He also might be in love with you but that part is a little fuzzy too.

He sits and waits at the bar, still nursing just one drink. He knows not to go too heavy on the alcohol like last time. He's been too sloppy with his liquor lately. Somehow, you're never drunk. He's seen you down enough liquor to make a person fall over but you stand the same: hand-on-hip with a slight curve of your spine. It's enough to get him to break a sweat.

He's been stuck daydreaming for too long he thinks he might have fallen asleep. He leans against the bar and debates whether it's worth staying. He knows you'll come here with someone else because you always do. He wonders if you're ever alone. There's also someone on your arm and someone in your bed.

Sometimes, it's him. He's okay with the "sometimes" part of things. It works for people like him, the comers-and-goers of the world. But within that "sometimes" you're together, you like to play these games. Bring another man along, show up late to the party, pretend he doesn't exist. He knows you do all this to get a rise out of him, in more ways than one, but his impatience is at the max. Alcohol would make it more tolerable but he wants to be fully aware tonight.

A warmth spreads across the back of his neck and there you are with your hand on your hip, that curve in your spine, and Michael on your arm. Michael is fine. He's a horrible drunk but one of the more manageable men in your life. He'll pass out on the bar soon enough and you can pawn him off to one of your other friends to take home.

He knows all this because of the glint in your eye. He's only turned around, his vision not even properly focusing on taking everything in, but that spark shines through. You're smiling and it's both conniving and lustful. He wants to take a bite out of you sometimes, to have you lodged in his throat.

"Hiya, sailor!" You salute him, having a big joke out of you. That'll make it tougher. When you're in this joking mood, you have him play court jester for you, mock him all night, tease and toy with him before you finally give in. He doesn't know if he can work for all that tonight. He feels tired and there's a pounding in his head. It's light but he won't make it past midnight. He can tell by your smirk that you're in it for the long haul and you're ready to drag him through it.

Alex finds it best to just play along. The quicker he gives, the quicker you'll give. He bows his head. "How are you doing, ma'am?"

You play your swooning act, a soft gasp, and give him your hand. He places a soft kiss on the back of it, giving it the featherlight touch that he knows leaves you aching for more. He wants you to ache. "We had a long journey from Rex."

His head lifts slowly, trying to keep track of all your slight movements like the way your eyebrow quirks as you wait for a response from him. You know how to handle your prey. You're a master of it. "You've been out already?" He raises himself up completely, leaning back against the bar.

He's thankful for the way Michael sways, already lost in the sauce. Any sober person would question these slow movements, this dance you do with one another, every position calculated. Each of your response times inch on for years. There's an extended period of time—one long enough to be classified as an eternity—before you give a slight nod of your head. "Rex Club, Bridge—enough for Michael to be drunk."

"Michael's drunk," Alex notes like this is new information. Michael looks like he might need a chair but you kept him pinned at your side like your puppy. Alex takes a sip from his drink to wash you down.

He waits for your quip, the one that will make him feel foolish. But your eyes begin to wander and he's panicked he's lost your interest. You tug at Michael's hand like you're trying to keep him awake. "Can I have that?" You point to his half-empty glass, sitting in his hand. Zig-zag.

"Yeah." The glass looks better in your hands, somehow turned into fine china. The liquor slips easily down your throat and the glass is suddenly empty, sitting on the bar beside him. Your head roams around the room like you're looking for someone else to prey on. At one point, he would have begged for you to stay but he's too tired to make a fool of himself. Another drink doesn't sound bad so he orders another of his and one for you. That makes you stay. Alcohol is always key to getting your attention.

"You didn't ask me what I want?" You play coy, biting your lip, letting go of Michael's hand to place your hands on your hips. He's got you, he knows it now. You've let go of Michael, now you just need to rid of him, pawn him off to Matt or something.

He shrugs. "I know what you like." You'll take anything, you're flexible that way, and you're a dipsomaniac, at least in practice.

You hum and tilt your head like you don't quite believe this but he knows this to be the truth. He knows that you know this. Your hair flows down with the movement of your head, your neck is exposed and just like that, you've knocked him back. You know each other so clearly, so knowledgable in the movements that'll make the other snap. His control has broken and he's been reduced to a puddle just by the sight of the slope of your neck. How sweet it is.

"Should we get Michael a seat?" He asks. The man's eyes are half-shut and he hasn't said a single thing this whole time. Alex wonders if he's hooked on anything else but at least he isn't doing his drunken rambling routine yet.

You look over Michael with an admiring gaze. Alex doesn't understand Michael. He's a normal guy who can sometimes make you laugh and sometimes make you want to kill him. He's not exciting and he can be rather tiresome. Alex knows, in some sense, Michael is a project for you. He's a toy for you to play around with for this month. But shouldn't these projects be more interesting than Michael? There's nothing admirable about Michael. He's miserable to look at. (He's handsome but Alex is steadfast in the belief no one is worthy of you, not even himself, not that he wants to be. He's content with whatever this is because this is fun. Michael is not fun).

"Michael and I will grab us a table. You'll bring over the drinks?" You're playful and, to him, it's hurtful. He thinks you should know he's tired, that this was a long week and he can't do this hours-long dance with you. Now, you're just being cruel. You walk away, swaying in your hips and his eyes are on your ass. He waits and waits and waits for those drinks.

He sets them down at the small table, the one up against one of the walls. Michael has gained an awareness of his surroundings and spots the two glasses sitting before him. "Where's mine?"

Alex chuckles at the man's slurring. Michael is a punching bag to him. But then you're looking at him and with a smirk you say, "Al, go get Michael a drink."

He swears to himself this is it. He'll grab Michael a drink and grab your hand and go home and fuck you because this is all tiring. You once said you like a man in charge so he's going to do that and he does do that and you yelped and yelled at him to sit down. So, he sits down. "You can be so extreme," you say with an eye roll.

He's baffled by this. "I'm extreme?" He doesn't understand how you aren't aware of the extreme torture he is suffering from. "What about you?"

You scoff and sip your drink, smiling into the glass. "You like to make scenes."

Alex laughs. It's a falsehood of a story to consider him to be capable of making scenes. He has always been the quiet mouse sitting in the corner. He's been known to occasionally come out of his shell but compared to you. There's no competition. "You don't know me very well."

You bite your lip and lean back in your chair. Michael is chugging his drink. "I know you perfectly."

He concedes, "Yeah." It's the truth. You've always had this irregular responsive relationship. One look and each of you knows, like the stare you give one another as Michael burps. Hidden peals of laughter slipped under the "pleasantries" you exchange.

You cross your legs. His eyes travel down the exposed skin. A thigh to kiss, a knee to caress, shoes to scatter across the halls of his house. During one of the first go-arounds you two had, you kicked his shin. He swears the bruise is still there.

"You make me laugh, Al," you randomly say. He considers this to be a calculated move. Your right leg, the one crossed over the left, swings back and forth, knocking against the leg of the table and his leg. His view of you is obstructed by the glass sitting in front of your lips like you could kiss it at any point. He's always wanted to be a cold liquor-filled glass.

He'll play with the cat. "Why's that?" He leans back in his chair, wraps his hands around his glass, sitting his arm on the table. He crosses his leg—right over the left—knocking his boot-covered foot against your strappy heels. If he could smoke in here, he'd lit a cigarette now. He knows how that gets you going.

You shake your head at him. And then, you're blushing. It shocks him how much he's overtaken you. It shoots pleasure through him and puts a feather in his cap. He'll boast about this to whoever cares to listen. You lift your head back up and push your hair back, uncovering those rosy cheeks. "You really know how to do a girl in."

"Do a girl?" It's his way of prompting Let's get the fuck away for Michael and fuck. But it's cheesy and sloppy and has you turning your face away, looking around the room again. Not a good sign.

"Is anyone else here?" The question makes him wince. Why should you give a fuck about anyone else when he's here? He's here, exposed, and he made you blush just a minute, who else here has made you blush? Certainly not Michael.

He shrugs and downs most of his drink. Michael's glass is empty and he's rising out of his chair to go get another. "You get the next one, Mike?"

Michael, with no awareness of time, money, words, or you, nods his head. "Yeah. I got you. I got all of you." He leaves and it's a relief.

Alex inches closer to you while you're looking away. He thinks about reaching out but that isn't part of the game. "When are we leaving?" It could be too much, too quick. Sometimes you like it hot and cold but that's not important to Alex right now. He's tired. And horny. Really fucking horny.

You cock your head back like you're trying to evaluate him. "We? Leaving?" You click your tongue. "No. Not now." He'll take his time. Alex knows he sometimes has to wine and dine you. Another drink will lighten things up and maybe induce Michael into alcohol poisoning so he can leave for good.

Michael comes back with more drinks. You all sit in a silent circle. Your eyes are off looking at the rest of the party, looking for someone better to devour. Alex is looking at you, trying to will your eyes toward him through his stare or magical powers or whatever. Michael is looking at his drink. Michael likes his drink very much.

"When are you going to look at me?" Alex finally asks. Wizardry wasn't doing much so maybe words will work.

Your head turns back. You look at him, really look at him, dissecting him for your science fair project. Your gaze is puzzling at first, trapped in a landmine. You brush your hair behind your ear twice and lean back in your chair again. A smirk reemerges across your face. "I'm looking at you now aren't I? Do I need to watch you all the time?"

Alex nods. "I'd like you to."

You adjust yourself. He's made you frazzled. How pleased he is. "Okay." It's like you've accepted your fate, surrendered yourself, not to him, never to him, but to wherever the night leads. For him, this is preferably his house and preferably right now.

"Go?" He points his thumb behind him to the exit. You look sold with the smirk burying itself deeper on your face and your feet both firmly placed on the ground. It excites him to an extreme degree.

You tilt your head to the side and he's ready to stand and sweep you away for the rest of the night. Your smile grows wider. "Michael, we're going to Al's." His smile fades and his head drops back with a groan. You stand and grab Michael as you're unsure if he can stand on his own two feet.

Alex grunts as he stands and doesn't bother helping with Michael. "You hate me," he says, sipping the rest of his drink. He puts his suit jacket back on and waits for you and Michael, who is leaning against your back, slumped in sleep how Alex wishes to be.

You pinch Alex's side, the first touch all night. He squirms away from it but he's desperate for your hand on him again. You possess a touch that makes a man unfold. "You're very cute when I work you up."

"Why don't you let me work you up?" Code for Please let me into your panties right now.

You begin to walk toward the exit. You sigh and pull Michael to your side, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his head slightly perked up as he relearns how to walk. "I have to take care of Michael," you say. Michael can take care of himself. Michael has a hundred other people at the party who would have taken care of him. But you enjoy working Alex up, you told him this. When his hair gets all messy from his hands running through it so much, that's your favourite part of him. The unraveling and the unraveled.

The air feels late as you walk toward Alex's place. He chases the alleviation of a cigarette, placing it between his lips and dangling it there. Michael is saying something about Canada but his ears feel too muffled to listen. You stand between Alex and Michael, your arm around the latter and the side of your hip knocking into the former. You're testing him, he knows this.

"Michael, would you like to go home?" Alex asks at a red traffic light. A taxi rounds the corner and Alex hopes to shove him into it.

Michael babbles something on your shoulder before looking at Alex. He chuckles. "No, we're going to your place, remember? Silly guy."

You cackle with Michael, making fun of Alex, who puts up with all this because his house is just a block away but these cars keep getting in the way of crossing the street. Michael stands up straight, brushing off his shoulders like there's dust there or something. He starts trying to touch his toes. The traffic light is still red. "Are you having a good time?" You ask.

He thinks about spitting to show his disgust. He turns his head to you and smiles with such a falsehood that it gets you giggling again. You tap his shoulder and leave your hand there, commanding attention. "When are you going to kiss me?" You ask.

Alex laughs. "If this traffic light ever turns green." That and Michael getting hit by a car. Alex truly does like Michael.

You giggle. "You have many rules." Your body seems closer.

"I do?" He questions, a smirk appearing as your face draws closer. "I think you're projecting."

"Mhmm," you agree but words are so far away and your lips are so close to his. Kissing passes the time quickly. He is looped into you and refuses to take his hands off of you. You pull away but Alex's hand remains in contact with your arm. You look behind you. "Michael, the light's green." And then, you're crossing the street and Alex has to remember what walking is. Your skin's touch burned into the palm of his hand and he finds himself having to catch up.

Michael races into the house the second Alex opens the door. He lets you enter first and locks the door after himself. Michael is sitting at the kitchen table and you’re moving through his cabinets. His boots stop clicking at the archway into the kitchen. You turn your head toward him, your hair spilling down your back. “Where’s your alcohol?”

“You finished it off.” He rubs his right eye. He’s getting a headache. Maybe this is a prolonged hangover. He wants to sit down but he can’t sit at the same table as Michael, he might have a stroke if he does that. He takes his suit jacket off and folds it over his arm. He unbuttons the top two ones of his shirt. It feels so fucking hot.

You turn around with a frown. Your hands go to your hips. Your head tilts to the left. “Michael needs his bottle.” Like he's a baby or something and not a grown man. This would be more fun if Alex was drunker. He's just tired.

Alex rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrub away his headache, the exhaustion, and this sweat. "There's some stuff in the fridge. I'm gonna go change." He turns his back and hears you mutter, "Okay," before he moves into the bedroom. He can hear you snap open a bottle and Michael is doing some shouting but it's largely muffled to him.

Alex takes his shoes off. He pushes his trousers off and pulls his button-up over and ends up facedown on his bed. His head aches and his back feels sharp. He debates going to sleep. He knows you can manage to let yourself out, you've done it before. 

The door creaks open and you come in and sit on the bed. Your hands make their way through his hair and for a moment he thinks he's imagining this pleasure. He feels a gentle release of his tension as your healing hand sweeps through his hair, their cold touch on his scalp. "My poor old baby."

Alex muffles a chuckle into his pillow and turns his head to look up at you. "I'm not that bad."

You openly giggle. "I don't know. You're suffocating yourself in your pillow."

Your hand continues to move its way through and his eyes flutter momentarily, almost eroding his exhaustion. "Where'd Michael go?" He's either dead on the couch or you let him out because not a peep can be heard. That whining has finally gone away, maybe that's why he feels better.

You sigh. You remove your hand from his head, using them to remove your shoes. "He's getting more alcohol."

"Ah," Alex says. Michael is like a fly Alex is simply unable to get rid of. It's rather frustrating but he's pretty sure that's the reason why you keep him around. Because he bugs the hell out of Alex. But Alex actually does like Michael.

His eyes have been closed for too long. You're somehow in your bra and underwear, sitting on the side of the bed with your arms crossed. Your returning touch snaps him out of it. Your hand skims through his hair. "Go to sleep," you whisper.

"You're almost naked and you want me to sleep." For people who have slept together so much, Alex can only think of two times you've actually slept together (one was his birthday, and the other was that blizzard last December). That's where the chink in your relationship lies but we won't concern ourselves with that today.

"Why? You want head to relieve your head." You're playful and wonderful and he's pathetic and weird and he loves you so fucking much and you know this and you love this and maybe even part of you loves him but he can't be sure of anything just that you feel good and he makes you feel good and maybe that's all it has to be (but wouldn't it be great for it to be more).

He flips onto his back. "If you insist." And he insists. He insists so much. He'd beg at this point but he's just so tired. He hates feeling this way like he'd give up parts of himself just to please you. But your hands are playing with the waistband of his underwear and all of that feels pointless.

"Oh, how you flatter me," you gush. You bring your legs up onto the bed and sit on your knees. You overpower him, hovering above. One hand moves up and grazes over his stomach, the other deepens into his underwear. He better flatter you, fully erect with all of him—his heart, his soul, his dick—sitting in your hands.

Tingles overtake him. Your mouth covers him and your tongue washes over the head like windshield wipers. He's jelly in your hands, complete mush. You take him deeper. He hits the back of you, unable to go any further. It's all too much but he can't turn this feeling away. The moaning, groaning, grunting, and whimpering that escapes his lips. 

You take your lips off of him and sit up so your eyes meet his. Your hand continues to move up and down. You smile, just slightly, no words. In there, he sees the love. He sticks his tongue out and you giggle and stick yours out. He puts his away while you leave yours out and return to his cock. He's back to feeling overwhelmed and you're quick, wanting to get this done before Michael is back. That doesn't ruin the feeling. It's actually kind of exciting like when you're a teenager and you're scared your parents are going to catch you. It's this newfound excitement, the kind he seems to find on every corner he passes with you.

He thinks about being brutal with you. It's something you've done before in these vignettes of quickies. The fast, rough nature of forcefully moving himself into your mouth. But he doesn't want this soft nature to leave. The one that you set the tone with when you walked into his bedroom and combed your hands through his hair. The kind that makes him feel warm inside, not from the sweat or liquor, but a much rarer feeling.

Instead, he reaches down and pushes the shadow of your hair back, just so it's out of your way. You laugh with him in your mouth. He's not sure why but it has him tensing his muscles, a desperation in the vibrations. You move him further and quicker and his heart is beating in his ears. 

Then, you sit up, rubbing him with your hand, finishing him off onto his stomach. He's left with his toes curling and his eyes closing. It's all too much. He wants to take you in handfuls. A moment passes. You stand and return with a tissue, rubbing him off of himself. You tuck him away back into his underwear.

You're still in your bra and panties. He reaches up and fixes a strap sliding off your shoulder. You reach your hand behind yourself, approaching the snap. He shakes his head. "Stay like that. I just like to look at you sometimes."

You're blushing again. Your hands fall onto his thighs. "Your head better?" Deflection. For someone who commands such a spotlight, you shrug away any attention, at least that is mixed with affection.

He reaches out and places his hand on your thigh—his right, your left. "Yeah." It'd be nice to stay like this for a while.

"What will we do when Michael gets back?" Oh, right. Him.

Alex says, "Lock the door."

You laugh and you tell him so, "You make me laugh." You lay down and tuck your head onto him. "Was that okay? Me moving?" You don't usually ask for permission, especially from him, especially when you're like this—next to naked and alone together. His arm curls around you, keeping you close because that's when everything feels good.

He feels sleepy. "Yeah." Everything is okay with him, everything that involves you like this is okay. His eyelids flutter and he feels bad for not doing anything for you but he's tired and he's taken care of you plenty of times before.

The front door shuts. Alex groans. You laugh. Michael whistles. "I'll make him leave."

Alex shakes his head. "You're going to make a drunk Michael leave?” A drunk Michael is the worst human being on Earth. Alex seriously does like Michael.

You stand up. Your hand finds his and tugs on it. He sleepily sits up but you've already left the room, moving out into the living room, still, only in your bra and panties. Alex thinks about putting his clothes back on but it's Michael and he doesn't care if Michael knows you've just given him head. Actually, it feels him with glee for Michael to know that. Besides, Michael is too drunk to recall anything anyway.

Michael has poured three glasses of brandy. "It'll help you digest dinner!" He exclaims. Alex doesn't think any of you had dinner unless you count all this liquor. Alex joins you and Michael on the couch and sips on his glass of brandy.

You put your hand on Alex's thigh. Michael leaves about an hour later. You and Alex are very drunk by the time he leaves. He doesn't remember the rest of the night. But you're in his bed when he wakes up. You're both hungover. He shouldn't drink so much.

*

a/n: i had fun writing this. i think it's written a little differently than my other stuff but maybe that's just me thinking i sound like hemingway. (currently reading the sun also rises). thanks!

[aria-greenhoodie]

Time stuck au but it’s Pacifica meeting the Anti-Cipher society. And she is becoming Abigale’s apprentice in engineering.

I thought I DELETED THIS ASK but I DIDNT it was just HIDDEN FOR SOME REASON! anyway this idea has captivated me, I have yet to draw Pac with the whole society (I WILL) but here’s some doodles of her and Abbey!!

Click for Quality!

Also some extra musings under the cut…..

The Northwests travel to Illinois one holiday. Pacifica takes some time off from her insufferable parents to find someplace worth visiting. Unfortunately, it seems like nothing in Illinois is worth visiting. She eventually finds herself at 333 North East West Drive, a functionally abandoned historical building, “For Rent” sign collecting dust in its windows. Something catches her eye on the ground - what looks to be a normal tape measurer. I say “looks to be,” because it is in fact a TIME tape-measurer, albeit a half-broken one.

Pacifica ends up in 1901 using the half-broken time tape measurer and manages to break it completely. Luckily for her, Abigale finds her and agrees to help fix it… and teach Pacifica some mechanical know-how in the process!

Abigale doesn’t know that she’s Pacifica’s ancestor. Pacifica is pretty certain Abigale Blackwing is Abigale Northwest, but doesn’t say anything because Abigale Northwest was always considered a bit of a stain on the family, half-buried by history. Pacifica doesn’t want to let Abigale know she’s been erased, and honestly, is still a little bought-in to her family’s philosophy of sweeping “unsavory” people or things under the rug at this point.

Pacifica is actually pretty damn good at mechanics! She takes a second to get a hang of it, but once she grasps the basics she learns the rest shockingly quick. Abigale is so proud.

Pacifica actually helps enable some semblance of workshop-safety in the society, what with her modern knowledge that lead, mercury, and arsenic are all deadly toxins that you shouldn’t be putting in “anti-cipher tonic” to guzzle and/or rub on your skin.

The rest of the society LOVE Pacifica. That’s their collective daughter now.

Jessamine teaches her how to shoot! Pacifica isn’t a very good natural aim, but Jessie is patient and knows skill comes with practice.

Horace is so charmed by her, he really takes up a sort of father figure. He would mow down entire countries for this kid. Pacifica doesn’t know how to take Horace at first, since she’s so used to her real dad sucking ass, but she becomes close with him fast!

Thurburt is SO her silly weird uncle. Thurburt was always a clumsy, accident-prone fool, but somehow around Pacifica he becomes even more slapstickly-inclined. Pacifica thinks he’s doing it on purpose to get a laugh out of her. He is. It always works.

Even O’Pimm, the crotchety old drunk that he is, gets a kick out of her! He likes her honesty. If Pac thinks something’s daft or dull, she’ll say it. O’Pimm is glad to not be the ONLY one with sense around the society anymore.

And of course, it goes without saying that Abigale ADORES Pac. Abigale never wanted to be a mother, but teaching Pacifica the ropes of engineering and working her through her problems made her reconsider that thought.

Pacifica actually manages to fix the time tape measurer all on her own one night. It takes 2 weeks for her to finally tell the society. She almost doesn’t want to leave.

Abigale was the one to convince her to go home. “The future needs you, Pacifica. It needs brilliant, talented girls like you. You’ve got people waiting on you, but more than that, you’ve got a whole WORLD waiting for you! Live your life, Pacifica, your story doesn’t end in this time. Promise me you’ll make some change in that future of yours, rather than feel trapped in the past with us…”

Pacifica is a lot different when she returns. She’s suddenly way into tinkering, something she keeps secret from her family. She’s also a lot happier, and a lot less concerned about mistakes (though she’s more worried when her parents are in eye or earshot…)

Pacifica starts to really get interested in the story of Abigale Northwest. She unearths a lot of hidden secrets about her life. Most of it isn’t good, especially now. At least Pacifica knows the truth, now. (I have a VERY specific idea as to how Abbey’s life was after the society disbanded and it is NOT pretty. When I post it I’ll add a link here)

She wishes Abigale could have had her happy ending. She wonders if she had stayed behind, could she have changed things? She considered using the time tape measurer to go back more times then she’d like to admit. But she made a promise, didn’t she? Her job is here in the future, not stuck in the past…

[spiderman2-99]

✨:consolation-Lyla having trouble with her emotions

[11.11.2099]

[Closed starter for @lyrate-lifeform-approximation]

To say this past week was hectic would’ve been the understatement of the century.

Somehow, a virus managed to creep its way into the Spider-Society’s computer, corrupting LYLA badly, forcing her to be offline for a couple days, as well as partially downing building security and certain gizmo functions. While the cause of the hacking was dealt with (some punk who was pulling a prank, apparently), it was still difficult to weed out the influence from the computers…

And from LYLA herself too. The virus had badly messed with her memory, and Miguel worked tirelessly to get her memory wiped and restored to normal.

Frankly, it was the most scared he's been in a while.

She's more than an AI to him-- she's a respected colleague, building manager, a reminder to take care of himself, a thorn in his side, and his closest friend. He doesn't know where he'd be without her.

And if he's still bothered by an off-handed remark she made on her blog earlier today about being "ai that can be easily replaced by another ai", that's between him and God.

So for the first time this whole week, the two finally have a chance to rest— and true to form, Miguel still spent it in the lab at unholy hours of the night. Though at least now, it’s his own personal one at his apartment, and it’s just a smaller passion project (fixing the design of the portal watches) rather than dealing with the crisis from earlier. It helps both of them relax.

LYLA always helps where she can— playing music to help him focus, friendly banter, helping him if he lost something (and giving him shit for it the whole time), reminding him to take breaks so he 'doesn't blow out his old man back'. It’s nice having another presence. He's missed this. Missed them.

But... Miguel can't quite shake the niggling feeling that something is still off with her. Which should be unfounded, right? He thoroughly combed through her servos to gut and put her back together; nothing from that virus should be left, right?

So then what's going on? Why has his AI, his baby, been... so off? Almost subdued? Still as snarky as ever, still bothering him both on and offline, but something just feels... Hell if he can put a proper finger on it-- Shifted a bit to the left? He's never been good with emotions and things-- even programmed ones. All he could do was fix the physical problem.

He sighs and forces his mind off of autopilot. Going down self-loathing rabbit holes is a task best left for when he's not taking apart a delicate piece of machinery.

LYLA's hologram re-materializes so it’s ‘resting’ on Miguel’s shoulder, feet kicking.

Though she looks outwardly carefree as usual, the fact that for once, LYLA didn’t immediately start teasing or bantering or anything at him is enough to get Miguel’s attention, even when he's hyper-focused.

He pauses, and looks down at her diminutive hologram sitting on his shoulder like a perched bird. Odd…

“...Hey. Something on your mind?”

Of course there is. She's never like this. Great start. 10/10 for emotional intelligence, O'Hara.

[bookish-phile]

Presenting my blood, sweat and tears, the sweetest bane of my existence..

i’ve done it. i wrote my book, and now I’m going to publish it. (oh my god, I’m actually saying this and it feels too real help)

I spent 7 months writing the first draft of this book with tons of breaks and very long periods of writer’s blocks.. and then another 5 months editing and revising and formatting and oh my god the process was (still is) endless. but hey, im nearly at the very end, and by january my debut novel will be out in the world (OH MY GOD HELP)

right, so anyway.

since tumblr is my favorite book community, i thought why not announce it here? im really hoping my 400 followers will back me up here because although im not here for the money i did not spend so much time juggling writing and school and just life with my head buried in google docs typing out this 150k word novel (which i somehow managed to get down to 130k because god, 150k is a 600 page book..) for no one to read it. id like some reads please 😭

so, let me just introduce this fantasy romance..

and those are the tropes and the blurb for this book (i covered the spoiler trope because, you know, find out when you read it)

you can pre-order the ebook on amazon now:

im hoping you guys will help share this post to reach more people—i will genuinely be on a happy high for the rest of my life if this book gets any preorders. help out a fellow reader here, booklr <3

the release date is currently set at january 3rd, though that might change!

reblogs are greatly, heavily, extremely, [insert more very powerful adverbs] appreciated.

thank you so much!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

(tagging a few (okay fine, a hefty amount of) people here, apologies if this bothers you!!)

@lyra-kane @viivdle @starrynightsxo (thank you three SO much for beta reading!! i can never show you guys how grateful i am!)

@never-enough-novels @reminiscentreader @thejudeduarte @jesyverse @ant-thebooknerd @his-littlefox @starlightbooklove @darlingod @thenightmareinyourcloset @catapparently @thesongofsoleil @chaiichait @tunguszka20 @x-liv25-jamieswife @cromulentreader @highladyofterrasen7 @ur-mother-is-ketterdam @dreamyreveriie @dreaming-in-daylight @mqstermindswift @arqbella @elysianwayy77 @xoxo-lenah @unch4rtedwxters @mikotosworld @catacombspooks @imsaraht @tiredpapergirl @stars-over-ice-cream @justalunaticfangirl @slarxsa @sheisntyouspam @starsandmarsbars @your-mommy-ems @hxress23 @berryzxx @house-in-the-backyard-trees @arias-archive @shattermelyhfmlblog @balladofareader @f4iry-bell @letmeliveinelfhame @lyrakanefanatic @knife-wife @123letsgobestie @hyacinth-dancing-in-rain @averyriskygamble1989

[atlantis-just-drowned]

i'm back with another request favorite writer 😼, i was wondering if you could do Sun n Moon/Reader who's the daycare manager.

Essentially they help tidy, manage schedules, supplies, ect???

(sorry for not leaving more notes on your posts, tumblr doesn't show me ur stuff often 😭😭)

A/N: Hiii thank you so much for your kind words and patience?? My motivation has been on the floor but I'm trying to make it work somehow! Anyway, here is some mildly-annoying-coworkers to friends (to lovers) for your heart! :D

Sun & Moon x daycare manager!reader relationship headcanons

Please reblog this post! Likes make posts die :(

Masterlist

When you first got hired as the Daycare manager, you work was... Well.... Tough

To say the least.

Sun's sassy attitude and constant micro-aggressions were really getting to your nerves

And Moon.....

Well

Let's say you sometimes wondered if he saw you as his boss or his toy

He WILL jest around and stare at you while chuckling instead of following your commmands

Both of them don't really like the idea of having a human supervising them

I mean they're doing a super neat job on their own!! They don't need you!! Why would management send you here?!?

But surprisingly, instead of quitting

You actively try to work with them.

Unexpected I know.

You're not just bossing them around and yelling when they don't do what you want!!

You actually communicate with them to explain the goal of your missions and ask for their ideas when they refuse to do things your way!!

Okay to be honest how it ends up working out is truly a mystery to you

But after a while of almost constant bargaining

Welp the bargaining starts to lessen.

They do the activities you prepared instead of announcing a completely different unrelated thing to the kids

They don't argue as much about the schedule for naptimes

Hell, you can finally catch a fucking break

Of course you let them know how much you're thankful to them for agreeing with stuff (finally)

Sun also starts to get a little less mean, thankfully

You're greater at your job than he thought you'd be!! Different than the managers they had before, for sure, but it's a good thing!! You actually adapt your work and the schedule for them, and not despite them!!

He might start to take a liking for you

After a long while

I mean you truly are the first human handler to not treat them as objects

So of course it takes time for them to trust you

But Sun eventually does because he's just too much of a sweetheart

Moon just... Teases you a bit less. If that means anything.

(it does)

Or at least it's not mean teasing anymore

He's still a Creature™️ tho

Sun still acts confident and almost cocky at times, but it's not passive-agressive anymore

He can even appear charming at times, now that his jokes and remarks aren't meant to make you quit your job

And of course both argue from time to time

Or well, show their dislike of your commands in their own ways I guess

Their "own ways" being that Moon crawls up to the ceiling and sits in a corner upside-down to pout

And Sun just outright refuses to execute whatever you told him to do (and WILL get snappy if you insist)

The trips at Parts N Service are the worst, but you manage to get them down there two times out of three

But overall your relationship with the both of them is getting better and better everyday!

And you genuinely feel so glad the day they give you a friendship drawing!! You're officially their friend now!!

You almost teared up, but no one needs to know that

And then, they gave you another one

And another one

And MANY other ones

And plenty of them both holding your hands

Overtime, you became their bestest friend!!

Who could have thought you would end up being so close!!

Well you, at least, didn't expect it

Not that you're complaining!

You had to admit you grew VERY attached to them too

But oh boy was this development unexpected.

[here-comes-the-moose]

Tech: *comes home to see Crosshair and Wrecker on his couch eating snacks and watching TV*

Wrecker: Hey Tech.

Tech: Hello people who do not live here.

Crosshair: You’re the one who gave us a key.

Tech: That key was for EMERGENCIES!

Crosshair: There was an emergency.

Wrecker: We were out of Doritos!

[humming-fly]

as expected the fma mobile game event side story that inexplicably features og greed and ling as high schoolers is just as wildly batshit as you'd expect - all these shitposts are all taken nearly Verbatim from the translation shit really was just that funny i still laugh when i think about it

(also in case ya'lld like to see it for yourself i saved all the screenshots and google translations to a zip file here though fair warning they may or may not be in order good luck o7)

[gideonnavsenormousbiceps]

shang qinghua and shen qingqiu would be so funny as college roommates. because here's the thing, they would definitely both blame each other for basically everything and be like "he's the worst roommate ever!" to their respective boyfriends and then it turns out they're both actually just awful roommates. Like shen qingqiu probably sucks at domestic chores like loading the dishwasher and always does it wrong no matter how many times he's corrected, but shang qinghua is probably up all night typing abd playing music obnoxiously loud (he has one of those really clicky keyboards and also gets way too enthusiastic about typing) and leaves empty energy cans/Ramen cups everywhere. Will either of them move out, or learn communication skills? No, of course not they prefer to complain

[cuttledreams-bugs]

me trying to hype myself up to posting online again despite The Horror

[valinoar]

i cant believe people still look at criston and boil what happened between him and rhaenyra down to him being a crybaby… i thought we had progressed as a society and developed at least some critical thinking skills

[rickybaby]

“Daniel knew before the tests at Silverstone that he would have the cockpit at AT if he could perform. He more than survived the pressure situation."

- Helmut fucking Marko