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lascvitae · 3 days ago

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❀༉‧₊˚ telepathy ── kim minjeong!

── minjeong has been distant lately and you have no idea why. she’s also been blushing way more around you lately and you still don’t know why.

pairing. spider!minjeong x fem!reader genre. fluff, comedy, angst but not too much bc i wanted to keep it minimal 😓 (happy ending dw) warning(s). cursing, horrible attempt at comedy, i want a natty and i want a julie

word count: 4.4k

feat. natty & julie of kiss of life, yeonjun of txt & ryujin of itzy.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ katty ᥫ᭡: a birthday gift for the og camp @jjjaliyah happy birthday pookie <333 also let me guys know if you want a part 2 bc i left so many openings for one (on purpose) BTW i tried a new layout i hope you giys like it OKAY I’M DONE YAPPING BYE

masterlist.

“if you could have any superpower in the world, what would it be?” you asked, setting down your cup of strawberry ice cream and turning to face your best friend.

minjeong brought her knees up to her chest, tilting her head as if she were contemplating an answer to the question.

“mm…” she hummed, concentration etched onto her pretty features.

it finally clicked and she averted her gaze to you, scooping up a spoonful of ice cream. “i would choose telepathy.” she decided, bringing the spoon up to her mouth. “so i could read people’s minds.”

you nodded, leaning backward on your hands. “that’s a good one.” the sun had begun to set and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

“what about yours?” she returned your curiosity, tongue darting out to swipe up the ice cream that settled on the corner of her lips, coating a bit of her piercing.

“probably telepathy too.” you agreed. “i want to know what people think of me.” that wasn’t lie, even if your mind constantly wondered what only minjeong thought of you. “it would be nice to know what the judges think of my performance.”

the blonde-haired girl laughed at your reasoning, shaking her head as she continued to devour her cup of ice cream. “that’s such a y/n thing to do.”

you raised an eyebrow, slightly offended. “and what does that mean?” her smile widened at the sound of your offense, playing with her snake bites with a humorous gaze.

“of course you’d use your power for that.” she began. “you’re so worried about this talent show. don’t you know that you’re already gonna win first place?”

“you don’t know that.” you argued. “mrs jung could select some critical judges.”

“i do.” she answered quickly. “i know you better than you know yourself.”

typically another strong remark you could come up with silence her for a bit further but you accepted defeat this time around. something you rarely did but with minjeong, you didn’t mind it.

so with a sigh, you picked up your cup of ice cream and began to work at it again. “what would you use your telepathy for then?”

a quiet giggle escaped her lips. “to know what you’re thinking.” she spoke rather bluntly. this caught you off guard and frankly confused you. this wasn’t something minjeong would normally say.

“so i can think of easier come backs. that way, you won’t ever have another win under your belt.” she concluded, making you roll your eyes in a good-natured manner.

“i should have known.” you took a spoonful of ice cream to your lips.

this was becoming a daily routine — hanging out in the trunk of minjeong’s car and watching the sunset while eating whatever the two of you had craved that day.

the summer heat left no other option but ice cream to cool the two of you down, and lucky for you, minjeong knew the best ice cream spot in town.

so these conversations weren’t uncommon for you two. it had been something that she suggested as soon as she had gotten her car in sophomore year.

and now, nearing the end of senior year, it was a staple in your friendship. not only that alone, but it was one of the main reasons why you fell for minjeong in the first place.

the small moments added up to unforgettable moments and everything in between, deepening your relationship with her. the fact that you both could go anywhere and never run out of things to talk about was something that you required in a partner.

from the time that you met her in third grade to now, there was really never a dull moment with minjeong. it was always full of smiles.

but something about her seemed off as of late.

it worried you deeply because it was something that you had experienced before with your ex-girlfriend ryujin.

ryujin would be late to dates that were arranged even weeks prior, and she was always prepared with a lame excuse underneath her belt.

minjeong looked down at her apple watch, setting her cup down soon as it was empty. “we should get going now. didn’t you say that you wanted to practice some more?” she glanced at your form. “even though you don’t need it.” she mumbled.

you were honored that she remembered, holding onto your cup as you stood up from your spot. “i did. what time is it?”

“seven.” she responded quickly, following in your steps. you waited for her to toss the cup into one of the nearby garbage cans at the park, walking towards thepassenger door as you saw her coming back.

sbe practically teleported to your side with how fast she made it there, opening the door for you. and she wasn’t even out of breath.

“you know you don’t open doors with me around.” her tone made you feel as if she were scolding you, even if it were supposed to be more of a reminder. but the smirk on her lips didn’t go unnoticed.

rolling your eyes playfully, you climbed into the seat and buckled your seatbelt. she closed the door, walking over to the other side.

with a quick button press the trunk began to close and she started the car, driving through the city because she knew how much you enjoyed the view.

that wasn’t the only reason why, though. the scenic route allowed you to spend more time with her.

her playlist began to start on shuffle, serving as the perfect background noise while you let your window down.

the lights of the city illuminated your face beautifully as minjeong traversed through the streets, breeze assisting in cooling you off with the coldness of your unfinished ice cream.

the billboards flashed with a multitude of bright, beautiful colors and different advertisements but there was one that was always consistent whenever you two took a drive. or a theme that was consistent, rather.

it was anything spiderman. man, did this town love the fact that they had gotten a superhero. you couldn’t see all of the hype surrounding him, honestly. he was a superhero, yes, but some of the attention was a bit excessive.

but you pulled out your phone, snapping a few pictures of the beautiful before you. and little did you know, minjeong was desperate to do the exact same thing.

once you clicked the frame in the tiny corner you were met with nothing but blurry pictures, disappointment etched onto your face as the car stopped at a red light.

so you took the opportunity to capture a few photos now that the car wasn’t in motion anymore, earning a quiet laugh from minjeong.

“what?” you scoffed, making her head shake from left to right. she had been staring at you the whole time, and you hadn’t even noticed.

you shivered a bit, unsure if it was because the amount of cold coursing through your veins now or because of the intensity of minjeong’s gaze.

either way, she didn’t hesitate to toss her jacket in your direction. “we come this way almost every single time and you still have pictures to take.”

you huffed, stubbornly wrapping the jacket around your body and snuggling into the dizzying scent of her perfume.

“when a view is pretty you don’t get tired of taking pictures.” you answered matter-of-factly, scrolling through your most recent ones.

minjeong hummed as the light turned green, stepping on the gas as she made it her top priority to get you home safely.

“well i guess you’re right.” she muttered, watch making a weird noise before she checked it.

“but i have to cut the tour short.” she spoke, voice with a slight roughness to it now. she made a quick left turn, taking the backroads to your home.

you sighed.

this wasn’t anything new. whenever minjeong got a certain notification on her watch, she was quick to leave you and disappear for about an hour or even sometimes more.

you were used to it, though. she had made it a habit ever since junior year and you were too afraid to bring it up.

“you’re driving kind of fast, jeongie.” even if it were true or not, you just wanted to get her attention back on you. or at least have one last conversation before she would leave for who knows how long.

“i’m doing five over. that’s legal.” she didn’t spare you a glance, eyebrows furrowed slightly. you couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or lost in thought.

you decided to leave her alone, finishing your ice cream moments before she pulled to the side of your lawn.

“same thing tomorrow?” you unbuckled your seatbelt, ready to get out of the car.

she nodded, and once you began to step out her hand gripped onto your arm to prevent you from doing it.

“wait.” she called out, face tinted a light shade of red.

you would find her cute if she hadn’t been blowing you off for the past year.

“um. can we do something different tomorrow?” she asked, reluctantly releasing her grip on you.

your eyebrow raised, clearly intrigued. “like what?”

“a date?”

you freezed up, blinking a few times at the sound of it. you almost believed that she was just joking before you saw the tug she did on her piercing that she only performed once she was nervous.

“yeah. sure.” you nodded, fighting back the smile begging to dance across your lips and squeal out loud. “as friends?”

but you lost the fight as minjeong smiled, leaning back in her seat with a shrug. so you just squealed internally.

“i don’t know. maybe more. how is five pm?” she suggested and you could only nod.

“then goodnight, y/n. get lots of rest so you won’t be tired.” you giggled quietly, shutting the door after a brief moment of silence.

she made sure that you got into the house safely, closing the door behind you and locking it with a soft click.

you sighed, tossing your ice cream into the trash before walking into your room and taking off your jacket, pitching it onto your bed.

that was when you realized.

that wasn’t your jacket.

shit, shit, shit. you thought to yourself, grabbing it and speed-walking to the front door so you could avoid confrontation from your sister and catch minjeong in time.

to your surprise she the car was still parked in the same spot, not even had moved by an inch.

so you sprinted towards it, jacket in hand. only to be met with no minjeong.

your smile instantly faded, examining every inch of the car to see if she was just in the backseat or something along the lines.

but there was no minjeong. her shoes were tossed in the backseat and so was her bag.

she had to come back, though — how else would she get home?

you wanted to leave the jacket on the top of her car or somewhere else but you feared that someone would take it so you just stepped back inside with it in your hands.

tomorrow came rather quickly and so that meant your date with minjeong did as well.

you gathered everything you needed into your bag as the final bell rung, signaling that it was time for dismissal.

usually minjeong would drive you home after school but you weren’t sure if your nerves could handle seeing her before the date, so you were pitching a ride with some of your other friends this time around.

“are you ready for tomorrow?” julie found you at your locker, sipping from her stanley as she locked arms with you. “they’re gonna love your performance. i already know it.”

you smiled, letting her lead the way to the school parking lot. “i really hope so.” your heart began to race at the thought, anxious at all of the possible outcomes of tomorrow evening.

“hey! girl, none of that!” she nudged you playfully upon noticing how you quickly your expression had changed. “we’re all gonna be there. me, natty, and minjeong. we’ll get front row seats and —“

as the two of you continued to walk, the person who you resented locked eyes with you.

shin ryujin.

but it was different this time.

she looked like she wanted to reach out for you. like there was something she was begging to say. time seemed to slow as you walked past her and yeji.

“ —but hopefully a fire doesn’t like break out and some supervillain attacks the school or something. but i would i’ll be recording so i wouldn’t mind! maybe we can even catch spiderman on camera.” julie concluded, giggling before taking a sip of her stanley again. “hey, you listening?” she asked.

you hummed, instantly snapping your head to the side to look at her again. “oh, yeah. thanks for cheering me up, juls.” you offered her a smile and she returned it generously. “you know i’m here for you.”

you opened your mouth to speak but her gasp stopped you from speaking any further, fingers combing through her hair. “act natural! yeonjun’s looking over here.”

you rolled your eyes as she sipped from the stanley again, giving the male a wave.

“he wants me sooo bad.” she sighed and pushed the exit door open, unlocking the doors to her car. “ugh why can’t he just ask me to prom already!”

“like i know he likes me! he sat beside me in —“ and she was ranting again.

you climbed into the seat while listening to her, buckling your seatbelt.

“and he’s been checking me out hella recently. he would take pictures of me when i’m not looking and stare at me and call me pretty and stuff. and girl, he asked me out on a date! like we’ve been hanging out almost everyday and —“

“wait, you have a date with him?” you asked. the situation was beginning to sound a bit familiar. “when?”

“this weekend.” she answered, starting a random playlist. ‘espresso’ by sabrina began to blast through the speakers and just like that, julie was distracted for another three minutes.

once you arrived to your house and waved julie goodbye, you were greeted by your older sister, natty.

“hey, stranger.” she quirked an eyebrow due to seeing you home so soon. “you’re a few hours early.”

“i have something to do.” you excused yourself awkwardly, desperately trying to avoid any further conversation from the older.

she let out a scoff of disbelief, chasing behind you throughout the halls as you gradually sped off. “y/n! i just have a question!”

you stopped as you reached the doorway of your bedroom, turning around to face her. “i charge five dollars per question.”

“of course you do with your cheap ass.” she crossed her arms and you gave her a fake smile before closing the door in her face, locking it swiftly after.

“i’ll just find julie’s instagram some other way.” you heard her say from on the other side of the door, face contorting into one of disgust.

“eww! leave my friends alone!” you yelled with a shudder. after not receiving a response you decided to voice your distate in her choices once more.

“she has a boyfriend!”

five pm came around quicker than you could blink and you lay face up on your bed, waiting for minjeong to inform you upon her arrival.

you mindlessly scrolled through tik tok for a few minutes, trying to distract yourself from the growing aching sensation in your chest at the thought of minjeong standing you up.

no, she wasn’t like that. you knew her. she wouldn’t do that.

but lately, you weren’t sure of what to believe. she was ending hangouts early, putting you on the back burner. and she always had an excuse for it. it reminded you of someone.

and the realization of that stung your soul, and soon so did the tears sting your eyes.

minutes quickly turned into hours and there was no sign of minjeong. your phone buzzed multiple times with news articles but none of it was who you wanted it to be.

you accidentally clicked on a news article, grumbling quietly as you sat up.

‘spiderman saves the day again!’

you tossed your phone to the side, sitting down on the chair positioned in front of your piano. honestly, you were grateful that the town had a superhero to count on now but you couldn’t care less about him if he couldn’t fix your relationship.

the piano keys became increasingly wet as you practiced the song you planned to play for the school talent show, ‘let you break my heart again’ by laufey.

minjeong’s lack of effort recently made you question a lot of things, especially how she really viewed you.

she wasn’t the type to show anyone up and even once upon a time, you were her main focus. there wasn’t a thing in the world she would choose over you.

but recently, that just didn’t seem to be the case.

music was your refuge. it had always been. but it was just nearly impossible for you to focus on anything but minjeong.

“you okay?” natty knocked on the door lightly, voice laced with concern.

you cleared your throst before quickly wiping your tears away. “yeah, i’m fine.”

there was silence aside from the last few notes you played of the song, shoulders slumping as you finished. but you didn’t hear any retreating footsteps so you knew that she was still there.

“i got julie’s number.” she spoke in a rather annoying tone.

you laughed through the tears, shaking your head but still grateful that she could get you to show any kind of happiness in your current state.

“ew. go away.” you smiled, standing up and focusing your attention on your phone that was buzzing with a flurry of messages.

jeongie 🧍‍♀️

i’m sorry y/n

jeongie 🧍‍♀️

my mom made me help her with dinner so i couldn’t come out tonight :(

jeongie 🧍‍♀️

i’ll be at the show tomorrow, i promise

you sighed, feeling the familiar ache creeping into your chest once more. but how could you even be upset?

‘it’s okay, things happen ❤️’

was all you typed in response.

you swore that you heard the message sent noise from your window, eyebrows knitted together as you opened the window to investigate it.

as you saw that there was no one and nothing there, you knew that it was time for bed.

but what you didn’t know is that minjeong was there, watching you with a heavy heart.

she was just too scared to say anything.

you paced back and forth in the back of the stage, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

there were all kinda of different noises that emerged from the practice rooms and wings of the auditorium, making you even more anxious.

“y/n, you’re worrying for nothing.” natty took your hand into her own, running soothing circles onto your knuckles.

your breath was shaky, checking your phone almost every two minutes.

“minjeong still isn’t here.” you spoke with an unsteady voice, inching closer to your sister to receive more of her comfort.

natty sighed, wrapping her arms around you for a gentle hug. she caressed your back in attempt to calm your nerves more. she wasn’t one hundred percent confident of what was going on between you and your best friend but she had an idea.

“she’ll show up.” with that sentence she broke the hug, caressing the sides of your arms and fixing your hair. “you look so beautiful. mom would love to see you right now.”

you took a deep breath, eventually giving natty a courageous smile with the motivation of her words. “okay.”

“you okay now?” she double checked, and even though you nodded you didn’t feel okay yet.

“i’m gonna get some fresh air.” you infotmed her.

“be quick. they’re about to start and you’re the third act.” she warned, following you off the stage to catch the seat that julie was saving her.

on the way out you received a concerned look from her as yeonjun practically begged for her attention, only being shoved in the shoulder by her stanley. you stifled a laugh, pushing the heavy doors open and being met with the fresh air.

it was calming if you ignored the occasional sound of loud music, sirens, and car horns.

they grew progressively louder with each passing second and you couldn’t help but grow curious, taking a few steps so you could get a proper look at the scene.

you squinted to really see what was going on, walking further into the scene when you abruptly saw a car get launched into a strong man with a green suit on.

your eyes widened as it flew past you, making your first instinct to run as the ambulance had begun to be manipulated as well. all you heard was someone yelling out your name before everything else happened to quickly.

a silent scream left your lungs as you were suddenly lifted off of the ground and in the arms of spider-man himself, with the superhero and supervillain taking a newfound interest in you.

“are you insane?” the masked superhero asked you, making you furrow your eyebrows while you tried to process what just happened.

the green suit man seemed to grow jealous of how much attention you were receiving from his foe, making you his new target. “is that your girlfriend?” he spoke in a mocking tone.

the hero groaned, ignoring your protests to swing you to a nearby rooftop and out of everyone’s sight before setting you down gently.

then they shot out a web, saying one last thing before disappearing. “just stay here, okay? please. i can’t lose you.” you were extremely confused but who were you to refuse what the superhero was telling you to do?

you were y/n, of course.

“who are you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“i’m spider—“ within milliseconds the hero was gone again, swinging through the city and leaving you with the loud fan that overpowered your thoughts.

“this stupid ass superhero. i have a talent show i can’t miss.” you grumbled, walking to the door so you could enter the building.

it ended up being locked, and with pure determination you tried to bash your way inside with no avail.

“i hate spiderman.” you crossed your arms, looking around for any other chance to get out. you had left your phone with natty so there was no possible way to phone anyone for help.

but the sake of figuring out their secret identity, you stayed put. this was someone that cared about you from what you deducted.

and in less than ten minutes the hero was back, relieved to find you in one piece where they left you.

“who are you?” you demanded again, not even giving them a chance to speak before asking your question.

they laughed, crossing their arms. “what happened to ‘thank you for saving my life spiderman?’ civilians are so ungrateful these days.”

you rolled your eyes, clearly not amused by their lame attempt at humor. “answer my question.”

they continued to stall, trying to find any excuse to beat around the bush. “you look like you’re dressed for an occasion. what is it? birthday party or funeral?”

you grumbled, pursing your lips into a thin line and crossing your arms. “no!”

“grocery run?”

“no.”

“school talent show?”

“no — wait, how did you know?”

“cause i’m spiderman.”

“ugh, i know that already!” you groaned. “take your mask off. i already know who you are anyway.” you bluffed.

“you… do?”

“um, yeah.”

“fuck.” you heard them whisper. you had to fight back the laugh pleading to escape your throat, committing to the lie.

“so you might as well take the mask off.” you spoke in a convincing tone, shrugging your shoulders in a nonchalant manner.

it was deafening silent and when you looked back up the mask was off, revealing the person you would’ve least expected to see.

“minjeong?”

her cheeks were flushed a light tint of red. “you said that you knew who i was!”

“i was lying!” you argued.

she sighed, playing with the piercing using her teeth. this was the hard part for her.

“i apologize, y/n. i wanted to tell you for a while now but i just couldn’t find the right time.” minjeong’s voice trembled slightly.

this scared her. she wasn’t sure how you would react to the news or if you would even still want anything to do with her after this conversation.

“i don’t know what i thought. i didn’t know why you kept disappearing but i would’ve never guessed this.” you replied.

“i don’t want to hide anything from you anymore. i’ve been hiding too much from you.”

“…this isn’t the only thing?”

she stayed silence for a moment, avoiding your gaze and swallowing the lump in her throat.

“my biggest fear is putting you in danger.” minjeong started. “putting you in danger and losing what we have. you’re my best friend and i’ve loved you for so long that i — i was just really scared.” her hands were trembling slightly.

the look on her face told you that she was terrified but you just smiled a bit, feeling the giddy sensation in your stomach.

“you love me?”

minjeong bit her lip. “yeah?”

you laughed shakily, a soft yet vulnerable smile dancing onto your lips. “so you did really want a date.”

“i still do.” your contagious smile triggered her own. “i mean, i’m down to reschedule if you are…”

“promise you’ll be on time and won’t stand me up this time?”

“yeah. i promise.” minjeong grinned from ear to ear.

“i guess, then. but i’m still mad at you for keeping this a secret and standing me up.”

she let out a light chuckle. “that’s fair enough this time.”

“speaking of on time, i believe you have an event to make it to.”

your eyes widened, a gasp escaping your lips. how could you have forgotten so quickly?

“it’s a shame that you don’t have a ride… or a swing.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re so impossible.”

she walked over to you, taking your hand into her own before bringing you close. “am i really impossible for trying to protect my favorite person? i just don’t want to lose you. ever.”

you brought your arms to her middle, making her blush at the close contact.

“you won’t. i’m not going anywhere without you.”

minjeong smiled, slinging out a web and examining your facial expression. “ready? i’ll be gentle this time, i have precious cargo.”

“less talking, more swinging.”

taglist — @saysirhc @aedollie @prologue-ae

#telepathy — kim minjeong #aespa #aespa kim minjeong #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #aespa minjeong #aespa winter #kim minjeong #kim minjeong x reader #winter x reader #wlw #kpop gg x reader #kpop imagines

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madebycloud · 2 days ago

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pt 1 | The Devil in Heels

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you dream of becoming a successful journalist, but first, you need experience. landing a job as a personal assistant for the editor-in-chief of riot magazine seems like the perfect opportunity… if only your new boss, the devil herself, didn't make your life a living hell. (or Devil Wears Prada AU that no one asked for) warnings/themes: eventual romance n smut, boss/employee, modern au, fashion & couture, miranda!jinx, andy!reader, pov switch, jinx is mean words: 3.7k — ✩ part one part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven

“To Jobs That Pays The Rent”

“Arcane publication, please,” you mutter to the driver as the taxi takes off.

You're stressed. Late, stressed, and in need of a job. The past few weeks have been nothing but job denials.

The driver glances back through the rearview mirror but keeps his mouth shut. Probably used to stressed people in a rush in the morning.

You look around the city from the backseat of the taxi, grumbling.

Five job interviews. Five job interviews in one month. All five were a disaster.

New York is a wonderful place for people with dreams—like you. Unfortunately, New York loves to eat dreams and spit them out. But you're not going to bend. You're not leaving this city and accepting failure. You didn't work this hard to give up so easily.

The taxi comes to a stop, and you pay the driver hurriedly and then get out quickly, sprinting across the pavement into the high-rise building. You look up at the building, with the words ‘Arcane Publication’ lit up in flashing, neon lettering.

You walk towards the open doors and reach the desk, giving the person behind the counter a shaky smile. “Uh, I'm here for the interview for Riot Magazine?”

Their eyes never leave their desk. “Take the elevator to the forty-eighth floor. The front desk of Riot will assist you.”

Forty-eighth floor. You thank the front desk person and head towards the elevators.

—

Behind the reception desk is a logo that says ‘Riot.’

You walk over to the desk, taking the card from your pocket. “Hi, I have an appointment with Margot Vyx-” You're interrupted in the middle of your sentence by your name being called.

You turn and see a woman with pale skin and dirty-blonde hair. “Human Resources certainly has a weird sense of humor.” She sighs, her eyes looking you up and down.

You don't respond, shifting uncomfortably.

“Come on, follow me.” She turns, and you follow her down the hallway. “Okay, so... I'm Margot, and I was Jinx's second personal assistant, but her first assistant recently got promoted, so now I'm the first one and-”

“And you're replacing yourself,” you blurt out.

She gives you a dry look over her shoulder. “Essentially, yes.” She continues to walk down the hallway. “Jinx's last two assistants only lasted a couple of weeks,” she states, turning to the left and walking towards a large office area. “I don't know why you applied for a position like this, but we need someone who can—how would you put it... survive here. Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, trying not to stumble over your own feet as you follow her. “Yes. Of course. Who's Jinx?”

Margot whips around to look at you, her eyes wide. She looks like she's seen a ghost. Or an idiot. Probably that second option. “You did not just ask me that,” she murmurs, then shakes her head. “She's the editor-in-chief of Riot Magazine, possibly one of the best in the country. She's a legend.”

You blink. “A legend?”

“A legend,” she repeats. “And if you last longer than a year working for her, you can grab any other job you want. A million girls out there would kill to be in your position right now.”

She sounds serious. “Oh, great.” A million, huh? “I'd love to be considered.”

She opens a glass door and stops, turning to you with a smirk. “You do realize that Riot is a fashion magazine, right? being into fashion is a necessity.”

You frown, confused. “What makes you think I'm not into fashion?” you ask, but she only gives you an unbelieving look.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can do so, her phone dings. She pulls the phone out of her pocket and reads the message, and in an instant her expression changes, shifting from arrogance to outright terror.

“Oh my God,” she mutters, sprinting over the telephone. “No. No, no, no-”

“What's wrong?” you ask, taking a hesitant step closer.

She holds up a finger to pause you, grabs the phone, and starts muttering a string of words to whoever's on the other end.

Then, the office door swings open, and a man enters, carrying a box under one arm before setting it down on Margot’s desk. “But I thought she was coming at 9-”

“Her driver text-messaged,” Margot huffs. “Her facialist ruptured a disc.”

He looks you up and down with a raised eyebrow before shrugging and calling down the hallway. “All right, everyone! Man your battle stations!”

The moment those words are said, the whole office goes into a blur.

People who were sitting lazily in their chairs seconds ago are suddenly on their feet, desperately fixing their hair and pulling out lipgloss and mascara to apply frantically in front of their computer monitors.They run around, searching for anything that could be out of place. Empty candy bar wrappers are thrown away in a hurry. Unopened water bottles are shoved into desk drawers. Any stray pieces of gum are disposed of immediately.

What the hell is happening?

—

Jinx steps out of the back of her car, glancing up at the sun. She pulls a pair of black sunglasses off of her face, pushing her hair away from her cheeks.

She's wearing a black, knee-length, fitted dress that hugs her frame, exposing her collarbones with its low-cut V-neck... and all of it is black, black, black. The only pop of color in the whole outfit is the blue of her pumps.

She walks to the building, and the doorman stands straight-backed, opening the doors for her. “Mornin', Miss Jinx—excuse me, Miss Lane. Nice day.”

“Mmhm,” she murmurs, walking into the building.

Jinx has been in a shitty mood since this morning, when her facialist suffered from a sudden case of ruptured discs. That's right. Ruptured. Discs. Apparently, her facials were so good that she gave herself a back injury.

Which meant that she had to wake up early, get dressed, and drive to the office, all with a dry face. No facial. She'll probably go home tonight, throw on a face mask, and watch the first season of Breaking Bad by herself. Or drink. Lots of drinking...

She walks through the halls, heels clicking against the tile flooring. She doesn't bother to look at the employees as she walks past them, and she can hear people scrambling behind her to get out of her way.

Jinx reaches the elevator and presses the button, tapping her foot impatiently as she waits for the doors to open. It arrives, and she steps inside, crossing her arms as the doors close.

It was a pain in the ass finding a good facialist in this city. One that didn't try to talk her ear off about celebrity gossip or have hands like sandbags. One who knew how to keep her mouth shut and had hands that felt like clouds against her skin.

Finding a good facialist in New York is like finding a good man. Impossible.

She groans quietly as the elevator dings on floor 48, where the office of Riot is. She exits the elevator and walks down the hallway towards her office, the doors of her employees' offices lining the hallway.

Margot approaches her, and before she can get out two words, Jinx responds, “I don't understand why it's so difficult to confirm an appointment.”

The blonde hands her the clipboard and then starts stuttering. “I- I'm so sorry, Miss Lane.”

Jinx takes the clipboard, glaring at the paper. “What, did she break both of her legs too?” she says sarcastically, handing the clipboard back to Margot.

Margot doesn't seem to find it funny, biting her lip. She walks next to her, trying to walk at the same pace as Jinx, but she takes longer strides, and Margot has to keep up, otherwise she'll be left behind.

“Tell Jayce that I don't like the girl she sent for the Brazil spread,” Jinx continues. “Cancel those reservations at Cafe D'Sorelle... I don't know why I thought she could be a good restaurant critic for the magazine. Also, tell Scar I'm scheduling a new shoot this week. Oh, and confirm the dinner tonight, the driver knows where to pick Isha up.”

Margot swallows, nodding her head. “Of course, right away.”

Jinx steps into her office, tossing her purse onto the top of Margot's desk and walking past the woman who's sitting on the other side. She sinks down onto her large leather chair and gestures towards the stranger. “Who's that?”

“Nobody-” Margot begins, then pauses, realizing how that sounds. “Uh... I mean, nobody important. Human resources sent her up about the assistant job, and I was sort of pre-interviewing her for you-”

“Don't bother. The last assistants you sent me were absolutely awful. I'm going to have to do it myself. Send her in. That's all.”

Margot stares at her for a few seconds, then nods. “Yes, Miss.”

—

“She wants to see you,” Margot tells you.

You stand up, straightening your clothes and clutching your briefcase tightly. “She does?”

“Yes, move!”

You walk towards the woman's desk, but before that, Margot snatches your briefcase off your hands. “Hey!” you exclaim, “That's mine-”

“This is foul—don't let her see it,” she warns, taking the outdated briefcase and shoving it into the bottom of the desk.

You sigh and take another small step closer to the desk. The woman—Jinx, or whatever—looks up from her desk to stare at you. She eyes you up and down and tilts her head to the side. “Who are you?” she asks, leaning forward in her seat.

Who are you? Not hello there, not hi, not welcome. “Uh-” you hesitate, licking your dry lips. “Well-” You hold your chin high and say your name before placing your resume on her desk. “I recently graduated from The Academy,” you add.

Jinx leans back in her seat, picking up the piece of paper like it was garbage and briefly reading it over. “And what are you doing here?”

“I think I could do a good job as your-” you start, but her glare cuts you off before you finish your sentence.

She sets the resume down, then picks up the magazine on the edge of her desk and casually flips through it. She doesn't bother to look at you.

Oh god. Not even thirty seconds, and she's already brushing you off.

You continue anyway. “I came to New York to be a journalist. I sent letters to everyone, and I finally got a call from Arcane,” you ramble, the words spilling out of your mouth faster than you can stop them. “So basically it's this or Tough Green-”

“-So you don't read Riot?”

“...no.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me?” she asks, her index finger dragging along the edge of the page, tracing the pictures.

“No.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion,” she says, then flicks to the next page.

You're caught off guard by the bluntness of the statement. You have to resist the urge to look down at your outfit, but you're dressed fine. You're dressed fine. Well, at least you think you're dressed fine.

“That really depends on-”

“That wasn't a question,” she interrupts, her eyes finally lifting from the magazine to look at you.

Oh.

Alright. So you're no fashionista, but that doesn't mean you're a lost cause. You know, like, basic stuff.

You click your tongue and press forward. “I was the editor-in-chief of the Daily Northwestern. I won a national competition for college journalists with a series on the economic inequality in-”

She cuts you off again, flicking a hand like she's swatting a fly. “That's all,” she says boredly.

That's all?

Damn, now you're starting to understand why her assistants can't take this job. She's got zero patience. Plus, this woman is hard to impress. She's so uninterested. She just dismissed your resume and your qualifications. All of that effort you put into your resume, and she didn't even care.

This could not be, would not be, another failed interview.

You're not going to be working at Dunkin Donuts for the next five years of your life. You are not going to be another college-educated young adult working a minimum wage job. You are not going to be another one of the statistics.

You are good. You are smart. You are qualified.

You're tired of these assholes and their shitty attitudes and their shitty treatment of everyone because they're sitting in this stupid office with their stupid magazines and stupid high heels and shitty attitudes.

Instead of walking out, you step closer to her desk, placing your hands on the edge as you bend forward slightly. “Fine. You're right. I don't really fit in here. I don't know much about fashion, but…”

She raises an eyebrow, and you catch a smirk on her face, but you ignore it.

“But I'm smart, I learn fast, and I will work very hard,” you finish.

She leans forward, mirroring your actions as she sets down the magazine on the desk. “Oh really?” The smirk hasn't faded from her face yet. A good sign? probably not, but you can't back out now.

“Really,” you insist, keeping your voice steady. “Really, really-” you pause when the word fumbles on your tongue, “...really, really, really.”

“That's a lot of reallys,” she remarks.

“I'm serious.”

She stares at you for half a second then leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Hm,” is all she says.

You're about to open your mouth to beg, plead, whatever it takes to get the job, when a voice appears behind you.

“We have an emergency.”

You step back and turn around to see the man from earlier.

He must be in his late thirties or early forties, with a slim frame and pale skin. His brown hair is neatly styled, but a couple of strands hang loose and frame his face, falling near his ears. A pair of thin-framed glasses rests at the tip of his nose. In his hand is a large booklet with the word ‘Riot’ written in white letters.

“What is it, Viktor?” Jinx asks, her attention no longer focused on you.

“The printer messed up the spreads again.” He steps over to the desk and places the booklet next to the magazine.

She rubs at the place between her eyes. “Let me see.”

You observe their brief exchange, how he's calm, how she's pissed. No one is looking at you or acknowledging you.

And you just... stand here. Just stood here, like a loser, waiting like some sort of damn dog.

You're not a dog, you're a human being, and you're getting nowhere. Might as well leave. This is... this is hopeless.

—

“Fucking hell.” You slam the apartment door shut as you walk in.

Zeri looks up from her phone, a bowl of chips in her lap. “So no job, huh?” she asks, turning off her phone.

You groan and drop your briefcase on the table. “No job.” You collapse onto the couch next to her, burying your face in your hands.

“It went that badly?” She shifts closer and sets the bowl down on the coffee table.

You sigh and peek through your fingers. “The woman is an absolute bitch. And she didn't even pay attention to the resume! I just stood there like a piece of furniture.”

“Well, if she couldn't see how awesome you are, then she's a moron.”

“Yes, Jinx Lane is a fucking moron.”

Zeri stares at you for a beat. “Wait, Jinx Lane? ...as in the Jinx Lane?”

You pull your hands away from your face. “Is there another Jinx Lane?”

“Well no, but-” She blinks a few times. “Like, that Jinx Lane? Of Riot?”

“Yeah, that's the one."

She grabs your shoulder and shakes you a few times. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You met Jinx Lane?!”

“That's her name, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes-” She lets go of your shoulder and sits up, waving her hands wildly. “Jinx is a legend! You spoke to her! That's the editor-in-chief of Riot!”

You shrug dismissively and sink deeper into the couch. “Who cares?”

Zeri shoves you halfway off the couch, making you sit up. “Who cares!? Who cares?!” she exclaims. “Jinx is an icon. She's the youngest woman to ever become editor, and she's a legend.”

“Icon or not, she's rude.”

“Do you even know who Jinx is?”

“No, I'm still a stupid, uncultured woman.”

“Oh, hush, knock it off.” She nudges you with her foot. “You're not stupid or uncultured.”

“What, I'm just supposed to bow and worship her now?”

“Not that exactly, but,” she starts digging through the couch cushions, “at the very least you should... ah ha!” She takes out a magazine and tosses it, landing on your legs.

“What's that?” You pick up the magazine carefully.

“It's a copy of last month's issue of Riot. I was reading it earlier.” Zeri leans back, throwing her arm over the edge of the couch.

You flip through the glossy pages of the magazine, seeing beautiful models and beautiful clothing. It's not really the kind of thing you're into. You lift it up slightly and ask, “You're giving me a fashion magazine.”

“Not just any fashion magazine,” she says, “Riot. It's where all the big names are. Every model dreams of being in that magazine.”

“...uh huh,” you respond, setting the magazine down. “All over a magazine? really?”

“Shut up.” Zeri points at you. “Listen, I'm about to teach you something, so listen carefully.”

You look down at the magazine again and then back at Zeri. “Fine, fine. Spill.”

She sits up and leans forward, holding the magazine in her lap. “So basically…” she starts. “Jinx is the editor-in-chief of Riot, like I said. The magazine?”

“Yeah, I know what Riot is.”

“Good. Anyway, Jinx got the position from her adoptive father, Silco. She's twenty-two. It makes her the youngest editor-in-chief of a major fashion magazine.”

“Wow…” you mutter sarcastically. “What an accomplishment.”

She ignores your comment and just continues talking. “And she completely changed Riot's image from the boring, stodgy mess it used to be to a fresh, exciting magazine for the new generation,” she says, then pokes your shoulder again. “Which is a huge deal—a lot of people in the fashion industry hated her, because, you know, she's young.”

“So she's young and edgy. Huge deal.”

“Riot was a dying magazine, and Jinx turned it all around in like less than a year. When she first took over, everyone in the industry made fun of her and called her a spoiled kid. They said she'd ruin the magazine. And then she took it from an embarrassment to a money-making goldmine in like ten months-”

“Okay! Okay, I get it already.” You wave your hands in the air, signaling her to stop. “She's a legend of the fashion industry, yada yada. She could probably spit on a page, and fashion editors nationwide would have an aneurysm-”

“-That would totally be a cool trend, wouldn't it?” Zeri interrupts, then smiles at her own statement.

...

“No.”

She shrugs it off, and her smile fades. “But you understand what I'm trying to tell you, right?”

“She's some fashion god who turned a boring magazine into a big thing.”

“She's also incredibly influential and insanely wealthy.”

“Yes, I understand-”

“She's in her early twenties and is a millionaire-”

“Yes, alr-”

“And now, you—a normal and completely unassuming person-”

“-Woah, thanks.”

“An unassuming person,” she continues, “met her. You met the editor-in-chief of a major magazine and probably the most powerful woman in the entire industry-”

“I didn't even get the job,” you remind her.

“But you talked to her, and that's good. That's a good thing.”

“No, it's not-”

“But it is.” She cuts you off. “Even if you didn't get the job, the fact that you had an interview means something. Maybe not the job, but it definitely means something. She saw your resume and probably read it. She saw your face, you spoke words to each other, you shook her hand-”

“I didn't shake her hand-”

“It's the same thing! either way, it's a step in the right direction.”

You're about to retort and tell her that getting ignored in an interview isn't a step in the right direction, but you pause when your phone vibrates.

“Is that your phone?” Zeri asks, and you nod as you pull the phone out of your pocket.

You expect to see a notification from your spam folder. A sale at KFC, perhaps.

You don't expect to see a text.

Zeri grabs your phone before you can read it and begins reading it out loud. “First day-” Her words trail off as she realizes what she's reading, and then her eyes go wide.

“What?” you pry. “What is it?”

“...you got the job.”

You snatch your phone back from her. “I what?”

“You. Got. The job,” she repeats, slower this time.

You blink, reading the text. “I got the job?”

“Yes.”

This can't be right. You were just here, ranting about this woman and how horrible she was and how she didn't even give you the time of day.

And now you have the job.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, clutching your phone tighter. “Holy shit. I got the job.”

“You're working for Jinx Lane.”

There's a long pause, and then you nod. “I'm working for Jinx Lane.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god-” she squeals.

“Calm down,” you try to tell her, but she barely listens as she throws her arms around your shoulders and begins bouncing up and down.

“Oh my God-” she continues squealing as she squeezes you tight, making it difficult to breathe.

“Z, I can't—you're suffocating me-”

“Can you believe it?” she squeezes even tighter. “You're working for Riot. You're working under Jinx!”

Zeri is ecstatic, and rightfully so. This is a good job, a great opportunity. Even if it involved working under someone like Jinx Lane.

You force a smile and force your brain to pump out some sort of excitement, but it feels wrong. This could be an amazing opportunity… but it could also be the most miserable experience of your life.

“Yeah... great,” you mutter, patting her awkwardly on the back when she finally relaxes.

The next few months are going to be hell. This job better pay for your therapy sessions.

#arcane #jinx #arcane x reader #arcane jinx #jinx arcane #arcane x female reader #arcane x you #jinx x reader #jinx x female reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #jinx imagine #fluff #tdih #the devil wears prada

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 1 day ago

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To respond to prev tags:

The two major retailers I worked for were Five Below and CVS. Both had email quotas, as well as many other quotas to fill.

Thing is, our corporations really REALLY pushed for literally every customer to give their emails and phone numbers to us. We were taught, at both places, to greet customers at the same time we asked for emails, and to word it in a way which made it hard to deny giving an email.

For exmaple:

"Hi there, hope you're well! What's your email?"

"Hope you found what you needed today! Your email, please."

In both scenarios, you don't offer the customer a yes or no choice to deny or offer their email. You simply just ask for it outright instead of leaving the option to deny at all.

Now, a customer can deny, obviously, but then corporate got really fucking angry because a lot of people did say, "I don't have an email." Or something like that. And corporate would see that the number of emails added to their distribution system by our store was not what they expected, and they'd send our boss constant emails or give calls and send reports recording our quotas that were lacking, explaining they need us to do better.

Sometimes this was as low as 20% of customers giving an email, sometimes it was as high as 50 or 60%.

And it didn't help when half the customers didn't speak English (can't blame them, this language is a nightmare to learn) and therefore didn't know what I was asking, or that the ones who did were our regulars who signed up years ago and therefore wouldn't count being added again to the corporate email distribution system.

When folks went to checkout, the pin pads to insert or swipe cards would show a screen asking for email verification if one was listed, or asked if they wanted to add an email, and said customers could not swipe or insert their cards without selecting yes or no on the pin pad screen. It literally did not move on to payment until after the question was answered.

That was a nightmare with the non-English-speaking customers. They knew the process to pay with card, obviously, but how do you tell someone who doesn't know your language that they need to select yes or no in order to pay at all???

I often literally just spun the pin pad to myself and selected "no" for these poor folks, then spun it back to them so they could continue to pay.

Five Below was the worst because they ALWAYS ask a survey question before you can pay. It's because they have survey quotas to meet, and since those weren't met by the stores, it became mandatory by implementing it into the payment process.

Those surveys ask 1 or 2 questions that you have to select usually from a 1-5 scale, and are about either the customer service satisfaction rating, store cleanliness, or stock availability, etc.

And anything under the top most rating by Five Below was considered worthy of repremandation by the boss because it should only ever be 5/5 or 10/10 since you need to offer only the absolute best and nothing short!!!

But again, most of my customers didn't know any English, so it wasn't like I could explain this survey or tell them why their payment isn't working.

For CVS my boss printed out and highlighted and circled the quotas made vs those expected for each thing we had to meet, one of them being emails added.

I was hounded every day at both retailers I worked for to get as many emails as possible, but the large majority of customers, as in almost 100%, denied their emails to me or made excuses, and I can't and don't blame them!! I got bogus emails left and right, I was insulted left and right for trying to ask for the emails when folks were the stingy type that got defensive if I asked anything at all (and that's way more customers than you'd ever imagine), and some people threatened me, even.

But I was reprimanded constantly at both retailers by my bosses and managers if I did not ask every single customer for their email. I got told I wasn't doing my job at all or well enough, I was told I wasn't up to standards and shit.

One coworker I had would hear a customer say, "I don't have an email." And she'd ask them, "What about your wife/husband? Your sister/brother? A friend? Anyone you can think of." She tried so damn hard to get any email just to meet the quotas because that woman worked way too hard in attempt to overperform at a damn opening-level position that demanded way too much from far too few employees that were all overworked.

So yeah. Honestly, it's all stupid, and corporate is stupid, and I truly hate both Five Below and CVS for more things than just these quotas, but that was a large contributor for why I no longer work in retail.

everywhere I go people are asking me for my email. my email is in high demand. it's rare for me to visit a website without someone getting on their hands and knees, begging me for my email

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womanofwords · 2 days ago

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Everybody's Favourite (Part 9)

Two days. Two days straight of you crying your eyes out and begging for your dad and your aunts and uncles. All efforts to get through to you were angrily refuted.

"Y/N, you can't keep pining over Penguin," Bruce said. "He had you kidnapped and was prepared to ask for a ransom."

"Oh, grow up! You didn't even notice I was gone! Hell, you avoided me when you did see me! So stop trying to take the moral high ground with me! Treat me the same way you all did when I was seven and leave me alone!"

"You don't have to be so defensive, baby bird!" Dick pleaded. "We're just trying to make up for lost time! We want to get to know you!"

"Don't call me baby bird! Only Penguin calls me bird things! You're copying him to make me like you, and I won't!" you snapped. "Leaving my room was a mistake, clearly. Goodbye." You rushed up the stairs, sobbing.

"I should have known that they wouldn't want my contact immediately," Bruce said. "I just didn't know how volatile they would be."

Alfred, now back from visiting his daughter, sighed. "Sir, I watched the . . . debacle unfold over in England. Please allow me to talk to Y/N," he pleaded. "We had a positive relationship."

"Of course. You'll get further than we did," Dick said.

Alfred knocked on your door and sighed. "Mx Y/N, your family is doing their best to express their remorse for their previous mistreatment. Please try to hear them out."

"They're going to forget, Alfred. They always do! They'll forget and I'll get left behind! Papa never forgot about me, and neither did my aunties and uncles. They were always so kind."

"Y/N, your aunties and uncles are criminals. Here, you are safe."

"No, I'm not! Damian's here and he's sicced Titus onto me for fun!" you pointed out. "How am I safe with him around?"

Tim appeared out of nowhere. "Well, if you really want to get away from the little hellion, then I'm your ticket out! You'll go on a walk with me to clear your head. It must be so claustrophobic in your bedroom. Put on some clothes and come outside with me. We could both do with the exercise."

You weighed up your options. Sure, you need a break from these obsessed nutcases, but it wasn't like Tim was going to be any different. This was most likely a ploy to get you to open up.

"Hey! Don't call me a hellion, Drake, especially in front of my only blood relative!" Damian was there in a heartbeat, katana in hand. The same katana that had cut you before. You slammed your door immediately.

"Nice going, prick! I almost had them!" Tim scolded.

"They're my blood relative. You have a family. Go and find it, if you even can."

"Go and find yours, brat." Tim and Damian began fist-fighting in front of your door, and you closed your door with a quickness.

(PAUSE)

The next day, Stephanie stole their idea and went for a walk with you. "You know, I know what it's like to be disappointed in my father," she said. "You do know who my father is, don't you, Y/N?"

"No." You shook your head. "You never told me."

"Ah." Stephanie chuckled, embarrassed. "Well, my father's name is Arthur Brown, better known as Cluemaster. He's one of the villains Batman faces."

"So, your dad's a bad guy, too?" you asked. "Was he nice to you like Penguin is to me?"

"No, honey," Stephanie said, heart breaking. "Villains aren't nice to anybody, including their daughters. Nobody's safe from them."

"That's not true! Penguin was nice to me! He helped me make a penguin-themed ice cream place! And then Scarecrow watched cartoons with me, and Bane did workout sessions with me, and-"

"Y/N, don't you get it? Penguin lied to you!" Stephanie grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you. "You're not going back there, mark my words!"

"But I want to!"

"Leave them alone!" a passerby yelled. "We all know what you're like, you know! All Waynes are heartless! Screw you!"

"You don't know anything about me or Y/N!" Stephanie shouted back.

"We know none of you gave a damn when they got kidnapped! How terrible do you have to be for a kidnapper to be kinder than you guys?"

People started to gather at the commotion as Stephanie verbally battled the mob. She put herself between you and them, holding your hand tightly in the hopes that it reassured you.

It didn't.

"Deadbeats!"

"Abusers!"

"You guys are literally worse than the Joker! Here, have a Joker shake!" A purple shake flew through the air towards Stephanie's face from the hand of an angry protester. Stephanie stepped back just in time.

You, however, got hit in the face by a blast of blueberries and blackberries, everything going silent. You could have heard a pin drop as you wiped the shake off your face. They were waiting for you to do something, anything.

"Did I do something wrong?" you ask the crowd, eyes watering. "Why does everyone in Gotham hate me?"

Everyone broke out into fights. Some attacked the pitcher of the drink, others stayed focused on Stephanie.

"How about I call the police to take us home, Y/N?" Stephanie suggested. "It's scary out here."

"OK," you agreed. "I don't like being outside any more."

(PAUSE)

"Are you kidding me, Steph? You let Y/N get hit in the face by a random citizen's drink?" Barbara shoved that day's edition of Gotham Times into Stephanie's face. The picture was of you drenched in drink while Stephanie was behind you (not a good look), while a headline screamed at them.

Wayne Kid Uses Neglected Sibling As Human Shield

"So much progress . . . gone," Dick sighed.

"How are they supposed to trust us when we can't protect them?" Damian growled. "You're ruining my chances of bonding time with my only biological sibling!"

"You do that all on your own," Dick muttered.

The Wayne family wasn't the only one with flaring tempers. Over at the Iceberg Lounge, Penguin crumpled up an identical copy of the Gotham Times in anger.

"It hasn't even been a full week, and they're already allowing my little bird to be in harm's way," he growled. "Nobody hurts my little dove."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 <- You are here

Part 10

Taglist: @tinybrie, @enchantingarcadecreation, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @sh4rk-k1d, @prorpy, @angelicbear, @sulleha, @sirenetheblogger, @omgfangirlland, @heather-hutchcroft, @wannaflyaway, @jaybunsblog, @sugarrush-blush, @redkarmakai

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam

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wolfsong-the-bloody-beast · 7 hours ago

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As a Rookanis lover, I've got to say that I enjoy seeing affectionate Lucanis from the external perspective on a different playthrough. It's something you can't see while romancing him with Rook, because he wouldn't tell them how much he wanted to get it right and how nervous he was about it, because he wants to look good for them.

But he totally fusses over preparing the dessert for his sweetheart. Which is adorable. And he does not like it when you later tell Neve that he got flustered over it. He wants to make a good impression.

And I can't believe people say you can't be evil in this game when you can straight up lie to him that it's a bad idea. :( That's an option for Rooks who like kicking puppies.

Also...

Assassin mode: On. 😆

An interesting difference I found here is that this is the point where Rook's romance with Lucanis locks in, and they officially become a couple. Rook recognizes what he's trying to say, likely thanks to all the previous experiences they've shared together - besides all the time spent together, getting to know each other, at this point they've almost kissed, and Lucanis also admits to having feelings for Rook during Inner Demons. The romance lock-in for him and Neve happens later, though. In my playthrough (where my Grey Warden Rook romanced Davrin but still saved Treviso), it actually happened waaay later, probably because I did Inner Demons soon after it became available, and the romance lock-in scene for them happened after Blood of Arlathan. (I haven't played enough yet to know whether it always happens this way, but I assume you can postpone or switch order for certain quests, which will affect your timeline for this.) So, with Neve, he may take significantly longer than with Rook.

And that is not meant to be any commentary on the quality of the relationships. I'm just observing the bird man for science. Especially because I've seen some people say that he doesn't act consistently between his romance with Rook and Neve. But... I don't think so? He still takes it slow in both cases. This is one of the examples. But of course, Rook and Neve are two different individuals that get involved with Lucanis under different circumstances and from different positions in the team, so it makes sense that the progression is not completely the same. Lucanis' relationship is flavoured by his partner, but they both make him happy and they're both equally valid.

I've also repeatedly seen some nonsense takes about how Rook's romance with Lucanis is supposedly inferior to Neve's, how he ignores Rook's affection, and isn't actually that much into them, which is honestly insane to me, because Lucanis expresses interest in Rook way before the scene with the dessert. Not only does he eagerly play along with Rook's flirting during their first coffee date, he initiates it. Most of the time, Rook's "flirting" takes the form of caring, expressing concern, and showing support. Lucanis is not used to that and he's also experiencing the horrors 24/7. But it is him that tells them that they always manage to cheer him up ("How do you always do that?" - "Do what?" - "Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom.") and when they keep being supportive, he pins them against the wall. He straight up tells Rook that he doesn't want to lose them in Inner Demons. And I could go on. All that happens before the point when he starts courting Neve on a playthrough where they become a couple. Neve gets one cute dialogue cutscene with him and a few lines of dialogue/banter, because she's a companion. There's no reason to be jelly.

But back to the post.

From what I've gathered, it seems that the first pie didn't do the trick with Neve. I imagine they still spent nice time together, but from their actual lock-in scene later, it's clear that Lucanis didn't express his interest yet (or maybe didn't do it clearly enough, because his style is pushing a snack your way and hoping you'll get the message), or Neve wasn't ready to/didn't pick up on it. After the scene with the dessert (after Inner Demons) with Rook, Lucanis writes in his 4th logbook entry about spending time with them late at night. But with Neve, it's just this:

No mention of spending time with her yet.

When Rook and Lucanis become a couple, he makes this addition in the same logbook entry:

Which is another reason why it's clear they're just not there with Neve yet at this point. Also because Lucanis then prepares another pie later for her, and that's when they finally admit they like each other. But that's something for another post.

Also, I will tolerate no clowning towards Neve on this post. We love and respect Neve in this house. Sometimes she's my boyfriend's girlfriend, and sometimes she's also my girlfriend. I will protect. I'm writing this for fun, because I want to study the bird man from all angles. It's good extra material for my Rookanis headcanons. I also assume not everybody has done multiple playthroughs, so I thought maybe other people could appreciate it.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age: The Veilguard #DATV #Veilguard #Lucanis Dellamorte #Dragon Age: The Veilguard spoilers #DATV spoilers #Veilguard spoilers

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numinously-yours · 3 days ago

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Choose a letter: A message from your future spouse

In this week's reading, I have letters from your future spouses <3 Each reading will also have a love song attached along with a specific line from that song that stuck out. Choose a group and happy reading!

Like your reading? Reblog and tag your group!

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Letter 1

Song: True by Spandau Ballet Lyric: "This is the sound of my soul"

Cards for your letter: ace of swords reversed, three of pentacles reversed, queen of cups reversed, and the two of cups

Text: Hi Darling, I’m sure that you’re wondering where I am & when I’ll finally show myself. Right now, I am working to make sure I will be the best version of myself when we finally come together. Past relationships haven’t worked out. I know I get to meet you eventually, but the journey’s been a bit exhausting. I bet you can relate. As I take this time to work on myself, I feel my soul being pulled closer and closer to yours. I know this is a test of our faith. The universe is asking us to following our souls’ purposes. Among all the signs, synchronicities, prayers, and intuition, if we always come back to the needs of our souls then we’ll always be on the path to each other. I don’t know when we’ll meet (I hope it’s soon!) but I know that when we do, this will all make sense. With love, Your future spouse

Letter 2

Song: You're the inspiration by Chicago Lyric: "You know our love was meant to be; the kind of love that lasts forever, and I want you here with me"

Cards: The World reversed, Justice reversed, The Lovers, ten of wands reversed, seven of pentacles reversed, The Fool

Text:

Dear X, The main purpose of my letter is to let you know that our relationship will be unlike anything either of us has experienced before. Where there used to be passive aggression, there will be healthy communication. Where there used to be blame, there will be accountability. Where there used to be burdens we carried alone, there will be an extra set of hands to distribute the weight. In my own life, I am finally gaining the closure I need for the experiences that have brought me down. I am feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. I know for a fact that all the bullshit was to show us we don’t deserve anything less than the feelings above. We will take this upcoming adventure together and I think you’ll be convinced, too. I can’t wait to show each other what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Let’s find each other soon, okay?? I love you! X

Letter 3:

Song: I swear by All-4-one Lyric: "I'll build your dreams with these two hands"

Cards: Six of wands, page of cups reversed, four of pentacles reversed, The Hierophant, The Empress

Text:

Dear future spouse, This is the fourth draft I’ve written of this note to you. The first three were on paper but with all the scratching out I’ve been doing, I decided to skip the paper and find a keyboard with a backspace button. I want to get my words just right. Up until recently, what mattered most in my world was fancy gadgets and making enough money to buy them. But then something changed and all I can think of is wanting to create a life of substance, not a life of things. My viewpoint of the world has been opened, and with that, comes longing for connection and sharing the beauty of life with someone else. I am ready for that feeling people talk about when they speak on love. I am ready to show someone how important their mere existence is. Now more than ever, I truly believe we only get this one life to live, and it shouldn’t be wasted on the material. I hope that when we meet you will know it’s me. My yearning to connect with you is strong and I would be surprised if my energy hasn’t made it your way yet. If it hasn’t, that’s okay because I won’t stop trying. I finally know what is most important in this lifetime and I won’t forget it any time soon. Sincerely yours, Your future spouse

Letter 4:

Song: Meant to be by Bebe Rexha (Acoustic version) Lyric: "We got nothing but time. As long as you're right here next to me, everything's gonna be alright"

Cards: The Lovers, The World, Seven of Cups, The Chariot, Queen of Swords

Text:

Hey you! Our meeting is right around the corner, I can FEEL it. I’ve been working hard on manifesting the life I want and you are an integral piece of that. You emit an energy that I can’t get enough of. I can just tell how smart, true, and incredible you are. When we get together, there will be a sense of fulfillment that neither of us knew was missing. So many opportunities are on their way to us! I know you share the same value for relationships as I do. I want you to know that I will always work my hardest to make you aware of how special you are. It is my promise that I will be honest, open, and respectful to you. I am SO ready to make these manifestations come to fruition. See you soon! - Your future spouse

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jungkoode · 17 hours ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #12 死

† breaking point †

"Eunchae stealing your sleeping spot was not in your bingo card for the camping trip, nor was it sleeping in Jeon's tent. And... everything that comes with it."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 8.3k

rating: explicit, 18+

content: your sleeping spot being taken, having to share a tent with The Chief, petty arguments, cold night, accidental touches, too much wriggling, jeon getting pissy, fights, and somehow smut, jeon's smugness shining through (finally!) dry humping, grinding, nipple/breast play, jeon on cleaning duty.

☠ author's note ☠

I— LOOK. I knew this chapter was gonna be long because damn. I was so looking forward to writing their first ~encounter~ that I absolutely put my whole kikussy into it.

BUT. UHM. 8k WORDS?? WITH MORE THAN HALF BEING SMUT?? (•᷊ิ꒳•᷊ิ)

Well. I went overboard. This definitely could've been two chapters, but then again it would make zero sense to divide the scene. ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ'ᵛᵉ ᵖʳᵒᵇᵃᵇˡʸ ˢᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿ ᵃˢˢᵃˢˢⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈⁱᵛⁱˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵐᵉ ⁱᶠ ᴵ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ᵗⁱˡ ⁿᵉˣᵗ ʷᵉᵉᵏ ˢᵒ.

If this is your first time reading my smut, welcome to the thunderdome! If you're a returning customer, you know the drill. Either way, consider this my formal apology to my FBI agent who has definitely seen better days.

Enjoy the treat, you thirsty catastrophes (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ And don't worry—there's MANY more to come! This is just the appetizer. The whole menu is extensive and frankly concerning.

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The camp's finally quiet, just leaves rustling and the fire dying down somewhere in the distance.

Everyone's crashed after today's chaos—because apparently, throwing a bunch of criminals together in the woods is exactly as messy as it sounds.

You duck into your tent, already dreaming about passing out, only to find... well, shit.

Yunjin's fast asleep, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is Eunchae sprawled across her like some drunk octopus, taking up what was supposed to be your spot. Her arm's thrown over Yunjin's waist, leg tangled with hers, dead to the world and probably going to wake up with one hell of a hangover.

Great. Just perfect.

You stare at the scene, torn between laughing and groaning. It's kind of adorable, in a "my-drunk-friend-is-a-koala" way, but it also means you're shit out of luck for sleeping arrangements.

Waking Eunchae isn't really an option—she's out cold, breathing deep and steady in that way only truly hammered people can manage. Besides, Yunjin would probably give you that disappointed look if you disturbed them. She's got that whole protective big sister thing going on, even though technically you're all trained killers.

Fucking hell.

With a sigh that's probably a bit more dramatic than necessary, you grab a spare blanket from your bag and drape it over Eunchae's shoulder. They both look so peaceful, which is honestly weird considering what you all do for a living.

You turn and head back out, already dreading the crick in your neck you're going to have tomorrow. The fire's still going, barely, throwing off just enough warmth to make sitting out here slightly less miserable.

You're trying to soak up what's left of the heat when footsteps break the silence. You don't need to look up to know who it is—there's only one person who moves that quietly while still somehow managing to feel like an oncoming storm.

Jeon emerges from the darkness like he owns it, because of course he does. His eyes scan the scene, taking in everything from the empty chairs to your clearly displaced presence, and you just know he's cataloging every detail like the perfectionist asshole he is.

He raises an eyebrow, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips. "Couldn't sleep?"

You shake your head, trying for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Eunchae's taken over my spot. She's passed out on top of Yunjin like some drunk koala."

"And here you are," he says, sounding frankly too amused, "playing the martyr by the fire."

"It's not about being a martyr," you snap, exhaustion making your voice sharper than intended. "Just didn't have the heart to wake her."

There's a couple beats of silence where he watches you with that intense look of his, like he's trying to see right through you. The cold night air nips at your skin, and you suppress a shiver.

Finally, Jeon sighs, his shoulders dropping just a fraction.

"Look, I've got a tent," he says, sounding like he's already regretting the words. "It's insulated. No sleeping bags, just blankets. You can crash there if you don't fancy freezing your ass off out here."

Your eyes narrow, trying to read between the lines of his offer. Sharing space with Jeon is dangerous—all that heat and tension and the constant dance of 'we shouldn't, but god do we want to.'

Fuck. This is a bad idea.

But it's cold, and you're tired, and the thought of a warm tent is more tempting than it has any right to be.

"You sure about this?" You eye him suspiciously. "Since when do you share anything?"

His lips twitch, and you catch that ghost of a smile he rarely lets slip.

"I don't," he admits, and god, his voice shouldn't sound that good at this hour. "But I'm not enough of an asshole to let you freeze. Besides," he adds, almost like an afterthought, "last time we shared a bed, I actually slept."

"Your tent, huh?" You can't help but push, because that's what you do. "What, you gonna play gentleman and sleep outside?"

He actually smirks at that, the moonlight catching on his lip ring.

"Not a chance." His eyes lock with yours, and fuck, there's that heat again. "We'll share. Got enough blankets."

The words hang between you like the smoke from the previous cigarette, still lingering and heavy with everything you're both pretending not to want.

You stand up, brushing dirt off your pants and trying to ignore how the dying fire isn't the only thing making you feel warm right now.

"Fine," you say, resigned. "But keep your hands to yourself. I'm just here because it's cold."

He laughs, low and rough, and you hate how it makes your stomach flip.

"Same here," he says, already turning toward his tent like he knows you'll follow.

And you do, because of course you do. You trail after him, telling yourself this is just about staying warm and not at all about the way his shoulder blades move under his shirt or how he smells like pine and wood and danger.

Such a fucking horrible idea.

But you're following him anyway.

The moment you step into Jeon's tent, you're hit with warmth. Not the cozy kind—more like the desperate kind that barely takes the edge off the cold trying to burrow into your bones.

The space is small, and fuck, it smells like him. Pine and mint and something darker that makes your head spin a little. It's not fair how his scent alone can make you feel like this, like you're unraveling at the seams.

He jerks his head toward the spot beside him—not an offer, an order. Typical. He's always like this, acting like everything he does should just be accepted without question.

You stand there longer than necessary, watching as he turns onto his side, showing you his back.

Drawing a line.

Because that's Jeon for you—edges and boundaries, even when he's pretending to be nice.

When you finally lie down, you move like you're defusing a bomb. The tent feels too small suddenly, the fabric ceiling pressing down like it's trying to suffocate you both.

Your heart's going crazy, and it's stupid. He's just lying there, being his usual brooding self. But you can feel him, like some kind of electric current running through the air between you.

"What about tomorrow?" Your whisper barely disturbs the darkness. "When everyone sees I wasn't in my tent? They'll put it together."

He stiffens—just slightly, but you catch it. Then he rolls over to face you, and Christ, the way he looks at you should be a crime.

"Then make sure you're gone by dawn," he says, voice hard as steel. "Get out before anyone's awake, and there'll be nothing to realize."

He's close enough that you can smell mint mixing with tobacco on his breath.

Huh. So he probably did chew gum after that cigarette.

"By dawn," you echo, matching his tone even though your pulse is doing gymnastics in your throat.

He stares at you for a moment longer, like he's trying to read something in your face. Whatever he's looking for, he either doesn't find it or doesn't trust himself to acknowledge it.

Then he's turning away again, another wall going up brick by brick.

The silence comes back heavier than before. You pull the blanket tighter, but it doesn't help. The cold seeps in anyway, settling deep in your bones.

Jeon's lying there like he's trying to turn himself to stone, fighting the same thing you're pretending not to feel. But it's there—even with his back to you, even with the frigid air between you.

And it's cold.

Motherfucking cold.

You're shivering so hard your teeth are chattering, and god, these blankets might as well be made of paper for all the good they're doing. Every muscle in your body is locked up tight, fighting against the cold that's trying to burrow straight into your bones.

You force a big inhale, summoning as much body heat as possible, and time does that weird thing where it stretches out forever, like cold molasses, each minute feeling like a small eternity.

The quietness that has settled over in Jeon's tent is only broken by the sound of your teeth doing their best impression of a woodpecker.

Then—warmth.

It happens so fast you almost miss it. One second you're freezing your ass off, the next Jeon's arm is wrapping around you, pulling you against him. The heat of his body hits you like a gush of hot AC hair, and suddenly your face feels like it's on fire for entirely different reasons.

"What the—" You start, but your mouth stutters because holy shit, he's close.

"Shh." His voice rumbles against the back of your neck, and you suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. "I can't sleep with your teeth clacking together like you're trying to send a damn Morse code."

He's like a human furnace pressed against your back, all solid muscle and ridiculous body heat. You can feel every breath he takes, the slight brush of his legs against yours, and fuck, you sense every single point of contact between you.

Nevertheless, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

"Sorry, didn't realize I was being that loud."

Your hands hover awkwardly, because where the hell are you supposed to put them now?

"It's fine," he mutters, and you can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Just keep it down. And try to warm up or whatever."

"I'm trying," you shoot back, but the words lack bite because his warmth is already seeping into you, melting away the cold that's been torturing you for the past hour.

Both in your body and your voice.

He doesn't say anything else, but his arm tightens around you just slightly. Like he's making sure you're actually getting warm. The tension starts bleeding out of your muscles, the shivering finally subsiding as his heat wraps around you like a cocoon.

Then, the tent falls quiet again, except for the intermittent sounds filtering in from outside and your synchronized breathing.

You're still a bit flustered—because of course you are—but grateful for the warmth. Who knew the ice king could actually be... decent?

Dangerous thought territory. Abort.

Now, about getting comfortable... That's a whole other battle.

You shift around, trying to find a position that doesn't make you feel like you're cuddling with a statue made of knives. Your elbow catches his ribs, your knee bumps his, and you're pretty sure you just elbowed him in the spleen.

You hear him sigh, and you already know what's coming.

"For fuck's sake, will you stay still?" Jeon's voice cuts through the darkness, irritated.

"I'm trying to get comfortable," you snap back. "Your gang tattoos aren't exactly memory foam, you know."

"Maybe if you'd stop wiggling like a damn worm on crack, you'd be settled by now." He adjusts his leg with an annoyed huff that you can feel against your neck.

"Maybe if you weren't built like a bag of knives, it wouldn't be so hard," you grumble, pushing back against him just to be petty.

His laugh is low and mocking, sending vibrations through your back. "Bag of knives? That's new."

"Don't laugh at me," you whine, hating how your body responds to that sound. "I'm cold, uncomfortable, and now I'm basically superglued to you."

"Superglued to me?" His hand finds your hip (probably to steady you), grip firm, and fuck—that shouldn't feel as good as it does. "You're the one who's been squirming like you're trying to start a fire."

"How am I supposed to relax when I'm sharing a blanket with a human cactus?"

But you try anyway, forcing your muscles to unwind even as every accidental touch between you feels like it's on fire.

"A human cactus that's keeping your ass from freezing," he mutters, voice rougher than before. "Now pick a position and stick with it before I lose my mind."

Too late for that, you think, trying to ignore how his hand is still on your hip, burning through your clothes like an inferno.

"This is torture," you grumble, squirming again as another rock tries to become one with your hip. "Pretty sure this ground is actually made of spite and broken dreams."

"For fuck's—will you stop moving?" Jeon's voice is strained, like he's counting backwards from ten in his head.

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't built like a weapon rack!" Your whisper comes out sharper than intended, but seriously, how is anyone this uncomfortable to cuddle with?

"Fine. Here—" He shifts suddenly, probably trying to help, but his elbow finds your ribs instead.

You wince. Because that shit hurt. Man's made of strength and muscles, so being the target of his attacks (even if it's an accidental elbowing) is not exactly pleasant.

"Jesus fuck, Jeon!" You swat at his arm, completely forgetting about staying quiet. "Are you trying to give me internal bleeding?"

"Me?" He swats back, definitely pissed now. "You're the one treating this like a goddamn dance floor."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just—"

"Just what?" He cuts you off, and you can tell his jaw is clenching. "Just magically transform into your perfect little pillow?"

"That'd be a start," you snap, past caring how childish you sound. "Better than this human armory act you've got going."

"Un-fucking-believable." He mutters, but you absolutely hear him. "Try to do something nice for once..."

"Nice? Is that what we're calling attempted murder by elbow now?" You can't keep the bite out of your voice.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm calling it!" His grip tightens on your hip, and fuck—

That really shouldn't feel good. Like, at all.

"Well, your version of 'nice' feels a lot like getting squeezed by a python," you shoot back, trying to ignore his hand placement.

"Python? Thought I was a bag of knives." There's something different in his voice now, like he's fighting back a laugh.

"Clearly you're gifted like that." The words come out softer than intended, your own anger fading into something dangerously close to amusement.

You both fall quiet, your almost-laughter seeping into the night. You're still pressed against him, but somehow the tension has shifted into something... different.

Dangerous.

"Done with your interpretive dance yet?" His voice still has that amused edge to it, the one that makes you want to elbow him again. On purpose this time.

"Maybe." You draw out the word just to be annoying. "If your tent wasn't trying to become one with my spine."

"Good." He sounds relieved, but there's still some tension bleeding into his tone. "Now can we please try to sleep before we have to do this shit all over again?"

You let yourself settle against his chest, and for a moment—just one blessed moment—everything's still. Then your nose starts itching like a bitch, and when you twist to scratch it, your elbow finds his ribs. Again.

"Fuck—"He hisses through his teeth. "Are you serious? Do you have a personal vendetta against my ribcage or something?"

"It was an itch," you snap back, not even trying to sound sorry anymore. "I'm not a fucking robot."

"Could've fooled me with all these assassination attempts." His voice drips with sarcasm. "Just stop wiggling! Every time you move it's like you're starting a riot in here."

"Well, maybe if your arm wasn't crushing me—" You try to adjust his grip, which only makes everything worse.

"My arm wouldn't be dead if you'd stop moving your goddamn hips like you're at a concert," he growls, but he shifts anyway, trying to find a better position.

"You're the one who decided spooning was the solution here," you remind him, because you're physically incapable of shutting up apparently.

"Yeah, to stop you from freezing to death, not to participate in whatever wrestling match you're trying to start!" And now he's frustrated.

"Oh, I'm sorry—" No, you're not. "Did you forget people actually move when they sleep? Or is that not covered in Assassin School?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." He clicks his tongue.

He tries to forcefully pull away all of a sudden, but you're already sitting up, blankets pooling around your waist as irritation floods your system.

"What the actual hell is your prob—"

The words die in your throat.

Oh.

OH.

Because there, in the dim light filtering through the tent, is some pretty compelling evidence of exactly what Jeon's problem is.

Your eyes snap to the very obvious bulge straining against the blanket around his hips, and suddenly his pissy attitude makes a lot more sense.

Holy shit.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment because—fuck. This isn't the first time you've noticed him getting hard around you.

Once could be biology, sure.

But twice?

That's starting to look like a pattern.

The realization hits you like a truck: maybe this tension isn't as one-sided as you thought. Maybe all those loaded looks and charged moments actually mean something.

Your eyes meet his, and the air in the tent gets about ten degrees hotter. There's a challenge in his gaze, like he's daring you to say something.

"Got something to say now?" His voice comes out rough, almost angry, but not entirely.

Your mouth goes dry, but you've never been one to back down. Especially not when you've got the upper hand.

"Yeah, actually." You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips. "You could've just said you wanted to cuddle."

His eyebrows shoot up, caught between amusement and annoyance. "Cuddle? I was trying to shut you up so I could sleep."

"A pretty damn hard way to shut someone up," you shoot back, and god, the way his jaw clenches at your terrible pun is almost worth the whole uncomfortable night.

Jeon's eyes narrow, and he shifts uncomfortably. The movement only draws your attention back to his... situation, which isn't helping your concentration at all.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly helping matters with all that ass giggling," he growls, and fuck—why does he sound that good when he's irritated?

You watch as he holds himself completely still, like he's trying to turn into a statue—like every single muscle in his body is tense, restraint is rolling off him in waves.

He looks like he's fighting a war with himself, and maybe he's losing.

"So what, this is my fault now?" You scoff, crossing your arms. "I'm responsible for your dick's opinions?"

"I'm not blaming you for shit," he snaps, voice stretched thin. "Trust me, I'm very aware of my own fucking body."

"And what it wants?" The words slip out before you can stop them, somewhere between a taunt and genuine curiosity.

His nostrils flare—got him—and his jaw clenches so hard you worry for his teeth. He looks away for a second, like he needs to physically remove you from his sight to think straight. When his eyes find yours again, there's something dark and hungry and god maybe you've died a little.

"What it wants doesn't matter," he says, each word careful and measured. "We're here for a reason, and it's not to play house or indulge in—"

"In what, Jeon? Basic human needs?" You cut him off because apparently, you have a death wish. "Because last time I checked, we're still human. Unfortunately."

He lets out a sharp laugh that sounds more like frustration than humor.

"You think I don't know that? But unlike some people, I can control myself."

And yeah, that would be have been convincing if his eyes weren't burning holes into you, if his gaze didn't keep dropping to your lips every few seconds.

"Is that so?" You lean forward slightly, watching him squirm. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're about two seconds away from snapping that famous self-control of yours."

"Fuck you," he growls, but there's something else dancing around in his tone that makes you slightly bolder.

"Maybe you'd like to."

His breath catches.

The look in his eyes makes your throat close. Raw need flashes across his face for a split second before he locks it down, trying his best to pull that cold enforcer mask back on.

"Don't push me." He says and it's rough, like it's supposed to be a warning.

But you notice how his eyes keep darting away from your face, like he can't trust himself to look at you directly.

"I'm not pushing anything." You keep your voice steady despite your racing pulse. "I'm just not running away."

"You're playing with fire," he bites out, but his tongue flicks at his lip ring—that nervous tell of his that makes heat pool in your gut.

"Am I?" You tilt your head, watching him fidget with the silver hoop. "Sure looks like you're the one burning up here."

His hands clench into fists. He's fighting for control, you can see that.

"You know the rules. No attachments. That's how we survive. That's how we keep our heads."

You can't help but scoff.

"Attachments? Who said anything about catching feelings?" You shift slightly, watching his eyes snap back to you. "I'm talking about scratching an itch. One we both clearly have."

He licks his lips again, slower this time, metal ring catching the dim light. For a moment, expression morphs, and you see it—the same thing you're feeling, raw and desperate.

Desire.

Jeon's gaze hardens, but not in the way you'd expect it to. "Don't twist my words. You know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah, I do." You meet his stare head-on. "But sex is just sex, Jeon. We're not breaking any rules if there aren't any feelings involved."

Before he can build another wall between you, you move.

In one fluid motion, you're straddling him, and holy fuck—you're sure the body heat he's producing alone could keep up with an oven. And his cock—god his cock is hard against you and definitely happy to see you there.

"See?" Your voice comes out lower than intended, perhaps a tad wanting. "No attachments. Just two people who need to get off."

His eyes are almost black now, pupils blown wide. His hands hover over your thighs like he's fighting himself, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

"You really think it's that simple?" The strain in his voice is delicious.

"I think," you breathe, leaning in until you can feel his exhale against your lips, "that we make our own rules. I want you, Jeon. And judging by what I'm feeling right now—" You shift slightly in his lap, drawing a sharp breath from him, "—you want me too."

His lips are close. Pine and wood and him fill your lungs, making you dizzy. You watch as his control frays at the edges, watch him wrestle with the rules he's built his life around.

"Fuck." The word tears from his throat like it hurts, rough and desperate.

"That's the idea," you murmur, and then you're closing that last inch between you, consequences be damned.

And God.

His lips are soft—way softer than you expected. That's your first coherent thought when Jeon finally, finally kisses you.

He starts slow. Careful. Like he's still fighting with himself even as his mouth moves against yours.

It's driving you insane. Because fuck, you've seen how he usually is—all storm and fury—but right now? He's taking his sweet fucking time.

You can taste the hesitation on his tongue when he licks at the seam of your lips. But it's pretend, you don't even question that, because you can feel his hunger as well. And you part your lips immediately—it's not like you to play coy, not when you've been wanting this for so long.

The first slide of his tongue against yours makes your chest tighten. There's something almost reverent in how he explores your mouth, like he's memorizing every detail. His lip ring clicks against your teeth and shit—that is just fucking hot, okay.

He tastes like cigarettes and mint—a combination that screams Jeon—that makes heat pool low in your belly.

His hands start wandering then, those big, calloused palms that you've caught yourself staring at during briefings. One traces up your spine, and even through your shirt, his touch makes you burn.

The other hand finds your neck, thumb pressed just under your jaw. Possessive. Demanding. Your pulse jumps against his fingers.

The kiss deepens, turns messy. Wet.

His tongue strokes against yours with purpose now, and Christ—the sounds you're both making are absolutely filthy. All slick slides and breathless little noises that make your cheeks flush.

You arch into him instinctively, wanting—needing—more. Because this? This careful exploration? It's not enough.

Not nearly enough.

You can't help the moan that slips out when his tongue slides against yours just right. It's embarrassingly needy, but fuck it—he's earned that reaction with the way he's kissing you.

"Keep it down," he murmurs against your mouth, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Unless you want an audience."

His thumb presses against your lips, calloused skin catching slightly. When you meet his eyes, his gaze darkens. The possibility of getting caught should probably worry you more than it turns you on, but... well. Here you are.

His hand traces down your spine like he's mapping every vertebra, and christ—who knew the guy who barely speaks two words could make you feel so much with just his fingertips? Each touch feels prepared, like he's conducting some kind of thorough investigation of what makes you squirm.

"Relax," he growls, low and rough in a way that does not help you relax at all. The vibration of his voice seems to travel straight between your legs. "I've got you."

That's kind of the problem, you think hazily as his other hand slides down to your hip with maddening slowness. Your breath hitches when his fingers slip under your crewneck, skin-on-skin contact sending electricity up your spine.

He takes his sweet fucking time inching the fabric up, like he's got all night to drive you insane. The contrast of his burning hands against your cooler skin makes you shiver. His thumb brushes just below your navel and fuck—you bite your lip to keep quiet.

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop being such a tease, but there's something intoxicating about the way he's touching you—like he's savoring every inch. Like he's been thinking about this as much as you have.

"Is this..." His voice trails off, rough and uncertain.

You've never heard him sound like that before—like he's actually struggling for words.

"Is this what?"

You can barely get the words out. Hard to form coherent thoughts when his hand is burning a path up your ribs.

"Is this okay?" The question rumbles from his chest.

His eyes are fixed on where his hand disappears under your shirt, as if he's memorizing every inch.

"Yeah." You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice for more.

Fuck yes it's okay. It's been okay since the moment his mouth claimed yours.

Something in your answer must satisfy him because his hand slides higher, mapping your skin underneath with a precision that makes you shiver.

It's maddening how gentle he's being. You've seen those hands snap bones, seen them steady a rifle for impossible shots. Now they're ghosting over your skin like you're something precious, something that might shatter if he pushes too hard.

"Jeon." His name comes out embarrassingly breathy, halfway between a whine and a plea. "Keep going."

The bastard actually chuckles, the sound oscillating through you where you're pressed together. "Don't have to say it twice."

But he keeps that same torturous pace, each sweep of his thumb deliberately slow. Like he's got all night to take you apart piece by piece. Like he wants to drive you crazy.

You're starting to think he does.

His proximity is a heady thing and you could swear there's a storm raging behind his heartbeat.

You press closer, desperately seeking more contact.

More friction.

More anything.

But Jeon's self-control is nothing short of fucking legendary, it seems.

"Slow," he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his hand disappears beneath your shirt. "We take this slow."

You could fucking cry. His calloused fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, each touch light, teasing, and the contrast between his rough hands and gentle movements is driving you insane.

His other hand joins the first, sliding under your clothes with a confidence that borders on arrogance.

Yeah, he's smug; but you could swear there's something reverent in the way he touches you—and it's only because of that that you don't punch him.

Those dark eyes lock onto yours once more, asking a silent question.

A question he doesn't need to mutter.

You manage a quick nod, and he wastes no time pulling your crewneck and long sleeve over your head in one smooth motion.

But the universe hates you as much as you seem to hate yourself.

Because of course—of fucking course—you're wearing the most basic, practical bra imaginable. Why would you have worn anything sexy today? Not like you planned on Chief Jeon getting you half-naked in his tent.

His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail. When that infamous smirk tugs at his pierced lip, you already know he's about to be insufferable.

"Didn't dress up for me, huh?"

Heat floods your cheeks. You swat at his chest, torn between embarrassment and the urge to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Shut the fuck up, Jeon. Wasn't exactly expecting to get fucked today."

That deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, and fuck—it vibrates against you in a way it should be illegal.

But it's his eyes that get you—dark, hooded, pure filth swirling behind those orbs.

"You're acting like I care." He says as if you've told him a funny joke. "Trust me, I don't."

And his hands? Yeah, his hands haven't stopped their torturous exploration, mapping every inch of exposed skin like he's got a point to prove. Each brush of his callouses sends electricity down your spine. The bastard knows exactly what he's doing.

You want to hate him for that.

You don't.

His fingers trace your bra strap and he leans in close—so close you can feel his breath hot against your ear.

"Can I?"

Like he even needs to ask. Like you haven't been thinking about his hands on your bare skin since that first sparring session.

You manage a shaky nod, pulse thundering in your ears. One quick flick of his fingers and the piece comes undone. The clasp sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room.

The bra falls away and oh—the way he looks at you makes your core throb. His eyes rake over your exposed breasts in pure appreciation, hungry and possessive. You'd feel self-conscious if it wasn't so fucking hot.

When his hands finally—finally—cup your breasts, you can't help the gasp that escapes. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your back arches instinctively, pressing into his touch. His hands are so big they practically engulf you, rough and warm and perfect.

Then it's his breath. It fans hot against your neck and fuck—just the anticipation has you squirming. He hovers there, taking his sweet time, the bastard.

When his lips finally press against your throat, you have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

He presses a kiss. Then another. Then another.

Each one is slow, tongue flicking against your pulse point leisurely. Your head falls back automatically, giving him better access. Like he needs the invitation.

"Ah—"

"Shh." His voice vibrates against your skin, equal parts warning and amusement—and fuck his smirk.

His fingers are a fucking menace on your breasts, rolling your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they're almost painfully hard. And yeah okay, your pussy is literally throbbing at this point.

"You're so damn vocal," he grunts against your throat, punctuating the words with a sharp nip that makes you gasp.

You want to tell him to fuck off, but your brain's a blue screen as of right now. Your fingers find his hair instead, tangling in those dark strands just to have something to hold onto. To ground yourself while he systematically takes you apart with his mouth and hands.

But enough is enough.

So you shove at his chest, creating just enough space to think straight. His eyes widen for a split second before that infuriating shit-eating grin appears.

As if he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently. Off. Now. The fabric joins your discarded clothes somewhere on the floor (you're too busy staring at his chest to care where).

"Someone's eager." Voice pure sin, the jackass is clearly enjoying himself.

"If I'm half-naked, you better be too," you snap back, but the breathiness in your voice ruins any attempt at sounding annoyed. "Fair's fair."

He doesn't respond verbally, no.

Instead, he yanks you back against him and the feel of his bare skin against yours makes you want to keen. His hands grip your waist fiercely while yours explore the ridges of his abs, the hard planes of his chest. Each muscle twitches under your touch.

When his mouth claims yours again, it's different—hungrier, deeper. His tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your pulse quicken, and you can't help but press closer, fingers curling around his neck to pull him down.

And maybe sounds you're making should be embarrassing—all breathy sighs and desperate little whimpers. But with his hands burning paths across your skin and his tongue doing that, you can't bring yourself to care.

The tent feels like its own little universe, just you and Jeon and whatever the hell is going on between you right now (sex, probably). You grind down against his cock, the rough fabric of his cargo pants hitting you just right.

And he likes that, you can tell—because soon enough his hands grip your waist, guiding your movements with a precision that makes you want to eat him alive. Each roll of your hips presses you against his straining bulge, drawing embarrassingly needy sounds from your throat.

When you break the kiss to breathe, you can't help but stare. His lips are slick and swollen, that silver ring glinting in the dim light. His usually perfect hair is a mess from your fingers.

But he seems to like his battles well fought. So he bucks up against you. And fuck, you're growing impatient now.

"Where the fuck are the condoms?" you pant, desperation making your voice crack.

He actually has the audacity to chuckle, low and mocking.

"Didn't pack any," he shrugs, like he's commenting on the weather instead of ruining your life.

"What the fuck?" You stop moving, staring at him in disbelief. "Do you seriously expect me to ride you bareback?"

"No wanna?" His voice is so soft, almost childlike, like he's talking to a particularly bratty kid.

That is not hot. Why does he make it seem hot?

"What the fuck, Jeon!"

"What?" His lips twitch, and he has the nerve to look amused. "Wasn't planning on fucking either."

You roll your eyes, ignoring how his hands are still tracing maddening patterns on your skin.

"So you're just walking around with a loaded gun and no safety on?"

Another infuriating shrug. His thumbs slip under your waistband, teasing.

"Didn't plan on shooting."

His nonchalance is driving you insane—both with frustration and arousal. Especially when he's touching you like that.

"Literally, fuck you."

"I thought we agreed that would be a bit reckless right now?"

"Oh my god, Jeon." There's no hiding the frustration coloring your words. "We're surrounded by tents, which is bad enough, and now you're telling me we can't even fuck properly?"

His breath fans hot against your neck. "We can get creative."

The promise in those words makes your cunt throb, but you're not letting him win that easily.

"And leave us both desperate? Dream on, pretty boy."

He drags his lips over your collarbone and fuck—your hands clench in his hair just to stay upright, because can he stay in place when you're trying to tell him off?

"Hmm?" The smugness in his voice should be illegal. "But you were so needy a few seconds ago."

When he rolls his hips up, his cock grinding against you through his pants, you have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

Fucking, insufferable h̶o̶t̶ bastard.

"Pretty sure there's other ways to get each other off," he adds, and oh—the way he says it.

You try to respond but his mouth is already trailing up your neck, each kiss hotter than the last. His breath ghosts over your ear and you shiver, fighting the urge to tilt your head but doing so regardless. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under your touch.

His hand keeps you pinned against his cock, the hard length of him pressing just right through his pants. His other hand teases at your waistband and you almost whimper.

Almost.

You lift your hips—an invitation that makes his eyes glint wickedly. He tugs your leggings down roughly, bunching them at your thighs. The cool air hits your heated skin and fuck—you've never felt more exposed, straddling him like this, movement restricted.

His palm slides up your inner thigh, leaving fire in its wake. When his thumb brushes over your clit through your panties, the shock of pleasure makes you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

His muscles tense under your teeth and he makes a sound—half growl, half grunt.

"You like that, sunshine?" His voice is low and taunting.

And damn it. That fucking nickname again. You don't know why you fucking like it. Oxygen must not be reaching your brain.

Though it's not like you can trust yourself to speak—not with his thumb doing that, drawing slow circles that make your thighs shake.

You press a hum into his shoulder instead, teeth grazing skin in silent demand for more.

The heat between you is becoming suffocating, giving you a headache. Or maybe that's just him, the way he touches you like he's got all night to take you apart piece by piece. Like making you fall apart is his new favorite hobby.

"Jeon," you gasp against his shoulder, already embarrassingly breathless. "Take your fucking pants off."

For a terrifying second, you think he might deny you just to be a dick.

But then a deep snort rumbles through his chest and fuck—his next words may be your undoing.

"Bossy, aren't we?"

His tone is too smug for your own good.

For his own good.

For the good of humanity.

He manages to unzip his pants one-handed, whilst his other hand grips your waist, lifting you effortlessly—and honestly, the casual display of strength shouldn't be sexy but of course when it comes to him, it just is.

He shimmies his pants down to his thighs, leaving just his tight black briefs between you.

"Better?" He sounds all cocky about it, but you're too busy staring at the obvious bulge straining against the dark fabric to care, really.

You immediately sink back down onto his lap and oh—the thin layers of cloth do nothing to hide how hard he is.

The heat of his cock pressed against you makes you bite back a sound.

"Yeah."

The word may have come out too damn breathy, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when your hands are already wandering, desperate to touch more of him.

"Mhm," is all he says low and approving.

Your thighs clench instinctively, core throbbing at just his fucking voice.

Fuck him. Y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶.̶

Every roll of your hips makes sparks dance behind your eyelids. His cock is right there, hard and thick against you, and even through the layers of fabric you can feel how perfectly it lines up with your clit. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements with absolute control.

"That's right, sunshine." And yeah, fuck, that's a growl. "Make yourself feel good."

Truth is—you couldn't stop if you wanted to. The danger of getting caught, the way his breath hitches when you grind down just right, the way he's gripping you like you're his lifeline—it's all too much and not enough.

And then, his fingers trace the edge of your panties.

It has you shivering, that light touch.

Because he's still being careful, so deliberate, like he's savoring every second. Like he wants you to savor it too.

You keep rolling your hips, chasing that delicious friction. When he starts bucking up to meet your movements, the added pressure makes you see fucking galaxies. His dark eyes are locked on yours, pupils blown wide with want.

"Can I take these off?"

And fuck, fuck, fuck, he still sounds smug, but there's a hint of neediness treading his tone that's turning you on further. His fingers hook under the elastic, waiting.

"Yes," you breathe, already thinking about getting his briefs off too, wanting to feel all of him.

But before you can even voice your concerns, he's already responding.

"I know." He replies, reading you like a fucking open book.

He smirks, thumbs hooking under his waistband, and peels his briefs down torturously slow, like he enjoys your impatience, making you wait. When his cock springs free, thick and hard against his stomach, your mouth goes dry.

You can't help but stare—the way it curves slightly to the left, the way it twitches under your hungry gaze.

The urge to touch, to taste—it's bordering on agonizing.

"My turn." He murmurs, like he's been patiently waiting for desert.

He helps you shimmy your panties down to join your leggings, his hands steady on your hips as you lift up. The fabric rustles obscenely loud in the quiet tent, like even your clothes are trying to give you away.

And then you're both naked where it counts, no barriers left between you except the rules you're already breaking—although not really because sex without attachment doesn't break any rules.

The distant sounds of the camp feel miles away, like you two have totally forgotten you're in Jeon's tent, in the middle of a camping trip.

Well. You're pretty sure people have fucked in worse situations. So whatever.

His hands grip your hips once again, guiding you down onto him. And when you do, the slide of his bare cock against your slick folds nearly makes you whimper. You can feel every ridge, every vein pressing against your core—and each tiny movement sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

"So good," he groans, the sound rumbling through his chest.

His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's fighting to keep control, and you couldn't agree more.

Because the friction is divine, each roll of your hips making your thighs shake. You're already embarrassingly wet, leaving him slick and shining in the dim light.

He's so wet—from you, from him, it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is the obscene sounds of skin on skin and the filthy curses falling from his lips.

His mouth returns to your collarbone and his lips are impossibly soft and the metal of his piercing incredibly cold and for some forsaken reason it turns you on even further. When he moves lower, dragging that piercing over your nipple before sucking it into his mouth, you nearly come undone.

His hand on your hip keeps you exactly where he wants you, controlling the pace as he grinds his cock against your clit. He's moving hips like he knows how to make your eyes roll back. His other hand finds your free nipple, pinching and tugging until you're trembling under his touch.

"Do you wanna cum like this?" The words vibrate against your breast, making you shiver. "Grinding against my cock?"

You can barely nod. Your brain's a puddle of want and sex, reduced to basic functions like yes and please and more.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, needing to hold onto him as he takes you apart piece by piece. Every 'sunshine' that falls from his lips pushes you closer to the edge. You're quivering, hovering right on the brink, completely at his mercy.

And judging by that smirk against your skin? He knows it.

"Yeah, just like that." His voice is pure gravel, wrecked and hot and just outright sex. "Keep rubbing that pretty pussy against my cock."

You should be embarrassed by how those words affect you, but you're too far gone to care. His filthy mouth just makes you wetter, makes you grind down harder.

"Fuck yeah." The curse hisses through his teeth, and god—the way he sounds when he's losing control is addictive.

He keeps humping, cock rubbing against your clit every time, sending electricity shooting up your spine—and he's just so hard, so thick and fucking perfect under you. You didn't even know grinding could feel this fucking good.

"Shit, s'good," he pants, and you can tell he's barely holding it together.

His nails dig into your hips harder now, like he's nearing his own edge, like he wants to tumble down the precipice of pleasure as much as you—if not more.

Like he's fighting to maintain control over his own body.

You kind of want to make him lose it.

Your fingers are completely tangled up in his hair now, and you can't even tell where your hand begins and his locks end. All that matters is each fucking perfectly synchronized roll of your hips, each firework burning behind your eyelids.

You're so close, so fucking close.

He must feel it in the way your thighs tremble, because suddenly his grip on your hips turns bruising. His mouth releases your nipple with an obscene pop, and then he's burying his face between your breasts, breath hot against your sweat-slick skin.

"C'mon sunshine." He sounds absolutely debauched. "Cum f'me. Do it."

And fuck—that does it.

One more perfect grind of his cock against your clit and the orgasm embraces you like a warm hug. The moan that tears from your throat would definitely give you away if Jeon's hand didn't clamp over your mouth just in time.

Your body jerks against him, every nerve ending on fire. You're vaguely aware that you're probably pulling his hair too hard but you can't help it (he deserves it for being a teasing bitch).

Though, you can't help but feel a bit proud because it must be the sight of you falling apart what pushes him over too.

Because suddenly he's crushing you against him, face pressed between your tits to muffle his groans. His cock pulses between you, and there's hot ropes of cum painting both your stomachs.

His whole body trembles as he cums, nails leaving crescents on your hips—moons that will stay buried in your skin for days to come.

But you don't mind, enjoying the way each throb of his cock sends aftershocks through your oversensitive core. You can feel his heart hammering where you're pressed together, matching your own thundering pulse.

Holy fuck.

You collapse against him, completely boneless, barely aware that the tent now reeks of sex and pine and chai, and your brain's too fuzzy to do anything but breathe it in.

The judgemental owl from before hoots.

Your head finds his shoulder while his face stays buried between your breasts. His breath is hot against your skin as it slowly steadies. One of his hands traces lazy patterns on your back, and it's... nice. Surprisingly gentle for someone who just made you see stars.

"That was intense." His voice vibrates through your chest, rough and satisfied.

"Yeah." It's all you can manage. Your tongue feels too heavy for words, your body weightless and done.

He actually chuckles, the bastard. "You really needed that, huh?"

You want to smack him for being so smug, but your arms won't cooperate. You settle for an annoyed grunt instead, which just makes him laugh harder. His chest rumbles against yours and god—you're too fucked out to deal with his ego right now.

He taps your hip gently—a signal to move.

When you peel apart, you both look down at the mess of cum painting your stomachs. The sight makes heat flood your cheeks, a vivid reminder of what you two just did.

And frankly, how good it was—even if only grinding.

Not that you'll tell him that. His head's big enough already.

Jeon sighs—all annoyed like he wasn't just cumming his brains out—and starts rummaging around for something to clean up with. You just... roll over. Press your face into his blankets and, yeah, they smell like him. Not cologne or soap, just pure Jeon. Pine and wood and man.

Your eyelids are so heavy. The blankets are so warm. Maybe if you just... rest for a minute...

You vaguely register him cleaning himself up, but you're already half-asleep when his voice cuts through your haze.

"Hey, don't you dare think I'm letting you get all my shit dirty."

You manage a grunt and scrunch your nose. Why is a man talking?

"Fucking hell." He sounds exasperated, but his touch is surprisingly gentle when he starts wiping you clean. You just lay there like dead weight because seriously—moving is not happening right now.

The evidence of your activities dealt with, you hear him toss the wipes aside and settle next to you.

The silence that follows is nice.

Comfortable.

You burrow deeper into his blankets, letting his scent wrap around you like a cocoon, and you're this close to blessed unconsciousness when an agitating, grating noise ruins it again.

"Hey." All firm and authoritative like you give a shit right now. "Remember you gotta be up before dawn. We can't have anyone getting the wrong idea."

You heave the longest, most dramatic sigh of your life.

"I know. I will," you mumble into the blankets, already turning away from his voice.

Like, you get it. No sleepovers allowed. But also? Shut up and let you enjoy your post-orgasm coma for five fucking minutes.

He nudges you again, more insistent this time. "I'm serious. No misunderstandings, alright?"

God, why does he have to be so paranoid about it? This is just sex—no strings attached, no rules broken. You're not some lovesick teenager who's going to get the wrong idea from a hookup.

"Then set up a fucking alarm or something, alright?" The words come out sharper than intended, but you're too fucked out to care. "I'll wake up and get out, just stop being so damn annoying."

The silence that follows is almost funny. You can practically feel his surprise at your tone. Then he exhales—that short, irritated huff that means you've actually managed to ruffle the great Chief Jeon's feathers.

"Fine." He sounds... sulky? The mighty assassin, sulking. You'd laugh if you weren't so desperate to sleep.

The blue light from his phone briefly illuminates the tent as he sets the alarm. When he settles back down, you can feel him giving you one last look—probably questioning his life choices.

Whatever. You burrow deeper into his blankets, which smell unfairly good. The tent falls quiet except for your breathing and the distant sounds of the camp.

You're pretty sure he'll actually wake you up. That's just how Jeon is—stupidly reliable even when he's being an ass about it.

So you count on it.

And the last coherent thought you have before sleep claims you is that his blankets are way too comfortable for someone so annoying.

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blorbocedes · 3 days ago

Text

Lando is on top of the world, lounging on AirMax, heading into summer break as the championship leader.

The team had hoped he'd be leading the championship by a clear margin by now, allowing them to institute a 1-2 and bring home both the championships. But Oscar was still close enough that that made it insulting, to play second driver when you're one DNF away from leading the championship yourself. Lando was fine challenging Oscar on merit, and he'd done so far, innit?

Although the way the media spun it... let's just say he's glad the focus is on Max potentially leaving RedBull now, after he was spotted speaking with Toto in Mercedes hospitality.

The RedBull's kind of been a shit show. Max has been clawing at that distant P3 but only barely, and the behind the scenes internal drama, the struggling second seat -- he does not envy Max getting grilled about that every weekend.

"So, is it true?" Lando asks, raising an eyebrow. "You and Toto sitting on a tree?"

Max sips on his gin&tonic, with an air of 'you know I can't say that.'

"Come onnnn," Lando persists. Max hands him his drink and he takes a huge gulp, washing out the champagne flavour from his mouth.

Max turns to him, completely serious. He picks his words carefully. "Sometimes you can spend your whole life with a team, right? And the partnership is good. But if they do something that makes it intolerable, it's better to walk out. If they break your trust."

Lando nods quickly, taken aback by Max's seriousness. Things internally at RedBull must be worse than reported. "Course. You can be loyal to a team but you're also a driver at the end of the day, you have weigh your options and your future." Max is father now, after all, which is still surreal to think about. His lockscreen is the baby girl.

Max softens. "First one's always the best. Enjoy it, Lando. I know I did."

"It's not over til it's over." Lando says, but crosses his fingers.

What hurt the most is that it really was out of the blue for him. He'd never ever ever expect it.

Zak pulling him aside, telling him they're willing to pay out his whole contract and then more. That he'll always be a part of the papaya family. Their first world champion after Lewis in 08.

It was an out of body experience, like wading through water, the words washing over him. He kept repeating, "I don't understand."

"Kid, it was out of my hands. Once it was official Verstappen showed interest, I had to report it to the board -- and Bahrain." Zak tried to soften the blow, hiding that he had been the one aggressively courting Max. Showing him confidential information of their projections of the new car.

None of it made sense. Lando's entire world was coming to a crash. The 2026 car was a gamble, they and Mercedes were neck and neck, they were powered by them after all, but '27 was supposed to return to form for McLaren with the new regulations.

"Believe me, you and Oscar were the dream pairing." Zak always emphasized the R in Oscar in his harsh American accent.

"Oscar." Lando said faintly. Oscar who came second to him, who he beat all 3 years they've been teammates. Why? Why him? Hadn't he proven himself, hadn't he won the title, hadn't he been with the team through fucking everything when the car barely worked? Andrea's comment vaguely echoes in his head, Lando is our present, Oscar is our future.

"You don't put two big dogs in the same team. You're a big dog now, Lan." Zak had his hand on Lando's shoulder like that was supposed to make it better. Lando is McLaren's World Champion and they still chose Max Verstappen.

"Why?" Why kicking him out and not Oscar — it's an unfair thought but he was better. There's a searing, heavy, visceral pain in his chest making it heart to breathe.

"Their reasoning was --" Zak hesitates, "It would've been a McLaren driver winning this year either way. But we don't know how 26 is gonna pan out just yet. And, I guess they were really impressed with how Max won it in '24 when that wasn't the best car, so when he came knocking..."

Zak said more words after that but it all got tuned out. After that his lawyers handled the rest. When the news dropped of Verstappen and McLaren after the season ended, Lando turned his phone off, packed his bags, and headed to Finland with Max Fewtrell.

The 'no thanks' to RedBull was easy. He had no interest in going to Milton Keynes and seeing Max's face, his trophies, his legacy everywhere.

He didn't even ask who he was replacing when the offer from Ferrari came. It's racing, after all.

#f1 rpf #my fics

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lilalilan · 2 hours ago

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The link in the reblog above is only about Free File and doesn't actually include all of the free filing options available!

In addition to Free File (which you have to go through the links on the IRS website to get, you will not find the free file options on the websites of TurboTax and other software developers) there are...

Direct File! The IRS's very own software for filing your taxes. Limited in what it can handle and which states it's available in.

VITA and TCE! The Volunteer Income Tax Assistance and Tax Counselling for the Elderly programs. Volunteers certified by the IRS do your taxes for you for free. This is a great option if doing your own taxes is scary and overwhelming, or if you have back taxes you need done (you as an individual cannot e-file your back taxes but these programs can). There is a quality review system in place so returns that are done through this program get at least two people looking them over.

Also, if you do plan on going to someone to get your taxes done, make sure it's a place headed by either a CPA (certified public accountant) or EA (enrolled agent). Both of those credentials mean that the person is knowledgeable in tax matters and can help you deal with the IRS if issues pop up, and they are both held to certain ethical and professional standards. While lesser known, the EA credential is actually a tax specific one, and an EA is going to be just as much if not more informed about taxes and taxation as a CPA.

#talk taxes to me #this is meant as a general psa and not as tax advice

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katherinakaina · 2 days ago

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“Daniil does have genuinely awful text options. Stop pretending he doesn’t. THAT’S what people criticize him for. And y’all are just trying to absolve your favourite guy”

Okay. I don’t know what others do. But I don’t dismiss any of his bad lines (even if he usually has a contradicting line somewhere meaning he is in several minds on the issue, not a raging fanatic). Because:

Pathologic is not about who’s perfect. And it’s not about who’s your favourite war criminal either.

It’s about flawed people in the horrible world DOING GOOD ANYWAY.

You know, like us. Like me, like you. You don’t have to be perfect to go and fight the plague. In fact, you will never be perfect. If that’s what you’re waiting for you will never start fighting.

The only character who believes herself to be a literal saint turns out to be the literal plague. And even she goes and does good anyway. That’s the story we are dealing with here.

Why I am personally a staunch Daniil defender instead of tearing through his worst lines and choices (though I do that sometimes too) is because how the fandom treats him is unfair, it’s disproportionate to his crimes. And he is the main magnet for all the criticism that can be aimed at the characters in this game, meanwhile Artemy ‘these herb-gathering Worms have little in common with men’ Burakh is just as bad (at least) in the games. Seriously, if we start going through every problematic Artemy moment and treat them with as little leniency as people treat Daniil's faux pas we’ll be here all day. It would be so easy to portray Artemy as an absolute monster only using his canon text in either game, it’s not even funny. Not to mention other characters.

So, we either start scrutinizing and making fun of everybody the way we do with Daniil or we treat Daniil with leniency and respect as well as everybody. Those are two fair options. You don’t have to pick but then please be honest with what you’re doing.

#pathologic #daniil dankovsky #i never saw people rationalize their dislike of Daniil in a way that would be unique to him and not also include ten other characters #no i think i saw it once #the person called Daniil unpleasant and annoying #that was honest and real and i respect that

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ink-stainedkiss · 3 days ago

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Bunny!Geto who loves to find comfort in silence. He doesn’t like loud noises and while he doesn’t consider you to be loud, he cherishes the peaceful moments when it’s just you and him. In the early mornings, when Geto reads the books scattered in your home and you are busy with your own task. He can’t help but catch glimpses of your focused expression and smile.

Bunny!Geto who has to always be on alert, since you don’t know how to keep your hands off his little tail. You can’t help it, it’s just so fluffy and you have to hold back a squeal when it unconsciously twitches. He always denies it, but there are a few videos of the little fluff ball shaking happily as you scratch his back that would beg to differ.

Bunny!Geto who feels bad that he can’t express how thankful he is for you. You were the one that practically scooped him up off the merciless streets. Some nights he thinks back to the first time he met you and how hostile he was. If he gets too far into his imagination, he’ll try and think of where he would be if he hadn’t decided to stay with you. Ultimately he’ll become sad and end up clingier than usual.

It happened again, Geto had a nightmare. He was an extremely independent hybrid, barely letting you coddle him unless he was under the weather. So it wasn’t exactly easy for him to rise from his bed and try and find comfort from you. It may sound childish, and believe Geto that he doesn’t exactly feel proud when he has these terrible dreams, but they have gotten better since you gave him a place to stay.

They are just quick flashes of the life he had before. Living on the streets and hiding in alleyways was how Geto managed to scrape by, praying that the trash can he found had some sort of food. The thoughts made his stomach churn in disgust. Geto had been restless the entire night, so he only had one option to get rid of this feeling.

The bunny stood in front of your door, contemplating whether he should just turn and not worry you about his past, but shockingly, the door swung open,revealing you. Geto could see you had been awake for a while. Raising a brow at the hybrid,”Are you okay?” Shit, Geto hadn’t even glanced at a mirror, how bad did he look? You glanced around your room, voice dropping to a small whisper,”Did you want to come in?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Geto walked in, admiring how homey your room looked. You got back into your comforter, grabbing the book you had put aside when you saw Geto’s figure standing at your door. As you got settled, you looked up to see Geto just standing there, like if he were to move something would explode. Covering your small giggle, you lifted the other half of your blankets,” You can lay with me, I don’t mind.”

The bunny gave you a short nod and slid into the side next to you. Not wanting to push him out of his comfort zone, you went back to reading. Geto’s droopy ears twitched as he heard you mumble something under your breath. Turning to his side, he realized you were mouthing the words on the page. He tried to be subtle as he got a peek, but it was no use. You were about to flip the page when you felt a little push on your arm. It took you a second to realize what happened and when you looked over, you saw Geto staring at you very keenly.

You knew Geto liked reading, but you also saw the tiredness in his eyes, so you put two and two together,”Do you want me to read out loud?” A tiny spark of happiness ignited in his deep purple eyes and out of excitement he got closer, pulling you in a hug. Immediately Geto tried to pull off, thinking he messed it all up, but before he could, your arm wrapped him. He tensed, but when you began to read, he slowly calmed down. Your words were like velvet and soon enough sleep creeped closer to him. It’s simple to say that wasn’t the last night Geto wound his way into your bed for the night.

Bunny!Geto who doesn’t hesitate when you ask to play with his hair. Like his ears, his hair was jet black and extremely beautiful. You could drag your fingers through it without catching on a single knot. It’s your favorite pastime to play with his hair, either after a long day at work or you are just bored, it’s easy to get lost in his long strands. For a while, you weren’t sure why Geto would click his teeth between humming to your words, but after looking it up, you realized what it meant.

#x reader #@ink-stainedkiss #⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᡣ𐭩carmi’s headcans ༝༚༝༚#jujutsu kaisen #writers on tumblr #jjk #fluff #jjk fanfic #hybrid #geto x you #suguru x you #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #hybrid au #mini series #cutie #bunny boy #i love making these

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dashbag-art · 3 days ago

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I was finally able to finish my first Mel fic🥹 it was inspired by this song

Masterpiece

Melissa Schemmenti x artist!fem!reader

Summary: After a long day of renovations in Abbot, your creative ego was offended, and Melissa decided to show you exactly how much she loves and supports you.

Warnings: Smut 👀😏

"Ava?! Are you serious?!" The teachers exclaimed.

It all started just a week before the start of the school year. Principal Coleman started the staff meeting with tales about her summer vacation, but then suddenly hit the teachers with the news about classroom renovation. No one expected those news...

"Absolutely. The district won't give us any money to hire the workers. We don't have enough budget for that, and you all keep complaining about how shitty your classrooms look. So we only have two options. You can all continue to teach without any renovation, or you can paint the walls by yourself." Ava shrugged. "I will purchase the cheap supplies, and you have the whole week to do it. It's like a hella amount of time."

"Ava, that's ridiculous!" Janine exclaimed. "This week is for the preparations, not for painting the walls! Are you telling every one teacher to paint their classroom by themselves?"

"You can share if you want extra work, dummy..." Ava rolled her eyes. "Or you can ask your imaginary friends to come and help you for free. You decide what you want to do, I don't care. The meeting is over."

With that, principal Coleman left the gym. But the problem stayed. The classrooms needed to be painted, and the teachers had to decide what they're gonna do next.

"I can't believe Ava did that to us..." Janine sadly told the group of coworkers.

"Did you expect somethin' else from Miss 'I spent the month drunk in the five-star hitel's pool'? Or did you want some actual decisions from Miss 'I lost my Gucci sunglasses in the hookah bar in Vegas'? Both of them are our irresponsible boss, don't forget that." Melissa chuckled, scrolling her phone.

"Well, Ava did actually offer a solution. I definitely would not paint my walls alone... I'll ask Gerald for help." Barbara shook her head.

"That's brilliant, I'll ask my girlfriend. I think she's free for this week." Melissa said, putting her glasses away.

"Well, you're lucky. You have partners! I gotta do it all by myself..." Jacob threw his hands in the air.

"Oh my God! I have a boyfriend too!" Janine almost jumped in excitement.

"Um...I'm sorry to ruin your expectations, but I also have a classroom to paint..." Gregory said softly. "B-but I can help you when I'm done!" He tried to cheer Janine up.

"Okay, I'm tired of this whole thing, I'm goin' home. See yous tomorrow when all this execution will start. Barb, do you need a lift?" Melissa stood up, gathering her bag and jacket.

"Thank you, dear!" Barbara followed her friend. "Goodbye, everyone!"

The next day, the teachers gathered in the school. They were moving chairs and desks, putting boxes with books and materials away from the classrooms to prepare everything for the renovation. Ava asked Mr. Johnson to deliver buckets of paint, brushes, and paint rollers to the teachers so everyone could start working. Janine looked out from her classroom to see Melissa standing in front of the opened doors of her classroom, typing something on her phone.

"Hey, Melissa! Why aren't you painting?"

"I'm waitin' for my girlfriend. I ain't climbin' the ladder, pipsqueak." Melissa answered without looking up from her phone. Right in time, the front doors opened, and you came in. Melissa waved, waiting for you. "She's with me!" She yelled across the hall to the security.

When you came to her, redhead hugged your waist, kissing your cheek. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, Mel." You smiled back at her.

"Oh, Melissa, is that your girlfriend?" Janine looked you up and down surprised.

"No, I'm her uncle." You rolled your eyes, grinning at the redhead.

"Hah! That's a good one, babe." Melissa grinned back at you. "Yes, shorty, that's Y/N, she's my girlfriend. But I ain't explainin' anything else, go mind your own business."

And with that, Melissa pulled you into her classroom, leaving Janine alone with the newfound fact. When she explained everything you needed to know about the renovation, you took off your jacket and rolled the sleeves of your old shirt that was already covered in paint stains from the artistic activities of yours. Melissa was moving small boxes and chairs while watching you towering on the ladder with a paint roller in your hands. She had to admit that you looked incredibly sexy standing on top of the ladder, focused on painting carefully, hands covered in paint splashes, brows frowned. She liked watching you paint your artworks at home. You used to dive deep into the process, so she wasn't afraid to be caught watching you. She was impressed when you first showed her the paintings. She's already told you millions of times how incredibly talented you were to create characters and worlds from scratch and to imprint different complex emotions on the canvas. But you never listened to her. You didn't think highly about your artwork, as you always thought about it as a hobby. Your family used to tell you that you need to find a real job and do real things instead of wasting paint and money. Melissa was the first person to really support your hobby. It all started from silly sketches on the napkins that you would put in her bag during the coffee shop dates, and now she lets you settle your painting studio in her garage and model for your studies.

Suddenly, Melissa was pulled out of her thoughts by two inseparable, annoying coworkers.

"Oh, wow, Melissa, your ceiling looks much cleaner than mine! I got it all stained with the paint." Jacob said, peeking in the doorframe.

"Yeah, and how you don't have any splashes on the floor? When I'm painting, all the paint drips down on the floor..." Janine looked surprised, examining the classroom.

"Well, because my classroom is getting painted by a very careful girl." Melissa winked at you, spotting how you blushed.

"Oh, hi dear! Y/N, how lovely to see you here!" Barbara suddenly appeared in the doorframe, waving at you.

"Hello, Barbara!" You waved back, going down the ladder.

"I shall tell you, the portrait you drew was incredible. My sister loved it very much! Thank you again."

"No problem, I'm happy she liked the present." You simply smiled, not being used to public praise in front of strangers.

"Wait, what portrait?" Janine asked.

"Y/N is an artist. A couple of weeks ago, I asked her if she could draw a portrait of my sister for her birthday. The painting was incredible!"

"You are an artist? No doubts why the walls are so accurately painted!" Janine joked.

"Wait, what?" You turned to face the second-grade teacher.

"Well, you're skilled, that's why you paint the walls so accurately..." Janine tried to explain.

"Janine, stop..." Melissa interrupted her coworker.

"Are you saying that I'm painting the walls accurately just because I'm an artist and I've got skills of moving a brush with paint across some surface?"

"Well, yes... It comes naturally for you. No?"

"Well, I'm sorry to destroy your theories, but painting walls has nothing to do with what I draw. The walls texture and canvas have nothing in common. The tools I'm using aren't the same you use for painting walls. Why do I even need to explain it to you?"

"Babe, calm down, don't listen to her." Melissa tried to calm you down by putting her hand on your lower back. "Janine, go mind your own business. You, Jacob, too."

You threw the last stern look at the woman before she went away.

"Babe, I'm sorry for what she said. She doesn't know what she's talking about." Melissa hugged you, drawing circles with her hand on your lower back. "Forget what she said."

"Okay..." You muttered quietly in the crook of her neck.

At the same time, in Janine's classroom, the second-grade teacher was pacing around the ladder, waiting for Gregory to come and help her paint the borderline between the walls and the ceiling.

"Janine, what happened? I heard some noise from Melissa's classroom." Gregory asked, walking in.

"Yeah...um...there's Melissa's girlfriend, Y/N, in there. And she kinda helps Melissa paint the walls. And...so...appeared she's the artist. And I just praised her work, that's all."

"What exactly did you say?"

"Well... something like that's the reason why she painted the walls so good, because she's a professional, its natural for her. That's what I said. I didn't say anything offensive, but she was so defensive..."

"Well, you basically said that drawing artworks is the same as painting walls... Did you know that people actually study before they can paint walls professionally and work with a renovation team? And it's not the same as drawing portraits. You need different skills for both activities." Gregory shrugged.

"How did you know she draws portraits?"

"A week ago, Barbara might have told me about that birthday present she purchased from Melissa's mysterious girlfriend... I didn't ask. She was just too excited not to share."

"Okay.. but I still don't understand why she got so offended?"

"Alright. Let's say... someone you don't know came to you and asked you to explain them trigonometry and chemistry of the 9th grade. Would you do it?"

"No, because I'm a second grade teacher. I can teach them about the solar system."

"Yes, and then they tell you that you should know that, because you're a teacher, it shall be natural for you to know everything. What a teacher are you, if you can't teach someone? Even if you don't specialize in that... You can't know exactly why Y/N got so defensive, but the thing you said offended her."

"Okay, I got it... I shall apologize to Y/N." Janine said and left the room. She immediately saw you walking towards Melissa's classroom as you've just washed your hands in the bathroom after finishing painting.

"Hey, Y/N!" Janine exclaimed, drawing your attention. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"Okay..." You still wasn't impressed by the apology. "You shall know that my skill of painting walls has nothing to do with my drawing skills. My parents used to do renovations all on their own. And they would make me participate since I was a little girl, saying that i shall put my artistic interest to some good use. They would say, 'Hey, we've got a task for a real artist!' And then they would make me paint walls and doorframes. So I simply had to learn a thing or two from them, I had no choice. That's why I do it so well." You said and disappeared into Melissa's classroom.

By the end of the day, you helped Melissa clean all the dust and move the furniture back to its place. You were waiting next to the car for her to say goodbye to Barbara. You still were a little sad because of what redhead's coworker told you. Even after all Melissa's support, you still felt insecure about your paintings, and Janine's words cut you deep, revealing all the doubts you got from years of making fun of. The thoughts were spiraling in your head. You had all the fights with your parents about your interest on loop, so you simply didn't notice as redhead came to you, fidgeting the car keys in her hand.

"Are you hanging here all alone, beautiful?" Melissa joked. "Hey, are you alright? Is it because I asked you to help?"

"Huh? No, no, it's not. I was glad to help. There was no way I would let you climb the ladder, woman." You tried to joke back. "I think I'm just a little tired."

"Oh. Does my girl want to have a little romantic evening as a payback for her help?" Melissa stroked your hand, intertwining your fingers. You simply nodded, squeezing her hand in yours. "Okay, baby, let's go home and have some nice dinner."

The ride was quiet. You enjoyed the sound of Melissa humming some familiar tunes. When you came back home, the redhead cooked you an amazing dinner. All her cooking was incredible. She was an amazing cook. After dinner was finished and dishes were washed, you enjoyed the company of each other while sipping on wine. You curled in her side. She had her arm draped over your shoulders. Melissa's steady breathing and warmth of her chest calmed you, but still thoughts were spiraling in your head. You were pulled out of your head by soft kisses to the top of your head.

"Hon, you're so distant tonight. What's going on in this creative mind of yours?" Melissa asked, hugging you.

"I dunno, I just feel a little bit down tonight." You shrugged.

"Y/N, is it 'cause of that Janine incident?" She looked dead in your eyes.

"Yeah... I know I should forget about it, but her words somehow got deep in my mind, and now I'm rotting from inside..." You looked down where her fingers intertwined yours. "I just keep remembering my parents' words and how they've talked about my art and everything. No one ever took my art seriously. For everyone, it was just a funny hobby. So now, every time I look at my paintings, I simply don't see anything good, always see the mistakes. For some reason, people think that if you're an artist, then you should be good at any creative activities. And it's so frustrating for me. It's like I'm back at my parents' house and being told that the only thing my artistic skills are good for is painting walls..." You looked down as the single tear dropped down your cheek.

"Hon..." Melissa hurried to wipe the wet road off of your cheek, cupping it. "You don't have to listen to anyone. You've put so much effort into that. You've been working so hard to improve your skills. I've seen your artworks and they're incredible! It's okay to see mistakes in your paintings, 'cause you have the whole image in you head, you know a lot so you can spot the mistakes, but it doesn't make your art bad. It gives you the opportunity to improve your techniques in the next piece. People only see the result, they don't know the idea, so they can only judge the final art. And I know that your art is amazing. And people also don't know a shit. Anyone who's ever made fun of you were just jealous, that all. They were trying to make you feel miserable so you would quit your thing. Because they feel that they can not do the same. But you can. You need to be stronger, bolder, to show people that you really love what you're doing and nothing can change your mind!" To put an end to her thought, she kissed your forehead and smiled at you.

And you were ready to drown in her soft green eyes that were looking at you with unimaginable love and support. You've never felt like this in your life. No one ever fought for you like Melissa did. The way she was so passionate about supporting you felt so warm and safe for you. It's like you were finally seen and heard. An, what's more important, you were loved. Every bit of your existence was loved by the redhead woman in front of you.

"Thank you, Mel. I love you." You smiled at her, wrapping your arms around her neck.

"I love you too, Y/N." She smiled back and kissed you.

The kiss was soft and slow at first. Both of you were pouring every ounce of love you had for each other into this dance of lips. But then you felt Melissa getting bolder and hungrier. The kissing got faster, messier. Melissa brought you closer, holding your waist. Her full, soft lips were capturing yours with force. You got drunk on her smell and taste. You buried your fingers in her auburn hair, scratching the scalp, bringing her closer than it was possible. Once her hand got under your shirt, she stopped the kiss and looked in your eyes. Her pupils were blown, eyes got almost black.

"I'm gonna tell the dumbest thing..." She put her hand on your thigh. "You've got an artist inside you. Tonight, let the artist inside me be you... Baby, paint me like a canvas. I want to see you dripping colors on the bedsheets." She was whispering in your ear. Her hot breath tickled the sensitive skin.

"Melissa..." You almost whined under her.

"I want you to dip your brush into my pallet and make a mess tonight."

"Jesus Christ..." You gripped her thighs, closing eyes."That's the hottest thing someone's ever told me."

"And you know what? You never let the paint run dry..." She looked seductively in your eyes and licked her kiss-swollen lips.

"Bed. Now."

Melissa took your hand, jumped off the couch, and almost ran up the stairs to the bedroom. When the door closed behind you, she pulled you on top of her, falling on the bed. The kiss never stopped. The clothes dropped down on the floor. You both were craving bare skin contact, gripping, touching, caressing, and scratching. You wanted to feel every inch of soft skin. You remembered what she said. "Paint me like a canvas..." And paint you did. You left the road of open-mothed kisses, red hikeys and light bites from her lips to her breasts, kneaded the supple flesh of her full breasts, traced small patterns around her nipples taking each one in your mouth. You sucked them, kissed them, bit them, pulling more and more whines and moans from Melissa. She was holding you by the back of your head, never letting go. When you gave one of her nipples a harder suck she arched her back, moaning out a high "Baby, please..."

"Mel, come sit on my face." You told her getting up from her chest.

She quickly changed places with you, leaving you laying on the bed and cradling up to your face. When she put both of her thighs around your head, you hugged hot, soft flesh and gave her inner thighs quick kisses. You looked up, spotting the most gorgeous sight. Melissa was looking down at you with eyes full of lust and adoration. Her hair was a mess, cascading down her shoulders and chest. Perky nipples were almost red from your manipulations. Soft pale skin was covered in slightly visible marks. "Beauty," you thought. You let her lower herself on your tongue and heard the most beautiful moan ever. She quickly started grinding on your tongue, burying your nose in her slightly trimmed bush. You could smell her sweat and arousal, could taste her sweet lust and craving. You couldn't stop yourself from lowering your hand to your core. You could feel your own wetness covering your fingers and inner thighs. You sinked one finger in, feeling how easy it went and moaning into Melissa's pussy. All the vibrations were driving her crazy and she fastened her movements, while you started slowly fucking yourself. First with one finger, but then you let the second one slide in. You were desperately fucking your own hole while eating the redhead out. Her grinding got faster, she gripped the headboard and shot her eyes closed, reaching her orgasm. You could sense her release, so you curled your fingers and thrusted a couple more times, while sucking hard on her clit. It pulled Melissa and you into the burning flame of you shared culmination. She moaned loudly, grinding a little more, and then stilled catching her breath.

Your pussy was clenching around your own fingers, crying for more pleasure. You kissed the woman's sensitive clit, feeling how it twitched, and tapped her thigh. She layed down next to you, kissing and feeling her own taste on your lips.

"Are you ready for the next round?" You asked her, sitting up.

"I sure am." She smiled at you, caressing your thigh.

You pecked her lips, feeling her grinning, and hurried to open the nightstand and pick out a double-sided dildo. When you dipped one end inside your tight hole, you crawled on top of Melissa, peppering her breasts and shoulders in kisses and making her giggle. You ended up pinning her wrists and making out.

"Please, hon', you gotta finish what you started... Oh God!" Melissa moaned when one of your hands lowered to her core and stroked her clit.

"Your wish is my command." You grinned at her, sitting up and lining the tip of the lubed dildo with her entrance.

With one slow thrust you entered her with the full length, pulling the most pornographic moan out of her. One end was buried deep inside you and the other was deliciously hitting redhead's G-spot with every thrust. She was moaning and squirming under you, locking her legs around your thighs. The room got filled with wet sounds of flesh meeting, her loud moans and your muffled whimpering. The dildo was bent, so with every thrust it was massaging your clit, sending electric shots through your whole body. You've found the steady rhythm that was driving Melissa crazy. She kneaded her breasts, twisting and tugging her perky nipples, moaning your name and muffled curses. You grabbed her thigh with one hand and started circling her clit with the other, making Melissa arch her back and cry out in pleasure. Her hips were meeting you halfway, silently asking for your wet thrusts to fasten. You were able to look down at her through the white heat of your own approaching orgasm and your mind went blank. The view was breathtaking. Her covered in stretch marks thick milky thighs were hugging you. Swolen clit was twitching under your touch. Her soft lower belly was slightly moving with every thrust of a long dildo inside her. Her covered in hot sweat body was squirming, waiting for the wave of pleasure to wash over. Huge heavy tits were bouncing, while she groped them and played with her nipples. Her beautiful face was showing all the pleasure she was experiencing. Brows frowned, eyes closed shut, mouth opened, while filthy high pitched moans were spilling out.

"Hon'...p-please..." Mel suddenly moaned.

This view and the sound of her pleading almost made you cum immediately. You fastened your thrusting, angling her legs so you'd go deeper. Your movements were fast and short, the dildo inside never exited her. You were so close to her you could feel the heat radiating from her. The smell of sex, her sweat, and juices were hitting your nose, making you absolutely feral. Her loud moans and the sound of wet sloping filled your head, erasing all the thoughts except for the thought of how wonderful it would be if you could fill her hot hole up. Fill her with the blazing slick love you had for her. You could breed her again and again until you both would go numb. And then watch her tight pussy contract in aftershocks and your mixed juices would spill out of her, covering her lips and ass. Just the thought of it made you cum harder than ever. With the lust sloppy thrust, you arched your back, screaming her name, feeling your own walls tighten around the end inside you. On the other end, Melissa has also fallen apart. With a lound "FUCK!!" she bent in half, her forehead meeting your chest. Her body was shaking, and warm liquid gushed on your stomach. Your belly and thighs were covered in her wetness, while she was a panting mess. You caressed her thighs, making sure to comfort her before you would pull the toy out. When you did so, she whimpered at the sudden emptiness and opened her eyes slightly, watching you taking the other end out of you and dropping it on the floor. You picked up your shirt, that was on the floor the whole time, and cleaned her juices on your body.

"Sorry for that.." She mumbled.

"No worries, it was hella hot, babe. Wait a sec, I'll go get a...." You started but was cut off by her.

"No, fuck it, the washcloth can wait. I need you, come here." She said, opening her arms and stretching on the bed.

You happily climbed back and hugged her, letting her nuzzle face in the crook of your neck. You smelled her ginger locks amd kissed the top of her head, while caressing her shoulders and back. You felt her squeeze your waist and kiss your collarbone.

"Do you know, I love you?" She asked muffled.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know. I love you too. Thank you for everything you said and for all your support, Mel."

"You are the most amazing person in the world, and the most talented artist ever, hon'. I guess we made the shades of you and me a masterpiece..." She wiggled her eyebrows at you and you both laughed.

You held her tight, knowing that she would always be by your side, making sure you know you deserve to shine.

#Spotify #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti smut #melissa schemmenti x reader

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