#doing weird curve shots and shit

[artstennisracket]

request: thinking really hard about coach!dilf!patrick and how he'd spank bratty!tennisplayer!reader with his racket whenever she mouths off (and then fuck her with the handle. obviously)

tennis coach!Patrick x fem!reader, part 2

cw: nsfw (18+), spanking, object insertion, d/s undertones

You’ve gone through 15 tennis coaches in the past 5 years because you were “uncoachable”. But your parents knew the real reason why, your attitude.

You would question, fight back, and argue about every single little thing anyone tried to teach you. It’s exhausting for them but also for you. You never thought any of those coaches were good enough. They were too nice or too soft or too inexperienced or just too wrong.

No one really meshed with you or your playing style. You had non negotiables. One of those things being your serve. It was unique. You would bend down at an almost uncomfortable angle, bounce the ball twice, before you shoot up tossing the ball the air and hitting it.

It was weird and you didn’t know why you did it that way but you did and it worked. But every coach you ever had wanted you to fix it. Except for Patrick.

He coached you sure but never once mentioned your serve. Maybe it’s because his serve was weird too.

Your parents were surprised you kept this coach for so long, but Patrick just treated you like a real player. The part that really surprised your parents was that you never argued with him or mouthed off.

He was also just really hot. He would come over 5 days a week to your family home, and you guys would practice at your home tennis court.

He was older than you, by almost 12 years. He started coaching you when you were 18 and now you’re 20. You tried to make your passes and did your occasional flirting. Wore extra short skirts and made sure to bend over slowly when you had to pick up a tennis ball.

You were nothing if not persistent so this practice was no different.

You pulled out all the stops. You wore a short white tennis skirt that stopped just below curve of your ass and a tight pink polo top with the top buttons unbuttoned. You didn’t wear a bra so the outside breeze made your nipples perk up under your shirt. And whether or not you were wearing panties was questionable.

Patrick never acknowledged what you were wearing. He just kept his sunglasses on and a neutral face when he said, “Ready to get to work?”

Practice went on as usual until you decided to be difficult on purpose. Patrick had you doing drills serving to hit certain cones spread out on the court. So you just kept missing on purpose.

“Are you good? Feeling okay?” He asks from where he’s stood on the other side of net.

Okay time to turn up the brattiness. You scoff putting your hand on your hip, “What? I can’t miss a couple shots?”

He raises his eyebrows clearly taken aback, “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“I just don’t understand why you keep asking me questions, you don’t get paid to question me you get paid to coach me.”

“Well I don’t like your fucking attitude right now so i’m not coaching shit.” He says dropping his racket into the bin that holds all the tennis balls. He starts to walk off the court, taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Fuck. You need to get him to come back here and take out his anger on you, not cool off with a cigarette.

You yell in his direction, “Yeah? Well you’re so old you can’t even coach for shit anyway!”

He stops in his tracks. He puts his unlit cigarette back in the pack, putting the pack back in his pocket. He turns back in your direction and walks straight to you.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you into the sports shed where your family kept all their sports gear.

He stops dropping your wrist. He pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head. He turns around to face you, standing so close to you, your noses are almost touching. He says just above a whisper, “You think you can fucking talk to me like that? What the fuck do you think this is?”

This is the closest, physically, you guys have ever been. So naturally, you’re a little nervous but happy that your plan is maybe working? You stutter, “I-I um I didn’t think anything.”

He does a once over, looking you up and down. Then he continues, “You think I don’t know what this is? Acting like a brat to get my attention? To get me to fuck you?”

Oh. He saw right through you and somehow that just adds to the butterflies in your stomach.

“That’s not— I never, I didn’t—“

He cuts you off, “Don’t lie to me.”

You shake your head continuing your lie, “no I never— I swear I didn’t—“

Before you can register what’s happening, he sits down in the bench and puts you over his lap. Oh.

He lifts up your skirt and curses under his breath. You weren’t wearing panties. You could feel the rush cool air against your now exposed skin. He rubs his hand over your ass for a second before he picks up a nearby racket.

“You expect me to believe you weren’t acting up to get my attention when your wearing the shortest skirt you own, no bra so everyone can see your hard nipples through your shirt, and your not even wearing panties?” He asks, slowly dragging the tennis racket over your ass.

You nod biting your lip.

Smack.

“Ah—“ You let out a half gasp half yelp when the first smack of the tennis racket lands on your ass.

“Well if you’re gonna keep behaving like a lying brat, then I’m going to have to punish you like one,” He says before landing another spank on your ass.

Smack.

You moan this time as the racket collides with your ass.

“Parading around the court like a desperate slut. surprised you didn’t just bend over for me right on the court. That’s what you really wanted right?”

Smack.

You nod your head letting out another moan.

Smack.

“I asked you a question that means your supposed to answer me.” He says sternly before raising the racket again.

Smack.

“Yes fuck, that’s what I wanted. Wanted you to fuck me on the court, please.”

You anticipate that another smack is going to land on your ass but instead you feel two fingers sliding up your folds and pressing into your entrance.

“Shit, Patrick,” You whine as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your tight hole.

“You’re already so wet. you really are desperate for me, aren’t you? How long have you wanted me to fuck you?” He asks while he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing against the spongy area.

You groan. It feels really fucking good, it’s hard to focus, “Ah- two years, when you became my coach.”

Now Patrick groans. He adds one more finger inside you, alongside the two that were already in there. “Fuck. Dressing like a slut for two years trying to get me to fuck you. I fucking knew it. Jesus. Made me feel like such a creep watching you. Had to start wearing sunglasses to practice so you couldn’t tell I was staring at you.”

You smirk at that, you knew your plan had to have been working all these years. From your place laid across his lap, you can feel him start to grow hard.

“Well I’m still not gonna fuck you, brats don’t get rewarded.”

You whine at that, “That’s not fair you just said you wanted to fuck me so fuck me please, please just fuck me.”

He bites his lip before he gets an idea. He pulls his fingers out of your hole and you whine at the loss. He grabs the same racket from before.

“Wait what’re you doing—“

He uses one hand to spread your folds, exposing your hole, while using the other hand to line up the handle of the racket. He starts pushing in it slowly, watching closely how your hole grips around the racket.

He groans, “Fuck baby, taking it so well.” He pumps the racket slowly, pulling it so the handle is almost all the way out before pushing it back in as deep as it can go.

You never felt this full before but every time he presses the racket in deep it feels so good. Eventually he starts pumping the racket a little faster. You start moaning uncontrollably, rocking your hips back against the racket.

“Your tight hole is so fucking greedy baby, jesus. Fucking yourself back on it like you can’t get enough.” He moves one hand to squeeze your chest, circling your nipple with his finger.

You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you. The volume of your moans increasing until you reach your release, “‘m gonna cum, oh fuck Patrick.”

He lets you ride out your orgasm before he pulls the wet racket handle out of you. It’s covered in your juices.

You think it’s all over until you hear him say, “Get on your knees.”

So you do. Still a little wobbly from laying down for so long but you get on your knees between his legs. You can see the tent in his shorts now. You’re hoping you’ll finally get to see his see his cock, feel the weight of it on your tongue. You just know it’s huge.

So you open your mouth, sticking our tongue to show that you’re ready to suck him off.

He smirks before he presses the tennis racket handle down your throat, “Good girls clean up their mess.”

You choke a little but try to relax your throat, sucking the handle to clean it off. Once he’s satisfied he pulls the racket out of your mouth, placing it beside him on the bench.

He stands up and you watch as he tucks his boner into the waistband of his shorts. He bends down to whisper into your ear, “Maybe next time if you’re a good girl for the whole week, then I’ll fuck you.”

He stands up heading to the exit the sports shed. He moves his sunglasses back down to rest on his nose bridge. Before he leaves he calls out, “See you tomorrow for 8am practice.”

[wzrd-wheezes]

Smitten - James Potter x Reader

AN - Here's a little James fluff that I wrote and completely forgot about lol. Enjoy <3.

He’s smitten. Completely and irrevocably captivated. One glance from her and the world shifts on its axis. When she smiles, his imagination soars and his brain is all white doves and champagne toasts.  

Her laugh isn’t just a sound. It’s church bells on a spring afternoon. He’s not a religious man, but for her, he’d build a cathedral with his bare hands and worship at her altar forever. A simple curve of her lips and he’s envisioning vows under a canopy of twinkling lights, her name being the only prayer he’ll ever need. 

Pathetic. That’s what he tells himself when her hand brushes his. The fleeting touch sparking fireworks he swears other people could see if they looked close enough. In his mind’s eye, he’s already down on one knee, slipping a pretty ring onto her finger. He doesn’t even know her that well yet, but one thing he knows for sure: he’s done for. 

This isn’t like anything he’s ever felt. He’s dated before – flirted, kissed, even thought he’d loved once – but none of that prepared him for this. His heart races, his palms sweat, his cheeks flush whenever she’s near. 

“Mate, you’ve got it bad.” Sirius drawled, taking a long sip of his beer, “I’ve never seen anyone go full Romeo like this before.” 

“Romeo wrote poetry. I’m not writing poetry.” James shot back, leaning against the table. 

“Yet.” Sirius quipped, “Give it a week. You’ll be sitting in your room scribbling odes to her in your journal.” 

“That’s Moony’s thing, not mine.” James teased, raising his glass in mock toast towards Remus. 

Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat, sticking two fingers up at James and rolling his eyes, “At least I have the self-respect to not get googly-eyed over someone I’ve spoken to, what? Twice?” 

“Three times.” James corrected automatically, only to wince when his friends dissolved into laughter. 

“You fall in love quicker than Sirius can down a pint.” Remus quipped, clearly enjoying himself. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Sirius tormented, “or have you not planned it yet? Here, Moony, do you think Prongs is a spring wedding guy, or more of an autumn kind of thing?” 

“Spring.” Remus replied dryly, “Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. All very poetic.”  

“Obviously, there’ll be doves,” Sirius added, gesturing grandly as if arranging the scene. 

“Maybe throw in a harpist for good measure,” Remus suggested, deadpan. 

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands, “You two are insufferable-” He froze, mid-protest, his groan dying in his throat as the sound of laughter drifted across the pub. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the soft sound hit him square in the chest. 

 She was here. 

Of course she was. The universe had an impeccable sense of irony. 

Sirius, ever observant, followed James’s line of sight and grinned like the Cheshire Cat, “Oh, would you look at that.” He said, far too loudly for James’s liking. 

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, “Shit. What’s she doing here?” 

Sirius and Remus exchanged a shifty glance with each other and Sirius took a slow sip from his pint, his grin growing more smug by the second.  

“You bastards!” James gasped, realisation dawning on him, “You knew she was going to be here! I thought it was weird that you picked this pub and not the Broomsticks!” 

Remus snorted, his mouth splitting into a cocky smile as he nodded. Maybe the universe wasn’t cruel, but his friends sure were.  

“Guilty as charged.” Remus sniggered. 

“Yep.” Sirius replied, popping the ‘p’, “Mary mentioned that they were coming here tonight. Thought you could do with a little push in the right direction.”  

“You planned this?”  James said incredulously, “You’ve been conspiring behind my back!” 

“More like wingmanning really,” Remus shrugged, “You go on about her all the time Prongsy. We were just... facilitating the inevitable.”  

“Right, and what was the grand plan?” James pretended to look annoyed but his heart was racing a little, “I’m supposed to just walk up to her now and –what? Spill my heart out?” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “If you want to. Or you could just start with ‘Hello’. You know, like a normal bloke.”  

“Or go and buy her a drink.” Remus drained the last drop of his beer and waved the empty glass in James’s face, “It’s your round anyway.” he winked. 

James hesitated, glancing across the room to where she stood. 

“Fine.” He muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “but if this goes sideways then I’m blaming you.” 

Sirius grinned, “Oh, it’ll go brilliantly. Go get her, Romeo.” 

Okay, Potter. Play it cool. Don’t trip. Definitely don’t trip. 

James’s heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the pub, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses fading into the background. All he could focus on her- and the pounding in his chest. She looked so effortlessly radiant, standing with Mary and Lily, a drink in her hand.  

Just say hello. He told himself. It wasn’t hard. Two syllables. Completely manageable.  

When her reached their table, she turned, her smile softening when she saw him. “James, hey! I didn’t expect to see you here.”  

Step one: complete. She remembers your name. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting, leaning casually against the table. Or at least, what he hoped looked like casually. 

“Hey. Yeah, funny coincidence, huh? Was just on my way to the bar when I saw you guys. Thought I’d come and say hello.” 

From across the room, Sirius fake coughed something that sounded suspiciously close to “liar!”. James ignored him, focusing entirely on her. As always. 

“Are you out with Sirius and Remus?” Mary asked, smiling at him knowingly. 

“Sat planning their next scheme I assume?” Lily grinned.  

“Probably.” James tried to slyly wipe his clammy palms on his jeans, “I’ve learned not to ask questions.”  

“Smart man.” Y/N smiled softly, “So, are you here to escape them?” 

“Something like that.” the tightness in his chest eased a little, “I’m just heading to get a drink. Do you want anything?” he directed the question towards her. 

“Oh, I'll come with you.” She said, standing up, “It’s my round anyway.” 

He barely managed to keep his face neutral as she fell into step beside him, the warmth of her presence making his brain short circuit.  

“So,” she said, glancing at him as they approached the bar, “Did Sirius and Remus drag you here, or was this your idea?” 

He hesitated for a second, scared that he’d been caught red handed. He could like, pretend this was all a coincidence, but something about the casual way that she asked made him think that she’s just making conversation. She doesn’t know. She can't know. She has no idea how often she’s occupied his thoughts, how ridiculous he’s been about her. 

“They had opinions of the venue,” he settled on, trying to keep his tone light, “Remus often drags us here – cheaper pints and all that.”  

She hummed, considering his answer and then picked up the menu, “So, what’s your usual?” 

James blinked. “My what?” 

“Your usual drink,” she clarified, throwing him a bemused look, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those blokes who just orders whatever.” 

“Absolutely not.” James lied. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully, “You so are.” 

James shrugged, trying not to look thrown off, “I like to keep things interesting.” 

“Yeah?” she said, clearly unconvinced, “So what are you ordering then”? 

He opened his mouth to speak before realising that he doesn’t actually care what he drinks. He couldn’t order a beer, could he? That was far too predictable. A cocktail maybe? Then, to his horror, he blurted out, “What are you getting?” 

She lifted an amused eyebrow, “What, are you going to copy me?” 

“No,” James scoffed, as it that would be ridiculous, “I’m just... curious. Looking for inspiration.” 

She pursed her lips a little, scanning the selection of bottles behind the bar, “I was thinking a rum and coke.” 

“Excellent choice.” James said, as if he had any thoughts on rum and coke whatsoever. 

“That’s what you’re getting, isn’t it?” her lips twitched into a smile. 

He gestured vaguely, “I mean, if I happen to want the same thing-”  

She laughed, shaking her head as she places their order. James exhales, wondering if this conversation is going as awfully as it feels, but she seems relaxed, like this is normal.  

Which for her, it probably is. She doesn’t know. 

“You didn’t properly answer my question earlier.” she turned back to him. 

“Which one?” 

“Why this pub?” she tilted her head, “You guys are always at the Broomsticks.” 

Shit. Shit. 

“Oh, are you stalking me now?” he teased, “Change of scenery I guess.” 

She hummed again, clearly not buying it, but before she can dig deeper, the bartender returns with their drinks.  

James latched onto the distraction like a lifeline as he paid.  

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. 

She clinked her against his, smiling easily, “Cheers, Potter.” 

His name sounds too good when she says it.  

When he returned to the table, Sirius is grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on.  

James pointedly doesn’t look at him. 

She doesn’t know.  

And maybe, for now, that’s for the best. 

“You’re gone, mate.” Sirius smirks. 

“Completely gone.” Remus agrees. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

[maybeafrog-blog]

In Defense of Donnie's Gifts

I'm ngl I sorta think the shock collar was still just an odd writing decision but as far as PREMISE:

It CANNOT be a coincidence that this is the first time (and one of VERY few times) that Donnie's soft shell is referenced. Once, when Raph is hesitating to tell Donnie his gifts suck ass, and he uses the soft shell metaphor, and after that with Meat Sweats and his paprika, describing it as not just soft, but delicate. Weird, but he is a cannibal, so. (Side note, Meat Sweats never removed his battle shell? How does he know? Or did he take it off and replace it after the pound of butter? Is he using it to facilitate steaming and tenderness? Is it broken? I feel like it should have something in there that could break him out of the sausage links)

Then in that last little scene- "Forget it. You guys are great the way you are!" - we get the shot of Donnie from behind pre group hug, with his brothers facing the camera. (Idk if I'm making shit up, but I feel like this is a staple for Donnie episodes? It def happens in the Purple Game, maybe Smart Lair.) The framing draws attention to his battle shell. The battle shell even kinda matches the gifts, compared to the rest of their gear and even Donnie's tech, color coded and way more streamlined than stuff like the tech bo.

Donnie's soft shell is an innate, unchangeable part of him, a feature of his species, that he treats as a handicap. Probably MORE unchangeable than the character traits he sees as holding his brothers back, which they do sorta... not mature out of, but refine, rather, over the course of the show. Donnie's shell can't experience a character arc, but he sees it as holding him back. So he FIXES it.

The Mad Dogs don't really have a motivation for beating stuff up besides "Hero Time!!!" at this point. That's why it's so interesting how EARLY this happens, unlike with Mind Meld, he isn't trying to change his brothers to make them better at a task that he actually CARES about. Donnie in particular never gets a super intense moral compass besides stuff that threatens people he already cares about, and he doesn't have any grudges (no Purple Dragons) at this point in the series. Hero Goals are largely devices for him to hang out with his dum dum brothers. I'm not diagnosed or anything but my vibes are certainly... Spectrum-Adjacent, I definitely have trouble with literal thinking and reading people. One thing that happens sometimes is people will be using "task" as "reason to hang," and I will get a lot more fixated on completing said task than I really should, to the point of annoying people. I confuse "Successful Task Completion" with "Successful Social Interaction." It makes me come across as bossy and controlling without realizing it.

So, we got a Donnie who thinks Arbitrary Goals are essential to Hero Bonding, who has been treating his life like an mmorpg - armor upgrades, skill trees, grinding, sometimes fighting through random dungeons to hang out with his bros. He's probably even slightly better at Fighting Stuff than his brothers atp, he isn't dealing with a mystic learning curve and his special interest has been Weapons of Mild Destruction for years already. His brothers want to level up, take harder missions, he tries to get them there with his access to High Level Loot.

Of course, his brothers are all min-maxing, not trying to multiclass their purple ass out of squishy glass cannon town. So, it doesn't go well. Unfortunately, the lesson Donnie learns (besides brotherly affection) is that his brothers don't NEED fixing like he does. Mind Meld and Donnie vs. Witch Town sorta finish this arc out as best as the series can.

Where I would have liked to see this go:

A S2 Donnie's Gifts or Mind Meld style episode (Donnie tries to improve his brothers, to their dismay) where the motivator isn't goal completion, but protectiveness. We see a bit of the fear in Purple Game, a bit of the contingency planning with the escape pods in the movie. Maybe a more upfront "training montage" type scenario, a high tech robo dojo to develop their mad skills, or just a tense moment after a skin of their teeth Genius Built rescue.

The brothers confront Donnie eventually-- not just the passive conflict resolution of Donnie's Gifts. They get mad. Push Donnie to the point he's at in Turtle-Dega Nights. They get a rant about not wanting them to get hurt, of course, but also that he's already done so much to FIX himself, make sure he's not a LIABILITY, why can't they at least try to stay SAFE? The dangers are real now, and as far as Donnie knows he REALLY can't do anything about threats like the Shredder. His tech did nothing the first time. His brothers are the ones with the mystic mojo, and they don't even realize how SERIOUS things could get.

Anyway. Protective Donatello my Beloved. Let my boy go apeshit.

//I REALLY Like the 2003 episode where Leo is hurt and Donnie is fucking PISSED at Usagi. All Donnies should be allowed to enter a feral protective rage, as a treat.

//If anyone knows of any Purple Game Aftermath fics lmk. Like, going home, getting donnie out of the evil gamer chair, guilt, whatever. or just good Purple Dragons being Assholes content.

[sakachichi]

Drabble!Satoru The new craze is Pilates, all your girlfriends are doing it so you join in on the fun. Making it part of your daily routine, every morning walking in with your tight rompers, every inch of the stretchy fabric hugging your curves just right — your ass most importantly :p

Your Pilates class was inside a gym, in a room all the way in the very back, so you have to walk throughout the entire gym to get to it. And every morning you walk past Satoru Gojo himself, but without a care of course! Barely even noticing he’s there. You’ve seen him before of course, and thought he was super cute but up to there — nothing more. But he sees you, every morning, with your cute baby pink gym bag with your matching water bottle, your flashy colored rompers, and your hair and makeup done.

Soooo many girls are dressed the same, it’s nothing new honestly, but you…you are different. The way you carry yourself, like you got all your shit together and this was just something fun you go to, the way you smile every morning, that cute bounce in every step you take (making your booty jiggle just right) and your sweet enticing scent following so intensely behind you. Fuck, he’s so attracted to you he’s going crazy.

After a few weeks of seeing you constantly he finally shoots his shot and talks to you, but you're obviously in a hurry so it’s not for long. “Hey, Satoru” he reaches out a hand, abruptly you stop and smile wide at him (he’s so fucking cute) taking his hand replying with your name. “If you're looking for a trainer, you know…hit me up” you nod, “sure” and off you go taking your cute confident strides. His friends chuckle at his ‘failed’ attempt, but he’s confident you're his.

And he was right, after more attempts of building somewhat of a relationship, you guys finally greet each other and have small talk every morning. And one day after class, you were the last one there (which was weird because you always leave with your friends) Satoru obviously concerned, he goes to check up on you.

Satoru walks in on you, bending over and touching your toes, “oh hey!” He greets you, waving at you, slowly you get back up, “hi!” You reply, “just stretching before I leave” you giggle as you gather your things, and he’s just standing there staring at your tits. “Your flexible as fuck, damn” his face in awe as you chuckle, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “yea?” And he replies with another short yea. The both of you just stand there, stupidly smiling and staring at each other. And one thing leads to another and suddenly your bent over the Pilates machine with his cock buried so deeeeep inside you, leg up high as you look back at him.

“Shiiit, your so fucking sexy” he moans, slapping your ass making you whine, “you’ve been wanting to fuck me huh? Been wanting to be buried deep in my pussy” you talk back, biting your lip and rolling your eyes back as he hits your cervix so good. “Fuck you’re nasty, who knew you’d have such a dirty mouth?” His fingers squish your cheeks together making your lips create a ‘o’ shape, “pussy just as nasty, getting wet for a guy you barely know, have you always been this slutty?” And it’s like his words are making him even more needy as he starts fucking so much harder than before.

“Mmmm’fuck s-sato!” You moan you gripping at the leather under you, the slapping sounds are so nasty bouncing off the walls. And then two of you cum together almost like it’s rehearsed, harmonizing your moans, groans, whimpers, and grunts. So lewd it’s beautiful, chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. “And you're letting me cum in you? What else would you let me do, Hmm?”

Yeaaaaaa this ones my favorite 😛😛 yall can imagine the way im imagining this right????? I might release a fic soon primas so keep a look out 🤞🌝 I’m posting these “drabbles” to keep yall fed 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ also looking for some primas to moot 😻😽

[liveyun]

the archivist.

life has bothered you enough that you end up taking a job at a forgotten archive. somehow, one of the barren books seem know too much about you, and so does he.

▸ pairing. namjoon x fem reader/oc

▸ genre. dark fantasy, liminal horror, magical realism, mature

▸ warnings. (for this one-shot) soft eldritch joon ? ? , surrealism , unreality, oc is a broke student, mentions of a toxic ex, time gets weird, mild possession ? ? . . kind of yearning ? , also — there’s erotica appearance!! namjoon is very gentle but also very intense, emotional vulnerability x10000. english isn’t my first language so pls excuse the lil mistakes ! !

▸ wc. 2.2k +

part of the “DEADL7NES” series

────────────────────────

You take the job because you’re broke.

You found the job on a half-broken bulletin board behind the convenience store, thumbtacked between a flier for lost kittens and a “no questions asked” roommate search.

The paper looked old. Faded ink. Just a time and an address.

No title, no description. No contact number. No interviews, no prior experience needed either.

Desperation has a sound — it's the growling of your stomach on the fourth day of instant ramen, the shame of unread emails with subject lines like we regret informing you.

So despite this whole ordeal sounding shady at all points, you show up.

The building looks like it’s seen some pretty tough shit.

It leans into a pocket of space between two concrete towers like a secret. Ivy coils up its bricks like veins, there are signs of ageing and neglect, but there’s a certain vibe which just screams vintage is undeniable. There’s no signboard, only a brass doorknob that’s too cold for your touch.

You step in. Dust sighs under your shoes. The air is still, too, like it’s listening.

The timing was listed at 7:00 PM sharp. A quick glance to your wrist watch tells you it’s 6:56, and you let out a small exhale of relief through your nose.

“I see that you’re quite punctual. . .” a voice as deep as sounds echoing back from vast halls startles you as you flush momentarily. you were zoned out on the small creeper plant which seems to have no roots at all, claiming the wall from the wood floorboard.

Kim Namjoon.

That’s what he introduces himself as when he steps out from behind the desk, his voice as quiet, yet raspy as the rest of him.

“I’m Namjoon. You’ll be taking care of the shelves,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the books that stretch like ribs around the room. “Call for me if you need help. I’ll be at the desk.”

You nod.

You do not speak, because his presence has stolen language from you.

It’s not just that he’s handsome — it’s that he’s unreasonably and unfairly so. Not the kind from glossy advertisements or late-night dramas, though, this. . . is different.

He is carved.

Ancient. Like a statue that forgot it was stone and decided to breathe. Like the sculptor blew the breath of life to their creation.

There’s wisdom in the slant of his eyes. Softness, too. Like an ancient, old dragon who never ages. The dragon, who believes that there’s strength in gentleness.

His hair is thick and dark, parted gently like the petals of a bloom. Dimples bloom when he smiles, but it’s rare.

You find yourself waiting for them like sunrise.

────────────────────────

You start the job.

It’s mostly cleaning — dusting shelves, sorting book returns, arrivals, fixing the labels that curl off from old spines, and sometimes even wiping, although that’s rare. Sometimes people come in, reserved and quiet, as though they too stumbled in by mistake. You suggest titles. Smile when they leave. You see the same names again and again. No one ever asks for a library card.

The place smells of paper and petrichor.

He’s always there, somewhere—at the big desk in the corner, writing into thick journals. Sometimes you catch the curve of his hand around a pen, ink smudged on his fingers.

He doesn’t talk much. But his plants are always freshly watered. You often catch glimpses of him lovingly watering his potted plant of night jasmine, admiring the tiny life with his gentle, calm eyes.

Something strange happens: your life starts to fix itself.

The rent gets paid on time. You get better sleep. An old wound on your ankle fades like it remembers how to heal. Your ex no longer harasses you over texts. Your fridge now has fresh produce instead of ancient boxes of takeout. Your stomach issues are gone, your skin is devoid of acne and hyperpigmentation, your roommate finds a better apartment and moves out, and the silence she leaves behind is warm, not cold. Your grades improve almost magically. The professor who you swore couldn’t stand the sight of you automatically starts giving you extention periods for your assignments.

It doesn’t make sense. But you don’t question it. Not when you can finally exhale for the first time in months, can buy yourself a latte without getting concerned glances from the barista regarding the embarrassingly low balance in your student card.

You feel grateful. You feel. . . happy.

────────────────────────

One evening, you’re working, as usual. You shelve a set of old poetry books and your fingers brush against a cover that looks newer than the rest. Bound in deep crimson, its spine uncracked. The pages look white instead of yellow.

No title. No author.

You pull it free.

It’s erotica. The kind that moans long and slow.

You shouldn’t read it, but you find yourself reading it. You cannot make yourself resist.

Your eyes devour the first few lines.

“Her limbs trembled like branches after rain, heavy with want.

His hands were galaxies, tracing constellations across her skin, stars burning beneath each fingertip.

She opened beneath him like dawn, and he worshipped like a man made of midnight.”

You think you’ve forgotten breathing.

“He pressed his lips to her collarbone, reverent, like a psalm sung in a forgotten tongue.

The mouth of the beloved does not ask permission.

It tastes. It drinks. It sings against the skin.

Her breath caught like a bird between palms—

desperate, fluttering, sacred.

When her eyes closed, it was not from fear.

It was surrender.

The world vanished beneath her spine.

There was only warmth,

and the memory of a name

moaned, but not spoken.

And when he took her, it was not just a body—it was a memory. It was a myth. A myth only he could unravel from her.”

Warmth pools between your thighs, unbidden, shameful, aching. You press your thighs together, hoping for a bit of relief.

“You found that one.”

You jerk. The book nearly flies from your hands.

Namjoon stands across the aisle, arms folded loosely, gaze dipped low. His eyes are unreadable—amused, yes, but something else. Like he’s expecting this of you. Like he’s seen it happen before.

You stammer. “I, uh, — I was just—”

“Curious?” he offers, head tilting slightly. The sleeves of his khaki cardigan are folded up to his elbows, showing the delicious, golden skin of his arm.

The silence thickens. Your throat works. He doesn’t approach — he just watches you. Eyes slow, deliberate, knowing. You feel exposed, naked, like the words you read clung to your skin and spelled your desire in script only he can decipher. Shame crawls down your neck like branches of a tree, swirling with the desire which bloomed in between your legs.

He smiles. One dimple appears.

You close the book and try to breathe.

That night bothers you enough to have you squirming in your bed, aching with need.

That night, you dream of slender hands roaming in between your legs and sending you to the clouds of heaven.

────────────────────────

You don’t speak of it again.

But it lingers.

The air between you two crackles differently. Some days he looks up when you pass, and the corner of his mouth lifts. Some days you catch him watching you through the reflection in the glass door. He never stares.

Just. . . observes. Like he’s waiting for you to notice something you haven’t yet.

Weeks pass.

One night, you’re working late again, alone among the shelves. The rain taps the windows in a quiet but soothing rhythm. It feels warm. Cosy. You don’t feel sleepy working late anymore, and you feel this library has become your small world. You’re humming under your breath, dusting the top of a shelf, when a heavy book slips from its place and falls with a thud. You reach down—

—and hear a click.

There’s something behind the shelf. A panel has loosened, just barely. You dig your fingers in and pull it open.

A drawer. Hidden, because you swear that you come by this shelf almost everyday and you’ve never once caught a glimpse of it.

Inside there’s a stack of thick, leather-bound books. The top one slides forward and you stumble to catch the fat book.

You lift it.

And on the first page, you see your name.

Your full name. Handwritten in that same smooth ink you’ve seen on his desk. In the same, smooth drawl you’ve seen countless times.

You flip through it. The first pages are mostly empty, and you feel like this is some sort of a very cruel joke. Frustration touches you, and soon you’re vigorously flipping through the pages untill you reach the middle of the novel, the text written in a muted shade of blue.

I. Childhood

She was a girl with small hands and wide eyes.

She knew how to be quiet,

the way others knew how to dance or sing.

Or maybe because she was often told she spoke a lot.

When no one looked, she tucked her hands in a sack of grains, finding comfort at how the grains brushing against her soft palms felt home. No one answered her questions of wonder when she asked how did butterflies learnt how to fly, or how did they get such beautiful colours in their wings.

She was always waiting for something —

not a person, not a thing.

Just . . . something.

Maybe it was kindness. . .

Or maybe a door.

II. Adolescence

At night, she’d trace the ceiling with her gaze,

as if searching for a skylight no one had built.

There was a fire in her,

but she hid it well—

tended to it like a secret she couldn’t afford to burn.

She’d try to figure out the changes she’d went through, trying to understand if she willed them, or they just happened.

And when her tender heart was thrown away by someone insignificant, she didn’t cry.

She just curled up in her bed and stared at the light

leaking in through the window

like it was your last friend,

wondering what was wrong with her,

Or if she could ever be good enough.

III. The becoming.

There is no single word for surviving.

You did it by half.

One shift. One skipped meal. One train. Years away from home.

You stitched rent money and broken dreams

into something like hope.

No one clapped.

But you kept waking up.

That was the miracle.

—

The letter that never came,

But you expected it the most.

You checked the inbox like a ritual, a routine.

It was summer—

the air sticky and humid with waiting.

That one line, that one school—

you had braided your future around its name.

But the screen stays blank.

You laughed.

Then you cried until your chest hurt

and your throat forgot how to make sound.

You touch your stomach when no one looks.

You cross your arms when you speak.

You fear being too much,

but worse — being not enough.

You pretend you don’t see the way people look past you.

But you do.

And it breaks you.

Quietly.

But you still keep going.

—

You were cleaning,

thinking of bills and bus rides.

You find a nameless book,

But the texts inside named a different spark inside you.

You tremble, not out of fear.

Your thighs press together,

slickness blooming between them like honey under sun.

You gasp when the thought touches you—

of lips against your collarbone,

of fingers ghosting down your spine,

of someone saying your name

like a prayer without God.

You are not shy.

Only aching.

—

Your days are brighter.

And your nights are peaceful.

The wind touches your cheeks gently and you don’t question it anymore.

Because you truly feels the tranquility of happiness in a very long time, so why even think about it?

The drawer.

You didn’t mean to find it.

You were lost in the puzzle of your own mind —

Dreaming of endless skies and the rain that fell.

Then the book fell.

And the drawer opened — like it had been waiting.

Inside: parchment, ink-stained and breathing.

A book too thick to belong to anyone.

Except you.

The first page had your name.

“Is this a joke?” you ponder, but it isn’t.

Now that you’ve read your story,

You taste salt. But you don’t know if it’s bitter or sweet

Because the tears which depart your eyes aren’t of sorrow, nor fear

But your heart feels heavy,

And your body trembles.

It’s because the soul remembers

what the body has not yet learned.

You didn’t realise you were on your knees now, your hands shaking as you come to an end of the novel. Your eyes burn with tears as your heart threatenes to trash out of your chest.

He is there. Right beside you.

Close enough that his warmth shouldn’t feel so cold.

Close enough that you wonder how long he’s been standing there as you slowly turn your head to look at him, kneeling down before you. Your eyes are hazy with tears, but..

His eyes— they look gentle, soft, and almost sorrowful. The kind of softness that ruins you quietly, like lullabies sung in the wrong language, tender but distant, like a poem written for someone who died too young.

But his smile. Ah, his smile. The kind which has dimples popping out, the kind which makes his eyes turn to gentle cresents.

That smile is nothing like his eyes.

The touch which brushes your cheeks is warm, but cold at the same time, as if he knew what the turmoil inside your heart was like. His fingers, his thumb, wiping away your tears.

“Now, now—don’t cry. You yourself wanted a better life, love.”

But that’s not what scares you.

It’s those eyes which don’t look as gentle as you’ve always seen them to be.

“Did you think I would do this for free, love?”

────────────────────────

[thehighladywrites]

Interview me

pairing: ceo!rhysand x secretary bimbo!reader

summary: life is hard and you need a job to stay alive. naturally, you apply at a simple job at a company you know nothing about. Well, except for the fact that your boss is a smokeshow.

warnings: swearing

amara’s note: i’m so fucking hyped for this series guysss i have so many ideas hihihihihihihi

explore azriel’s bimboverse !

explore cassian’s bimboverse !

“Shit, shit, shit—I’m soooo not gonna make it!”

Your heels clacked dramatically against the glossy, stupidly expensive floors of an even more expensive skyscraper. Ugh, why did life have to be so unfair? You were made for luxury, not working, but apparently, rent and shopping sprees didn’t pay for themselves. So, you had reluctantly applied for a simple, cute little job—being the personal secretary for some CEO.

You sprinted toward the elevator, practically flinging yourself inside just as the doors were about to close.

“No—wait! Please hold it!”

A man’s hand shot out, stopping the doors. You stumbled in, panting, before beaming up at him.

“You’re very nice! Thank you, mister!”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes slowly dragged down your body, lingering on your barely-buttoned white blouse and tight little skirt that hugged every curve.

“Yeah, no problem, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with something you were too busy fixing your hair to pick up on. “You work here?”

“Oh, um, not yet! I think I’m actually gonna get fired before I even get hired because I accidentally overslept. My alarm is sooooo weird.” You giggled, fixing a strand of hair.

He chuckled, pressing a button. “What floor?”

“The top one! I’m here to be the CEO’s secretary.”

His smirk widened, his eyes practically devouring you. “Oh yeah? Lucky guy. He’d be a damn fool not to snatch you up.”

You blinked, confused. “Huh? I mean I haven’t got much experience, not sure he’s be that lucky.”

His creepy grin didn’t falter. “Yeah. Sure that’s what I meant.”

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out onto his floor, but not before leaning in just a little too close.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and sticky.

The second the doors shut, you frowned to yourself as you went up the floors until a ding took you out of your trance.

A slim, tall, stupidly beautiful redhead stood before you, clutching a neat stack of papers. She looked so put together—her sleek bun, her expensive-looking glasses, her perfectly ironed blouse. Ugh. She totally looked like someone who knew how to do her job.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from the sheer luxury of this office. The marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rich people smell. Was this really where you were going to work? Oh my god.

The redhead cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with your gawking. “Ms. L/N? Mr. Rhysand is ready for you.”

“Oh! Right! Yeah, of course!” You smoothed down your skirt and stepped forward—business wear was so not your thing. It totally oppressed your usual style and it made you look too corporate-y.

The redhead sighed. “This way.”

You nodded, flashing her a big, dazzling smile as you followed her down the hallway.

“Mr. Rhysand is a very busy man who doesn’t tolerate mistakes. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

She gave you a slow, judgmental once-over before scoffing. “And maybe try dressing like a professional instead of a hooker.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Oh… is this too much?” You glanced down at your outfit, genuinely puzzled. “I thought it was classy. It’s Massimo Dutti.”

The redhead’s expression didn’t change. “Just don’t waste his time,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away.

Shrugging, you smoothed down your skirt and took a deep breath before pushing open the office doors. Whatever. You looked cute, and that was what mattered.

You stepped into the office, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Your breath hitched as you took in the sheer luxury of the space—floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the entire wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The furniture was sleek, dark, and expensive, the kind you only saw in glossy magazines.

Rhysand stood by the windows, hands in his pockets, suit tailored to perfection. The late afternoon light poured in behind him, casting his tall, broad-shouldered frame in a golden glow. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, and when he finally turned to look at you, piercing eyes locking onto yours, your stomach did a little flip.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You were pretty sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. He was stupidly handsome. Very young and very attractive. Sure, he looked older than you but still. You had expected a greying man to be the big boss.

“You’re late.”

His voice was smooth and rich—like honey and sin wrapped in silk.

Your lips parted slightly. Right. The interview. Not staring at your ridiculously gorgeous potential boss.

“You’re… young.”

Rhysand’s brow arched. “Excuse me?” His tone was warm, maybe even amused, but his expression remained unreadable.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I mean—I just—I meant to say there was something wrong with my alarm. I swear I’m not usually late!”

Heat crawled up your neck. His voice alone had you all flustered, and the way he was looking at you? Yeah, this was bad for your focus.

Rhysand hummed, watching you for a moment longer before nodding toward the chair in front of his desk. “Right. Let’s begin.”

He walked over, effortlessly graceful, and leaned against the edge of his desk—half lounging, half scrutinizing as you sat down, smoothing your skirt.

”So,” Rhysand leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as he studied you. “Tell me why you think you’re the right fit for this position.”

You straightened, flashing him your brightest, most confident smile. ”I’m very organized! And great at, um… scheduling things and answering phones! I’ll do whatever you want and need.”

Rhysand’s lips curled slightly, the hint of a smirk playing at the edges. His violet eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you, head tilting just a fraction.

“Whatever I want and need?” His voice was smooth, dangerously amused.

You blinked, nodding obliviously. “Yep! I’m super dedicated. I’ll make your coffee, organize your files, take notes, remind you of meetings—oh! And I’m a great assistant. I’ll be there when ya need me.”

Rhysand let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good to know.” His gaze swept over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm before he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest again.

“So, tell me, what do you know about this company?”

Shit. You knew absolutely nothing. His eyes narrowed, clearly seeing right through you. Damn it. You only had one option left. You flashed him a saccharine smile. You’d charm your way out, even if it was tacky.

“I’m sure you’re doing super important work, Mr. CEO. I’m just here to support you in all your very important tasks,” you said, stalling and distracting him with your charm.

Of course, Rhysand saw right through you. He could see right through your game, but he let you believe you were in control. You were quick, clever, and undeniably sweet—something about it intrigued him.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, clasping his hands together on the desk, and trying to hide the amused smirk that was growing on his face. “You certainly sound like someone who could handle the demands of my busy days.”

Not really. There were at least a hundred more qualified candidates he had interviewed, all more experienced and better suited for the job. But Rhysand wasn’t interested in any of them. He did what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

His smile softened slightly as he leaned forward again, arms crossed. “You’re hired,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “You start tomorrow.”

You blinked in surprise, but then your smile brightened as you stood to shake his hand. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!”

Rhysand’s grip was firm, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist. A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect mistakes, nor do I tolerate them.”

There was no malice in his words, just quiet confidence—like he already knew you’d be just fine.

You swallowed, nodding quickly as he slid a sleek manila envelope across the desk, along with a heavy, expensive-looking pen. You hesitated for only a moment before pulling out the papers, scanning through them quickly.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes widened as you reread the number, making sure you hadn’t misread. That much money—for what? Just following him around, keeping his schedule in check, answering a few calls, and being… supportive?

Woah.

Trying to mask your shock, you steadied your hand and signed where needed before sliding the papers back toward him. You stood, reaching out to shake his hand again, this time with newfound excitement.

Rhysand clasped your hand in his, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. His smirk deepened slightly. God, he’s enjoy this.

“Welcome to the job.”

[toxicanonymity]

blow.

one shot PWP in night walks AU

2k, joel miller x f!reader. joel master list

SUMMARY: PWP. You do a line off his dick and he wants to bang, but you give him an amazing BJ instead. Then a little later, he does put it in you. A/N: This takes place between Harder (where the coke bender starts) and The Morning After, so you’re already nice and high. There was also an ask on this a while back. WARNINGS: I8+, drugs (coke), grinding, breeding kink, mildly dubcon via mutual drug use (established sexual partners), blow job (ball sucking, kinda cock worshippy), jacking off, mild somnophilia, brief p in v, creampie 🤍

Joel’s already fucked you, and he’s fucked you harder, and you’ve come hard as hell.  You’ve moved from the sofa to his bed and you’re both naked. The plan is to take a nap, then do it again. The darkness of his bedroom is welcome. It's minimalist, clean. Nothing on the walls. How weird that this will be your first time in his bed, or in any bed with him, for all the times you've hooked up. His bed is simple, but comfortable. So comfortable.  You settle into it on your back, and he lays an arm over you, face down on his stomach.  The arm is not ideal; you’re sweaty, and his body heat doesn’t help, but you can’t bring yourself to move.  You’ve just begun to drift off when he’s getting back on top of you. 

“C’mere, baby.”

He reaches between your legs and feels the remnants of his cum that’s trickled out between your thighs. “I’mma fill ya right back up.” 

He’s hard again, wedging his body between your legs, his ankles twisted up in sheets.  You’re kissing sloppily, groping each other’s bodies. You’re dying to have him inside you again.  By now he must suspect you’re on birth control, but the higher he is, the more he seems to think he can breed you. Or at least he wants to pretend. With his cock laid against your dripping heat, you're throbbing.

“Yeah,” he says and slides his arousal up and down against your clit. His eyes are wild, like he’s on another planet. “Gonna cum right in here,” he rests his hand on your lower belly then aggressively grabs your side as he grinds into you.   

“Hold on, pumpkin.” Joel reaches for his nightstand, and he sure as hell isn’t reaching for a condom. He turns on a lamp and it’s too bright.  “Shit,” he mutters as he puts it on the dimmest setting. He grabs the coke baggy and it’s almost empty.  “Let’s finish it.”

You ask, “Are you sure you want more?” It seemed minutes ago he was saying he got too high. Selfishly, you’d rather he fuck you first.  

“Not for me,” he mumbles. Then he opens the bag and groans as he lies back on two propped up pillows.  “Not much anyway.” You turn on your side to watch him.  You’re starting to come back down, but everything’s still vibrating.

He’s so sexy. You admire his profile, his dark eyes, his jawline, his scruff, his gorgeous head of dark hair. His muscular arms and chest. The light padding of his stomach, rising and falling. His happy trail, and then his gorgeous cock, near full mast.  And that’s where your eyes settle.  You can’t stop looking at the silhouette of his arousal in the dim, warm light. It’s fucking gorgeous, and it’s all for you. 

It better be all for you.  You never appreciated it before. Looking at it now, it’s so commanding.  No wonder he’s obsessed with it. Frankly, you are too.  It’s smooth, thick, and gets so stiff. It's curved upward just enough to hit that spot just right.  It’s perfect, and he fucks you so good with it. You’re salivating. Really, saliva is pooling at the corners of your mouth. 

Joel says, “here—“ he gets ready to dump the baggie on his fist, but he looks at you and stops talking when he sees the way you’re practically drooling over his dick.  You’re in a trance, mouth slightly open, saliva pooling at the corners, your breasts slowly heaving. 

“Mmmm. . . yeah, that’s for you, baby.” He wraps a hand around his cock. He holds the baggie up to his shaft and wiggles it as though to ask if you’d do a line off his dick, and you nod. He holds his cock flat and ungracefully dumps the rest of the white powder into a short, messy line. “Bad girl shit,” he murmurs and leans his head back against the wall, watching you through half lidded eyes.

You straddle his legs and your wet cunt grazes his knee as you get into position.  He moans softly when he feels it. You lower your head to his cock and look it right in the weeping eye. With the coke still on his shaft, you can’t help but reach your tongue out and take the precum. He gasps then mutters, “oh shit.” 

You look up and make brief eye contact. Then you bring your nose to his shaft and sniff off the white powder.  Some of it sticks to him. You tilt your head back and sniff a few times, feeling the bitter sting of the nasal drainage.

-------

“Attagirl. Now time for round 2.”  But you can’t pry yourself away.  You take the base of his cock in your hand and he encourages you, “Yeah, ride it, baby. . .Fuck, you’re hot.”

But with your mouth so close to his cock, with his musk filling your powder-caked nostrils, all you want to do is consume it. His hands try to urge you into his lap. “Lemme fill ya up, baby,” he lightly nudges your arms, but you hold firm and hover your mouth over his cock.  Most guys would be all about it, but he's got bigger things on his mind at the moment. Completely preoccupied with pumping you full of his cum.

“I gotta put my cum in ya,” he whispers. “Nice ‘n deep," his cock twitches. "Fuck it so it stays.” You take his tip into your mouth and he groans, then he mutters, “Ain’t gonna let me,.are ya?” 

Maybe later, but not until you’ve sucked this cock dry and swallowed every last drop.  Not until you’ve given him the best oral he’s ever had. If he ever thinks about another girl’s head in his lap or god forbid has one, you want him thinking about this.  

You suck the whole tip into your mouth, then bob your head on his cock, taking a little more of him into your mouth each time. The coke residue is bitter but quickly diluted by your ample saliva. His cock feels like heaven on your tongue. Warm and firm. The skin is smooth. You relax your jaw and suck from the back of your throat as you try to make his length disappear into your mouth, and you do. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he breathes as the silky tip slides down your throat. “Mmmm.” You curl your lips firmly around your teeth to protect his delicate skin.  Your head bobs, and you suck with all your might. You cradle his balls in one hand and hold the base firm with the other.  You lick him hard as you suck, massaging his shaft with your tongue. “Ohh, fuck,” he sighs.  You let saliva drip out of your mouth. You slobber all over his cock. “So fuckin hot.”   As you cradle his balls, you dip your middle finger against the harder skin behind them and he sucks air in through his teeth. “God damn.”  You’re throbbing and wet. You shift so you’re on top of one leg, and you can’t help but start to grind yourself on it. 

You let his length fall out of your mouth and down your chin, a string of spit falling to your chest. You lick up and down the shaft and around the tip, taking your time getting it nice and slobbery while making eye contact. Then you whisper “I fucking love this cock.”

"Ohh yeah " he moans. His eyes are already half closed.  Your hips move, seeking pressure on your sensitive place. 

“All yours, baby,” he whispers. “All this cock."  You lift the wet shaft out of your way and slowly stroke it while you turn your mouth’s attention to his balls. 

“Fucking love it,” you repeat directly to his cock this time, the breath of your words hitting the base of his shaft.  Then you lick from his shaft down the seam of his scrotum and back up before gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth. He gasps, then moans.   “Mmmm,” you hum as you gently suck his ball and stroke his shaft. You’re still moving on his leg, and tension is gathering in your deepest place. 

“Ohhh,” he moans.  You twirl your tongue around the ball and suck gently again before moving to the other one where you do the same. “Mmm,” these are the only sounds he can muster. No words, nothing intelligible. “Bay—ohhhh.”  You swirl your tongue around his balls and he’s breathing heavily, “mmmgh.” 

You try your best to get both balls in, stuffing your mouth full of them and he gasps, his breathing intensifying. You suck and gently tongue them, then you let them out, and you feel them twitch.  You get his dick wet with your slobber again, then return to his balls.  He watches you in a daze.  You’re getting closer and closer to the edge yourself. 

“God, I love this cock,” you repeat earnestly as you grind on him, and he grunts, “Mmm.” Your tongue sharpens and trails just below his balls, not quite to his anus, but close, and you tongue him as hard as you can while you stroke him with the new slobber and cradle his balls with the other hand.  You tongue him there and his balls tighten and you whisper, “Yeah, lemme swallow.”   He groans, wanting to put it in your cunt. 

“Won’t waste a drop” you say and suck his tip into your mouth.  You suck and make eye contact, and the next time your lower mound presses into his leg, you cum. You moan onto his cock, slowly moving on him as you throb against his leg, fuck.  At that point, he erupts in your mouth, and you feel his shaft pulse against your hand as he does.  He groans and you suck gently as his warm spend coats the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat. It takes him a minute to regain his speaking abilities. “God damn, pumpkin,” he sighs.  The look on his face tells you mission accomplished.

--------   

Having given it your all, you’re tired, too tired to think about getting that cock inside you.  You fall asleep in minutes.  In an hour or two, the bed is shaking rhythmically, Joel is breathing heavily and moaning.  His hot, sticky skin is pressed against your side, and his fist is grazing your hip as he strokes himself.  Then he begins to get on top of you.  

“Mmm,” you sigh as you stir awake. He uses his knees to spread your legs open. 

“You ready for it, baby?”

You blink awake and feel the tip of his cock at your clit.  He teases it rapidfire, slaping your clit with the tip. You’re so cock drunk, you just nod.  

“Hell yeah.”  He slides his hands under your thighs, preparing for an immediate mating press,  and lines himself up at your entrance.  “Mmm, yeah.” He shoves inside and his mouth falls open as he bottoms out with a sigh.  You moan as his girth spreads your insides. He grunts each time he thrusts, and then he presses your thighs back with his body. With your legs in the air, he thrusts into you a few more times. Then he plunges to the hilt with a grunt that becomes a long groan as he begins to pulse warmly against your cervix, his cock throbbing against your walls. He looks down at your body folded under him as he finishes coming. 

“God you’re fuckin’ hot,” he pants. He stays above you for a minute, then pulls out and lets your legs down.  

Maybe he never needs to know for sure that you’re on birth control. You’ll just be extra careful with your pills, and he’s welcome to keep trying. 

——

If you like this Joel, there's a lot more of him in night walks AU. You can pick and choose and skip around. Here's the whole bender this one shot is a part of:

Night Walks 5: Harder

✨BLOW (2k) - THIS FIC.

Night Walks 6: Morning After

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Night Walks 7: Soaked

[mayasaurusss]

Bites and kisses.

Contents: Misty (she's a warning herself), cuteness aggression, weird blonde woman, suggestive towards the end, short one-shot/blurb.

Requested by @fortheloveofaphroditesblessings! I am sorry, this is very short but I hope you will like it nonetheless!

Misty believes herself to be a woman of 'brain first, heart second'.

She's smart, calculating and cunning. Even in the most dire of situations, she tries to use her head and be as strategic as possible. That's why she got away with her... accidents over the years. But it all changes when she meets you.

You met Misty while taking care of your old auntie. Fate would have that you decided to take her in Misty's nursing home.

You caught her attention from the first moment. Ten minutes after seeing you for the first time, she already had a name and found information about you online. You know, like a normal person would.

With a little bit of planning, over the weeks, she managed to go on a date with you.

Of course, she already knew what would have happened. Either you would get bored with her, or she would have said some weird shit and warded you off. She had cronometrated that it would take aproximatley 13.42 minutes to end a date.

But when the minutes passes and nothing happens, she's a bit weirded out. Well, she is happy but this had never happened before. It takes all her willpower to try and be as 'un-misty' as possible and by the end of the night, another date is set.

Weeks pass and each one of them is filled with dates of any kind. By the time a month and a half has passed, Misty can proudly declare herself as taken.

As said, Misty believes herself to be a woman of 'brain first, heart second' but not when you are around her.

She'll come home after a long and strenous day, shoulders hard from fatigue. Her day has just been the worst but that all is washed away when she sees you, her cute lover, cuddled up in a blanket on her couch, waiting for her.

And you look just so cute, so adorable, all snuggled up for her. Misty, no kidding, will get a very bad attack of cuteness aggression. You wake up with your new found lover gripping at the couch's cushions, heavy breathing and blushing above you and for a moment you truly think she will murder you. Then, Misty reaches for your cheek, "You look just..." she gets in front of your face, "...so cute!!".

Your sleep is completly knocked out of you when she catapults herself on your lap, hands touching you everywhere.

"How can you be so cute?!" her cheeks are red and her eyes have somehow gotten darker and bigger. She looks postivley drunk out of her mind.

Her hands push at the muscles of your cheeks, pinching and kneading. To her you look just as a little helpless thing, tl be cherished and noursished. And yes, that is the exact same thought process of elephants.

Misty truly believes herself to be a woman of intellect, but she does aknowledge that sometimes, her body speaks before her mind does. Often she did things purely out of gain, simply because she wanted to.

"I just wanna...eat you!" and you remain completley motionless as she starts to bite down on your flesh. She gives a small but sure bite on your nose, then on your neck and jaw, leaving her marks on you, screming 'this is mine'. Her bites turn into tiny licks that follow the curve of your jaw and you try so hard to not get too turned on by her actions.

It doesn't seem she sees them as anything else than bonding, but as your breath starts to quicken and get heavier, so do her ministrations. Her kisses get heavier, slower and more sensual; you have to pray to any god there is out there to restrain yourself from jumping on her.

You ponder for a moment your life decisions as she's trailing up your neck towards your lips and ask to yourself ; Why am I attracted by this weird blondie?'.

[bbina]

just like what wonbin said, you waited for him down the street. you were kicking rocks, trying to not look awkward while waiting for him to get down from his own place

"this is weird" you say out loud, looking up at the sky. the stars were out tonight which was nice. something you can look forward looking at later when you're gonna smoke the urge out

"what's weird?" a voice speaks from behind, causing you to jump

"jesus christ!" you yelled out, a hand on your chest to calm your heart

it was wonbin

wonbin laughs and apologizes for scaring you. "sorry"

rolling your eyes, you huff, walking ahead from him. you had no time for another set of small talk. you just wanted to go to the convenience store to buy what you needed and get home right after

"slow down. no one's chasing you down" wonbin speaks up, catching up to your pace. why are you in such a hurry?

"the convenience store isn't gonna run out of boxes you know?" wonbin says, nudging your shoulder as you continue to look straight ahead

you give him a look and instantly he purses his lips shut. thank god he can tell you weren't having it

"what are you even doing by going with me? it's just a short convenience store run" you ask, stealing a glance at the boy beside you. he was dressed in sweats and a hoodie

"just like you said, a convenience store run" he repeats what you just said, catching a glimpse of your face before you turn your head back up front.

instead of answering you just shrug. not wanting to strike up a conversation much longer. you weren't feeling it as you were craving for something to fill your lungs

shortly after that you two finally arrived at the convenience store. wasting no time, you grabbed all the shit you needed for tonight. some snacks and of course, the one thing you initially came for, your cigarettes

you wasted no time paying at the cash register, not even bothering to wait for wonbin who shot you a surprised look that you finished gathering and paying for what you needed before you went outside and sat on one of the chairs the said convenience store had

fishing a stick out of the box, you grabbed one and light it up before putting it in your mouth. taking a much needed long drag before exhaling it. you felt your mouths curve upwards, feeling the addictive drug fill your lungs

your little moment of solace is disrupted when wonbin suddenly sits in front of you. the sound of the chair scraping from the asphalt ground ringing in your ears

you sent him a glare before taking another hit off your cigarette

"this is lowkey giving me deja vu from the night we met" wonbin says. so uncalled for that you accidentally choked on your own spit, sending you to a coughing fit

"shit shit shit" wonbin curses, panicking for a second before handing you his freshly opened juice that he bought for himself

"you trying to kill me or something?!" you yell out, after calming yourself down. wonbin sheepishly smiles and holds out a peace sign

"not in the slightest bit" he says, holding his arms out in mock surrender

you clicked your tongue in annoyance before taking your third hit of the night. essentially easing your nerves down a bit. just what you needed

it didn't take long for wonbin to copy what you were doing. the next thing you know he himself was smoking with you

"pfft look at you smoking right after shitting on me for doing so" you scoffed, eyeing him puff the smoke out from his device. oh so he vapes too

wonbin raises an eyebrow but says nothing. okay sass king, you see how it is

"what flavor?" you ask, putting out your cigarette

"blueberry ice"

"can i try?" you ask again

wonbin hums. wiping the device with his hoodie before handing it to you

"thanks" you say, wiping it again for good measure before taking a puff

there's a burst of flavor in your mouth which quite frankly, you enjoyed. after taking another puff, you wipe the device before handing it back to wonbin

"do you like it?" wonbin asks, taking another hit. not bothering to wipe the device

"yeah it tastes good" you admit, licking your lips to get a tinge of blueberry again

"it's my favorite" wonbin shares, smiling to himself

quite honestly that was a little out of no where that it made you laugh a little

"okay vape boy" you mused, taking another stick out of the cigarette box before wonbin snatches it off your hands

"one stick is enough for tonight" he scolds lightly, placing the box far out of your reach

"literally wonbin what the fuck!" you cursed, feeling upset at his actions. you came out here to smoke and that's what you're gonna do and no one is gonna stop you

but it looks like wonbin just tagged a long to stop you from doing so

you catch wonbin about to take another hit off his device before you forcefully snatch it out of his hands as well. two can play this game. if you can't smoke then neither can he

"an eye for an eye. if i can't smoke then you can't either!" you poke your tongue at wonbin, hiding his vape device inside the pocket of your sweatpants

wonbin shrugs, "fine. fair play"

you clicked your tongue again at him in annoyance. now what else was there to do? since you can't smoke, then what? strike a conversation? might as well then

"i heard from seunghan that i was the topic of your group chat earlier today" you start, crossing your arms as you look up at the night sky

wonbin freezes for a split second before answering. seunghan does share everything with you, doesn't he

"... uh yeah" wonbin stammers

"why was i the topic?" you ask, might as well let the curiosity get the best of you

"actually seunghan was the topic because one of our friends saw you slap him. then he wondered how one of them knew it was you, then someone else mentioned rumors about you and a longtime boyfriend? i didn’t read all of it since we’re not friends and i don’t want to spread more baseless rumors” wonbin answers truthfully. in his defense, why would he look into these rumors? a rumor is just a rumor

so it was wonbin, you thought to yourself. you recalled seunghan mentioning that someone said in their groupchat not to talk about it and based with how wonbin answered, you conclude that it was in fact, him

"if you don't mind me asking, how are you dealing with the rumors circulating?" wonbin asks carefully, eyeing you in case he hit a nerve or something

you shrug, "don't really care. we're broken up already so let rumors be rumors"

wow, wonbin thinks to himself, he wishes he had your mindset. maybe he can learn a thing or two from you. here you were, unbothered with your dilemma that he too coincidentally shares but here he was, barely holding it together

"i wish i had the same mindset as you when it comes to these type of things" wonbin laughs lightly, resting his arms on the back of his head

how he wishes he was as strong as you seem. you didn't let a breakup affect you the way it's affecting him. it's almost jarring that even if he didn't break his own relationship, just the mere thought of being alone and the mere feeling of being lonely is eating him like crazy

maybe he can be the same. not now, but soon

you raise an eyebrow at him before scoffing

"i'm not really sure what you mean by that but all i can say for now is that it's more than what meets the eye" you murmured, playing with with your nails

wonbin senses the shift of atmosphere and quickly scrambles to spit out a string of apologies but you beat him to it

"i think i'm getting by. it's still relatively fresh but it's alright. i think i'll be fine" you continue, staring at nothing

wonbin sits up, unsure of what to do nor say. he feels like you're still formulating your thoughts before you speak so he waits

"actually you know what. maybe i'm not fine after all" you let out a bitter chuckle, "i may not act like it when i'm around people but when i'm all alone it's a different story"

wonbin's eyes widened. he can almost see a reflection of himself with what you just said. there really is more than what meets the eye

to wonbin, you seemed like you were fine with everything. even if you've just met in such a short amount of time, wonbin was sure you were just dealing with something else but no. you were actually hiding it exceptionally well when there's people around

you then snap out of your thoughts realizing you're starting to ramble to a not so complete stranger. seunghan's friend at that.

how embarrassing, you thought to yourself

"oh sorry, i'm starting to ramble" you squeak, covering your face from wonbin who pays no mind, in fact he actually wanted you to continue, to let it all out

"i got time, remember?" he says softly, offering a small smile of encouragement

you feel your cheeks start to heat up. there was no fucking way in hell you're going to open up about what you really feel inside these days to wonbin

what the fuck are you doing

"it'll stay between us. i promise" wonbin urges, "there's no one here but the two of us anyway"

"... i feel shy" you admit, "i never actually opened up to anyone about these recent events"

wonbin cocks his head to the side. not even to seunghan?

"not even to seunghan or your two girl friends?" wonbin asks

you shake your head no. "i mean i do tell them bits and pieces but i never actually told them anything. i'm not too sure why either. i just feel like they wouldn't get me" you murmured, sitting up

wonbin hums, nodding his head as he listens to you. though on the inside he feels a sense of relief that despite him being a total stranger, you felt that he was worthy of keeping your thoughts. something that he wants for himself, someone to keep his thoughts with them

he doesn't even understand why he feels a certain connection with you either from the moment he shared his first thoughts with you in the same place where you two are at. there was something about you that he felt a sense of comfort

maybe it's the circumstance that you two are coincidentally going through

the world will never know

"promise you won't make fun of me?" you ask, putting out your pinky for him to take

"pinky promise"

wonbin takes your pinky and links them together, sealing a promise between you and him. despite the cool night air, you felt a sense of warmth and relief with his presence

alone together ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . . pinky promise

── taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

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꩜ notes .ᐟ im not gonna lie to yall i think i cooked.. bbina redemption arc?

꩜ taglist .ᐟ @onlywonb @rosesfortaro @starwonb1n @wonychu @totheseok @dolloie @hyunjinsnumberonefun @binluvsu @onlyhyunjin @annswwa @wonbinsvlle @hakkkuu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @artstaeh @lecheugo @odxrilove @bunni @saranghoeforanton @nujeskz @nakam00t @kyusqult @nctsshoes2 @revehosh @s9nwoo @daegale @palchokitty @dutifullyannoyingfox @oshakyao @koryutte @b-riize @meowbini @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @winuvs @i03jae @staoru @enhacolor @dalliesque @sweetiejaeyun @dearestjake @cupidslovearrows @sasfransisco @kkumistars @sngj08 @taroddori @istglevi-gotmesimping @ennycutie @ffixtionista @koeuh

[mpregnerd]

Initiated & Impregnated

Chapter One: Welcome to the Brotherhood

Brian yanked at the collar of his too-tight pledge shirt — gray, itchy, and stitched with the cursed gold letters: ΦΚΨ. The thing hugged his dad bod like a punishment. Great, he thought. Nothing screams undercover like visible nipple chafe.

Across the quad, Peter was doing a pathetic job of blending in. His five-o’clock shadow, deep crow’s feet, and the glint of cop-grade paranoia didn’t exactly scream “eager freshman.” Oh, and he forgot to swap out his tactical boots.

“This is the dumbest fucking thing we’ve ever done,” Brian muttered into his wire.

“Correction,” Peter’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “This is the dumbest thing you dragged me into, you emotionally constipated divorcee.”

“Me? You’re the one who said this was our last shot before we got canned.”

Peter didn’t answer — just clenched his jaw as a 6’3 lacrosse god named Blake slung a muscled arm around his shoulders and pulled him into the AEPi house like he’d been claimed.

Brian watched him disappear, then turned toward the Phi Kappa Psi house and muttered, “Here goes nothing,” before stepping through the doors and into hell.

The smell hit first. Sweat. Cheap whiskey. Axe body spray. And underneath it — something floral and wrong. Incense? Pheromones?

Inside, the party was an orgy of noise and hormones. Shirtless frat bros grinding to bass drops. Strobe lights flashing over oiled abs and pelvic thrusts. Red Solo cups flying. A pledge was doing body shots off someone’s ass in the corner. Another was being handcuffed to a beer keg.

The room pulsed like it had a heartbeat.

“You made it!” a voice called out over the chaos.

Brian turned — and holy fuck.

There stood Kai. Tall, dark hair slicked back, cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes like trouble. He looked him up and down slowly, like he already knew what size he’d stretch to.

“I’m Kai,” he said, lips curving into a wicked smile. “You’re mine this term.”

Brian opened his mouth to object, to pull rank, to say something that didn’t involve tongue-tied silence. Instead, a cold cup was shoved into his hand. The crowd swallowed him whole.

At the AEPi House, Upstairs

Peter had no idea what was in the punch, but it hit fast. His skin was flushed, his shirt halfway undone. Blake leaned close, explaining something that sounded a hell of a lot like a cult pitch.

“Every pledge gets soul-bonded to a big,” Blake said, voice low and weirdly reverent. “It’s not just initiation, bro. It’s legacy. You get chosen. You get filled. You get… reborn.”

Peter blinked. “You make it sound like we’re joining a fucking sex cult.”

Blake just smiled. “Not a cult. A bloodline.”

Later That Night

They woke in separate beds. Separate houses. Same problem.

Brian groaned, the sheets twisted around his bare thighs. He blinked against the sunrise bleeding through the blinds. His head throbbed. His chest ached. Not hangover ache. Deeper. Like someone had rewired his nerves.

His hand drifted to his stomach.

Bloated. Warm.

“Shit…”

Peter stumbled out of a bedroom wearing someone else’s shorts. He caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror and stopped cold.

His abs — gone. In their place, a soft swell. Puffy. His nipples were visibly dark through the thin tank top.

“What the fuck…”

Three Days Later at the Hawthorne Campus Drugstore

They moved like fugitives, hoodies pulled low, sunglasses at night. Brian was clutching his stomach like it might burst. Peter looked like he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.

“I swear to God, Brian, if this test comes back positive—”

“It won’t. It’s hormones. Frat drugs. Maybe we got dosed with estrogen or some weird experimental sh—”

They emerged from separate stalls.

Five minutes later.

Two pink lines.

They stared.

Peter whispered, “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Brian didn’t look up. “No. No no. This isn’t happening. We’re men. We’re fucking men. I have two kids, Peter.”

“I had a girlfriend until she left me for her Pilates instructor, Brian. Don’t act like you’re the only one spiraling here.”

They stepped outside, dazed, holding the tests like time bombs.

Then — footsteps.

Half-naked frat brothers emerged from the dark like wolves. Shirts open. Eyes gleaming. Waiting.

Kai stepped forward. “You thought you could leave?”

Blake followed. “Once you’re seeded, you belong to us.”

Peter took a step back. “This is some fucked up hazing ritual—”

“It’s tradition,” Kai said, grinning. “And tradition is everything at Hawthorne.”

Brian stared as they closed in.

He was pregnant.

Peter was pregnant.

And all he could think was:

"Fuck. What the hell did we get ourselves into?"

Chapter Two : First Trimester, Final Warning

Three days after the test.

Brian stared at the mirror like it had personally betrayed him.

His stomach was round. Not bloated. Round. Tight. Firm. Like he’d swallowed a goddamn basketball. His nipples had gone weird — darker, sensitive, and tender in a way that made brushing against his shirt feel borderline pornographic.

“What the actual fuck…” he whispered, lifting his shirt again like the bump might vanish if he squinted.

He pressed a hand to it. It was warm. It shifted slightly under his palm. Alive.

Knock knock knock.

Peter burst in, hoodie zipped high despite the suffocating heat. He looked pale. Greasy. And yes, there were saltines stuffed into his pocket like he was on a road trip to hell.

“We need to go,” Peter hissed, wild-eyed.

Brian turned slowly. “You too?”

Peter pulled up his hoodie and slapped his hand over a visible curve. “I threw up three times this morning, cried over a dog food commercial, and if someone tries to take my gummy worms again, I will kill them with my bare hands.”

Brian groaned. “My boobs feel like someone filled them with lava.”

“We’re fucking pregnant, Brian.”

Brian nodded slowly, deadpan. “Oh, believe me. My tits agree.”

They waited until midnight.

Flashlights in hand. Frat hoodies up. They snuck into the Restricted Archives, stepping over dusty volumes and security gates that hadn’t worked since the Bush era.

Peter scanned the shelves, muttering to himself until his fingers landed on a thick, leather-bound book behind a cracked glass case.

Fraternitas: The Sacred Womb of Brotherhood

Brian read aloud from the passage Peter held open with trembling fingers:

He who is chosen by the Brother’s Seed shall carry forth the Bloodline of the House, his womb consecrated through Ritual and Bond. Initiation shall be complete only when the Newborn is delivered during the Moon of Binding.

Brian blinked. “The fuck do you mean ‘womb’?”

Peter just gestured at his stomach. “Apparently… we’ve got those now.”

They kept flipping — past sketches of men swollen with life, bare-chested and glowing, etched symbols pulsing across their skin. One page was crusted with something dark — old blood? Wine? Hell, maybe afterbirth.

Brian’s voice cracked as he read:

To abandon the Rite before Term is to trigger the Wrath of the Founder. The Carrier shall be Claimed. There is no exit. There is only Birth.

He shut the book.

“Well, shit.”

The next morning at Phi Kappa Psi

Brian had made it halfway down the hallway with his packed duffel before the door locked itself behind him. His phone screen went dark. No signal. Again.

He spun around — and there was Kai. Barefoot. Shirtless. Eyes glowing faintly like a smug, sexy demon.

“You’re not leaving,” Kai said calmly.

Brian took a breath. “You don’t own me.”

Kai tilted his head. “No? Then explain that.”

He pointed to Brian’s stomach — glowing faintly under the fabric. Brian looked down. The curve had deepened. The veins beneath the skin pulsed with a golden hue.

“You’re not a man anymore,” Kai whispered, stepping closer. “You’re a vessel. You’re his.”

Brian’s jaw clenched. “You knocked me up at a fucking frat party. I’m not honored. I’m violated.”

Kai’s grin widened. “You’re glowing, baby. That’s not shame — that’s legacy.”

Meanwhile in the AEPi Kitchen

Peter was curled up on the cold tile floor with a heating pad shoved under his hoodie and a half-empty bottle of Tums in his hand.

Blake knelt beside him.

“You okay, man?”

Peter’s voice cracked. “My ass hurts. My tits are leaking. And I almost bit a freshman who tried to offer me a granola bar. What the hell do you think?”

Blake just smiled.

“First trimester’s a bitch. But you’re doing amazing.”

Peter blinked. “You’ve seen this before?”

“All of us have,” Blake said, smoothing Peter’s sweaty hair like they were in a Lifetime movie. “We don’t recruit anymore. We reproduce.”

Peter’s blood ran cold.

“You’re not a pledge,” Blake whispered. “You’re a legacy bearer.”

That night the dreams came.

Brian saw himself in a massive temple. His body was huge. Glowing symbols floated over his bare stomach, which pulsed like a star. A group of robed brothers surrounded him, hands pressed to his thighs. There was pain. Power. Pressure.

And then he screamed.

He woke drenched in sweat, panting, his hand already resting over the hard swell of his belly.

His navel had popped.

Across the room, Kai was watching him from a chair in the dark, hands folded calmly over his lap.

“We’re getting close,” Kai said.

Brian didn’t scream. He just whispered: “Fuck me.”

The Escape Attempt at 3:12 a.m.

They met behind the gym, panting, swollen, both of them visibly bigger than they’d been three days ago.

Peter hissed, “Okay. New plan. We find the altar. Blow it the fuck up.”

Brian groaned. “Or it blows us up. Ever think of that?”

Peter was already pacing. “I’d rather die from magical detonation than deliver some glowing demon baby in front of a room full of beer-soaked frat bros who think foreplay is doing pushups.”

Brian paused. “Fair.”

He rubbed his belly, wincing.

“This kid is kicking the hell out of me.”

Peter blinked. “Did you just say kid?”

Brian groaned. “Oh fuck. We’re getting attached.”

Chapter Three: The Founder’s Curse

Four Weeks In

Brian had officially outgrown every pair of pants he brought.

His last clean pair exploded across the breakfast table after a heated argument with Kai over whether “womb-nourishment berries” were a real thing or just some culty bullshit that tasted like regret and grass clippings.

“I’m not eating that!” Brian snapped, swatting the bowl off the table. “I’m a cop, not your fucking incubator!”

Kai, infuriatingly shirtless and smug, just nodded to Brian’s glowing belly and said, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

Brian would’ve tackled him if his ankles weren’t the size of softballs and if his belly didn’t knock over a chair every time he turned too fast.

Across Campus at AEPi

Peter had entered what the house referred to as the “Glow Phase.” Which sounded cute—until it involved leaky nipples, unsolicited belly rubs from robed frat bros, and Blake leaving aphrodisiac-laced body oil on his pillow with a winking emoji Post-it.

He stood in front of the mirror, shirt off, lotion bottle in one hand, rage in the other.

“Why do my fucking nipples look like I’m about to breastfeed a Greek god?”

His belly shifted suddenly — a slow, snakelike roll just under the skin.

Peter dropped the bottle. “Oh fuuuuuck no.”

Midnight in the Library

They were done waiting. Done glowing. Done pretending.

Peter slammed the duffel bag of fireworks on the library table. “We found the blueprint. Hawthorne’s original chapel — it’s under the old ROTC building. That’s where it started. That’s where it ends.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “That’s your plan? We’re magical womb-bombs in the making and you want to double down with explosives?”

Peter patted the bag like it was sacred. “It’s this or we birth the Antichrist in a kiddie pool surrounded by horny frat druids.”

Brian grunted and rubbed his lower back. “Just don’t make me take stairs.”

1:00 a.m. in the ROTC Building

Condemned since ‘88. Smelled like mildew, old testosterone, and broken promises. The floors creaked like they knew what was coming.

They found the hatch under a busted vending machine.

Etched across the rusted metal:

ΦΚΨ • ΑΕΠ Bound not by blood… but by seed.

Brian snorted. “God, I hate this school.”

They pried it open and descended.

Below the Chapel

The air down there was thick — damp with time, dust, and power. The altar stood dead-center, cracked marble etched with ancient runes that glowed when the two of them stepped close.

Peter reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the whole room moaned.

Then—

Peter doubled over. “Oh, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Brian barely got to his side before he buckled, clutching his belly as a white-hot pain ricocheted down his spine and into his hips.

They collapsed to the ground, side by side, both panting, both soaked in sweat, both clutching their hard, glowing stomachs.

“Why… is this happening now?!” Brian gasped.

Peter whimpered. “It’s the altar. It’s… it’s like it knows. It’s triggering labor.”

“NO. No fucking way. I didn’t even pack a hospital bag.”

Another contraction slammed through them.

Peter’s fingers clawed at the floor. “We’re not ready. We are NOT fucking ready!”

Brian screamed as his belly pulsed again — skin glowing gold, stretched so tight it looked like it might tear open.

“We have to destroy it,” he gasped. “Before this thing makes us give birth to Satan in matching Greek jerseys.”

Peter yanked the fireworks from the bag, his hands shaking.

“Light ‘em up.”

Upstairs — Alarms

A piercing keening began. Not a siren.

A ward.

The Brotherhood knew.

The Explosion Happened

They lit the fuse.

The altar screamed — a high, unholy sound that rattled their bones. The runes flared, golden veins cracking across the stone like lightning. The air shook.

Then— BOOM.

Marble shattered. The light exploded.

When the smoke cleared, Brian and Peter lay on the ground, drenched in sweat and golden afterbirth-like mist, bellies still round and very much still occupied.

Brian groaned. “I think we bought ourselves some time…”

Peter opened one eye, weakly. “Or cursed ourselves harder.”

They tried to crawl away—

But they weren’t alone.

Aboveground – Waiting

Ritual robes. Bare chests. Lit torches.

The Brotherhood was ready.

Kai and Blake stepped forward as Brian and Peter emerged, weak and wobbling, looking like nine-months-pregnant escapees from a supernatural maternity ward.

“You broke the altar,” Kai said, expression unreadable. “But not the bond.”

Peter growled. “The fuck does that mean?”

Blake grinned. “It means… you’re not carrying babies anymore.”

Brian’s stomach flipped. “Then what the fuck are we carrying?”

Blake stepped closer, voice reverent.

“The next generation of the Brotherhood.”

Chapter Four: “Due Date

Day 38. Or so they thought.

Brian had been carving tally marks into the wall with a broken pencil for three weeks. It was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Thirty-eight days since they went undercover. Thirty-eight days since they were impregnated at a fucking frat party.

But his body?

Didn’t give a damn about time.

His belly was huge. Tight. Skin stretched to its limit. Veins bulged like lightning under the surface. He waddled now. There was no walking — it was a slow, shifting sway like a man trying not to fall forward from the gravitational pull of whatever the hell was inside him.

His belly button had popped two weeks ago.

His back felt like it had been hit by a truck.

And his nipples? Sensitive to the point of obscene.

He leaned against the wall of what the Brotherhood called a “Birthing Suite.” No windows. A bed with wrist restraints. Cameras in the corners. No phone. No signal. Just soft music and lavender-scented candles that made him want to puke.

A low moan echoed through the air vent above his head.

Peter.

Still alive.

Still inside AEPi’s own holding chamber across campus.

Across Campus in AEPi’s Lower Chamber

Peter wasn’t moaning anymore. He was screaming.

His belly looked even bigger than Brian’s. High, tight, and constantly shifting. Like something inside was pressing against his insides, stretching them, testing their limits.

The baby — or whatever the hell it was — had started to move differently.

Less fluttering. More… pacing.

Peter groaned, sinking back into the pillows, shirt soaked with sweat. Blake entered wearing a ceremonial robe and a calm, cult-leader smile.

“You’ll deliver soon,” he said softly, placing a hand on Peter’s belly.

Peter swatted him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Blake chuckled. “You’ve been so strong. So fertile.”

Peter’s voice cracked. “I swear to God, if you say one more spiritual bullshit sentence, I will crawl out of this bed and beat you to death with my own placenta.”

Blake knelt beside him, rubbing slow circles on the blanket. “You’re not just a carrier, Peter. You’re a chosen vessel. This isn’t a child—it’s the Founder. His soul. His power. Reborn in you.”

Peter blinked. “I’m giving birth to a goddamn demon baby.”

Blake smiled wider. “No. You’re giving birth to a legacy.”

Phi Kappa Psi in Brian’s Room

Brian tried to sit up — only for a deep, sharp pain to tear through his pelvis.

His hands flew to his belly. It was rock hard. Contracting.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck no—”

He stumbled to his knees, bracing against the mattress. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He was shaking.

Another contraction.

Worse.

Deeper.

Real.

He screamed.

“KAI!”

The speaker crackled above him. Kai’s voice, calm and far too chipper:

“Time doesn’t exist down here. The closer you are to delivery, the faster it accelerates. You’re right on schedule.”

“You lying bastard!” Brian bellowed, gripping the bedframe as his belly twisted beneath him.

“You’ll survive,” Kai said. “But you won’t be the same.”

Peter Minutes Later

Peter’s water didn’t break.

It exploded.

A burst of glowing, golden fluid shot across the room like a fire hydrant. He screamed — not out of embarrassment, but pure pain as another contraction hit like a wrecking ball to his spine.

“FUCK!”

The walls shook. Lights flickered. Something inside him kicked, and every inch of his body screamed for relief.

Blake rushed in with robed brothers behind him. Towels. Ritual herbs. A fucking gilded surgical lamp.

“What the hell is that?!” Peter shrieked.

Blake just smiled. “He’s coming early. He’s ready.”

“I am NOT,” Peter shouted. “I didn’t write a birth plan. I didn’t take a class. I didn’t even make a goddamn playlist!”

“Shhh,” Blake cooed, brushing his hair back. “You won’t need one. He already knows the way.”

Surveillance Room – Dean Wallace

Dean Wallace watched it unfold on her monitors like a stage play — two glowing bellies, two bodies unraveling.

It was working.

Finally.

“The Ritual failed in ‘83. And ‘96. And 2012,” she whispered. “But this time…”

She placed her hand on the ancient scroll beside her.

“This time, he returns.”

The Convergence at 2:11 a.m.

Reality fractured.

The walls of the frat houses bled golden light.

Dorm windows cracked.

Across campus, dozens of frat brothers fell to their knees, chanting, glowing faintly, their voices syncing in an unholy rhythm.

Brian screamed.

His belly had dropped. Fully. Pain shot through him, primal and unforgiving. His hands shook. His thighs trembled.

“GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai knelt behind him. Calm. Reverent.

“You’re almost there.”

Brian bared his teeth. “You said that six contractions ago, you gaslighting son of a—AAHHH!”

Peter pushed.

Sweat and golden light poured from him. The air rippled around his body. The runes on the walls glowed brighter.

The Founder was coming.

Chapter Five: The Delivery

Peter’s Room at 2:03 a.m.

Peter was beyond screaming.

His throat was wrecked. His body — soaked in sweat, fluids, and magic — trembled with the kind of pain that only came from being forcibly converted into an ancient myth’s glorified birthing chamber.

His belly was massive. Unnatural. Glowing with power.

And it would not stop moving.

Every contraction sent a surge of gold through his veins. His skin pulsed like a living rune. His hands gripped the sheets hard enough to tear them.

Blake knelt at the foot of the bed, face beatific, voice calm.

“You’re doing beautifully. He’s almost here.”

Peter whimpered. “I feel like I’m being split in half.”

“Because you are,” Blake said reverently. “It’s the price of carrying divinity.”

The ceremonial lamp overhead buzzed. The Brothers circled him now, robes swaying, mouths open in low, synchronized chant.

The room vibrated.

Peter’s back arched.

And from deep inside him, he felt it—

Descending.

Brian’s Chamber – Same Time

Brian was on all fours, gasping like a man possessed.

Sweat rolled down his chest, soaking his shirt and the floor below. His belly had dropped. The pressure was unreal. Like the weight of the universe was trying to escape through his spine.

Every contraction felt like an earthquake centered inside his pelvis.

Kai knelt behind him, hands braced gently against Brian’s hips, voice low and measured like a fucking midwife.

“You’re so close, Brian. You’re opening perfectly.”

“Don’t fucking narrate it!” Brian bellowed. “GET IT OUT OF ME!”

Kai chuckled. “Just push.”

Brian’s whole body tensed. His back arched. He pushed.

And something inside him shifted.

Down.

Lower.

Ready.

Brian screamed like a man being exorcised. Like something ancient was tearing its way free.

Which, in fairness, it was.

The Campus at 2:11 a.m.

Lights burst across campus.

Windows cracked. Ivy glowed.

Students in their dorms jolted awake, clutching their bedsheets, sweating, confused, aroused. Something had changed.

The Brotherhood stood in full formation across both houses, eyes glowing gold, mouths chanting:

“He returns. He is born. We are made whole.”

Peter's Delivery

The pressure was unbearable.

His legs were bent wide, thighs shaking. Brothers held his hands as he bore down, red in the face, eyes glowing white-hot with strain.

Push. Push. Push.

He screamed through clenched teeth — until a burn tore through his lower body, and something wet and heavy slid free.

Peter collapsed, shaking violently.

Then he heard it.

A cry.

A low, otherworldly chime that vibrated through the walls like a bell rung from another dimension.

Blake caught the child in both hands, holding it up like a divine offering.

Swaddled in white silk.

Eyes wide.

Glowing.

Peter blinked, barely conscious.

“What… is it?”

Blake whispered: “He is everything.”

Brian's Delivery

Brian felt the ring of fire. The stretch. The impossibility.

His body pushed anyway.

His screams were ragged and hoarse, his arms braced against the mattress, his hips trembling under Kai’s guiding hands.

Then, with one final, guttural roar—he birthed it.

The moment the child was born, the whole room filled with blinding light.

Kai lifted the baby — slick with golden fluid — and held it to his chest.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

Brian collapsed forward, trembling, tears running down his face.

“I’m… still alive?”

“You are,” Kai whispered. “But you’re no longer just Brian.”

The Awakening

Both infants — radiant, impossibly still, and watching — were brought to the center of the ruined chapel.

Dean Wallace stood beside the rebuilt altar, scroll in one hand, dagger in the other.

Brian and Peter were dragged in, limp, glowing with afterbirth and exhaustion, their bodies still pulsing faintly.

The babies were placed between them.

The Brothers began to chant.

“ΦΚΨ… ΑΕΠ… He returns. He awakens.”

Brian rasped, “We were supposed to end it…”

Dean Wallace didn’t look at him.

“You never had a choice,” she said softly. “You were chosen before you were born. Just like them.”

Peter sobbed, staring as the two babies began to float, lifted by nothing but light and legacy.

Their eyes opened fully.

Golden. Endless.

The babies merged — one glowing orb of cosmic energy, suspended in air.

And the entire campus shook.

The Founder had returned.

Chapter Six: “Legacy Bound

Silence.

The world didn’t end.

Not like they thought it would.

No screaming skies. No apocalypse. No thunder of fire raining down from the heavens.

Just…

Silence.

And golden light.

Brian woke slowly. Naked beneath silk sheets. His belly — deflated, soft, sore. A phantom pressure still lingered between his hips, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over.

He reached down, touched the stretch-marked skin, the ridges, the faint pulse that still thrummed deep inside.

He wasn’t the same.

Not even close.

Beside him, Peter groaned.

Same bed. Same sheets. Same look of what the actual fuck just happened on his face.

Their hands met in the middle.

“Are we alive?” Peter croaked.

Brian’s voice was sandpaper. “Define ‘alive.’”

They both looked up.

The altar had been rebuilt — bigger now. Cleaner. And standing at the center, floating inches off the floor, was Him.

The Founder.

No longer a baby. Not even a man. Just light. And shadow. Bones woven in stardust. Eyes as old as the void.

He spoke directly into their minds.

“You have served well.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “We didn’t ask for this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Brian sat up slowly. “You used us.”

The Founder’s voice didn’t waver.

“I elevated you. You were dying — broken, discarded men. I made you immortal. You are now part of the Line.”

The Brotherhood stood behind Him, in full ceremonial robes. Watching. Silent.

“You were not meant to stop me. You were meant to bring me home.”

Peter whispered, “So what now? We just… become your disciples?”

“You become my origin.”

Brian tried to stand, stumbled. His knees were jelly. His insides still echoed.

And that’s when he saw it.

On the far wall — the school crest had changed.

Two crowned infants. A blazing cradle. And below it:

Founded by Blood. Reborn by Seed.

Peter looked down at his hands. They glowed faintly.

“We’re not cops anymore,” he said hollowly.

Brian met his eyes.

“No. We’re something fucking worse.”

Epilogue: Fatherhood at Hawthorne

Six Months Later

Peter lived in a remote cabin surrounded by salt lines, dreamcatchers, and three layers of magical wards. His son, Elias, could already walk. Spoke full sentences. Once looked into a mirror and shattered it with a whisper.

Peter didn’t sleep much anymore.

When he asked Elias who he was talking to in the night, the kid always said the same thing:

“I’m talking to myself.”

Brian moved to Maine. Quiet. Cold. Off-grid.

His son, Sol, never cried. Never blinked. Just stared.

Once during a storm, every light in the town went out — except the nursery.

He tried to pretend it was normal. Pretend that maybe, somehow, this would fade.

But every time Sol touched his stomach, he felt that pulse again.

The Brotherhood wasn’t gone.

It had just… evolved.

They kept in touch.

Burner phones. Video calls once a month. Not to check in on each other.

To compare symptoms.

To warn each other when the boys said something they shouldn't know.

When they started glowing again.

When the dreams returned.

When they caught their own reflections smiling before they did.

They weren’t just fathers.

They were the Founders now.

And the Brotherhood?

Would never die.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do one where Matt, or Chris, and the reader get drunk and get freaky when they get back to the triplets house

okay!!! sorry i’m like really bad at writing the “freaky” shit.

“A Night to Remember”

Matt sturniolo x reader

The bass thumped like a heartbeat in the crowded club, and Matt and Y/N were caught up in the moment, laughter spilling from their lips as they danced together. The drinks flowed freely, a sweet mix of vodka and soda that made the night feel intoxicatingly euphoric. Each shot they took sent warmth radiating through their bodies, heightening their senses and blurring the edges of reality.

“You’re a wild one tonight,” Matt teased, his breath warm against her ear as he leaned in closer, the rhythm of the music thrumming in sync with their racing hearts.

Y/N swayed to the music, her hair brushing against his face. “Just trying to keep up with you,” she replied, her voice slightly slurred as she tilted her head back, the lights above casting a playful glow over her features.

Matt chuckled, feeling a rush of affection as he watched her. There was something about her carefree spirit, the way she let loose and embraced the night that made his heart race. “You’re trouble,” he said, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his words.

“Maybe just a little,” she shot back, flashing him a mischievous grin. With a burst of energy, she grabbed his hand, leading him off the dance floor and toward the exit. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Y/N giggled, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Let’s go home,” she suggested, her tone teasingly suggestive.

When they finally arrived at the triplets’ house, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The house was dark and quiet, the other guys presumably asleep. Y/N kicked off her shoes and wobbled slightly, leaning against the wall for support. “Matt, I can’t believe we actually made it back without getting kicked out,” she laughed, her voice echoing in the stillness.

Matt shook his head, his gaze lingering on her, admiring the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re a disaster waiting to happen,” he replied, stepping closer.

With a playful shove, Y/N pushed him onto the couch, giggling as she joined him. The moment they were seated, the air around them grew heavy with unspoken tension. “What now?” she asked, leaning back slightly, her eyes searching his.

Matt smirked, closing the distance between them. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” His voice was low, and there was a heat in his gaze that sent butterflies racing in her stomach.

“Maybe we should…,” she trailed off, her gaze dropping to his lips, the suggestion lingering between them.

Before they could second-guess themselves, Matt captured her lips with his, their mouths moving together with a passionate urgency that made Y/N’s head spin. The taste of alcohol lingered between them, making the kiss feel even more reckless. She melted against him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed closer, wanting more of him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her lips, his hands exploring her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips.

“Matt…” Y/N breathed, her voice a mix of longing and laughter. “This is so…weird. We’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her again, their lips moving together in a dance of desire. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of them tangled in each other, the couch their only support.

“Maybe we should be quiet?” she suggested, half-heartedly, knowing full well that the thrill of being caught only added to the excitement.

“Shh,” Matt teased, brushing his lips against her neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps wherever he touched. “Let them sleep.”

The kisses grew more fervent as they sank deeper into each other, the line between playful and passionate blurring. Y/N gasped as Matt’s hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of her hips and pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “You’re making this so hard to resist,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“Then don’t resist,” she challenged, pushing her body against his, feeling the heat radiate between them.

With a mischievous grin, Matt hoisted her up slightly, maneuvering them so she was straddling his lap, her legs wrapped around him. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, his hands gripping her waist as she moved against him, the friction sending waves of heat coursing through both of them.

“Let’s just see where this goes,” Y/N whispered, her lips brushing against his ear, making him shiver with anticipation.

Matt’s hands slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back, claiming her mouth once more. The kiss deepened, turning hungry as their bodies pressed together, the heat building between them.

“God, you’re intoxicating,” he gasped, breaking the kiss for just a moment to catch his breath. Y/N laughed softly, feeling emboldened by the alcohol coursing through her veins.

“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom,” she suggested, her voice sultry, filled with playful mischief.

“Lead the way,” Matt said, a mix of excitement and desire lighting up his eyes.

Y/N slid off his lap, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom. The thrill of what was about to happen sent a rush of adrenaline through her. As they entered the room, the door creaked shut behind them, sealing them in their own world.

Once inside, Matt wasted no time, backing her against the door and capturing her lips once again. The kiss was frantic, filled with the heat of the moment as they stumbled further into the room. He pushed her gently onto the bed, hovering over her as their kisses grew more urgent.

Y/N felt a rush of excitement as Matt’s hands explored her body, the anticipation building with every touch. She could feel the alcohol heightening her senses, making every kiss and caress feel electric. “Matt,” she breathed, feeling herself lost in the moment.

“Y/N…” he replied, his voice low and filled with need. “You’re everything I didn’t know I wanted.”

Their bodies moved together, the tension between them finally breaking as they surrendered to the moment, embracing the reckless abandon of their choices. The world outside faded completely, leaving only the two of them in their own universe, where nothing else mattered.

[teecupangel]

Proposal: instead of Desmond sets up a bakery, he sets up a new bar. But specifically manages to pull off such weird drinks from the future that everyone is fully 100% convinced that he’s really a witch.

Baker Desmond AU in Third Crusades Levant, Renaissance Italy and Colonial America

“This is witchcraft! Sorcery! The work of the devil!”

Desmond wondered if he should just book it.

Sure, it had taken time to create this bar. So many long hours finding the cheapest most okay building in a busy street. So many times talking to people to get them to open up to him and finally give his drinks a shot.

Well… more than a shot.

He knew cocktails would prove to be his selling point.

He even made mocktails for those who do not partake but he made sure they were more expensive than the usual because… well… profit.

Could Desmond be doing something else in his new lease of life?

Absolutely.

Was he going to?

No.

This was Altaïr’s territory… sorta.

Desmond had complete faith that Altaïr do as history demanded.

So Desmond could retire.

But, in all honesty…

He wished Altaïr could just assassinate Garnier de Naplouse already so he wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.

He should have just opened his bar away from Levant.

Maybe he should?

“Desmond, if you can just prove to the Grand Master’s representative that you don’t make concoction of the devil-”

The knight was one of his regulars. He was just trying to help (and keep his favorite bar alive).

But Naplouse’s representative.

He could see the greed in the man’s eyes as he continued to hurl garbage at him.

Desmond was pretty sure Naplouse didn’t even order this.

Desmond made sure he was kept busy with not being able to have enough ‘patients’ after all.

(Just because he’s not actively assassinating Altaïr’s targets doesn’t mean he would just a turn a blind eye to the atrocities he knew was happening)

No.

This man wanted to learn his secrets.

He wanted to encroach on Desmond’s hard-earned monopoly.

Desmond’s lips curved into the smile he had perfected after years of having to deal with the lowest trashes as a bartender.

“I understand.”

The greed in that man’s eyes shone brighter.

… as Desmond’s smile grew colder.

“I will pack up and leave then.”

“WHAT?!”

The exclamation of surprise came not only from the man harassing him and the knight who was trying to help him but from the three other guards who were just standing behind them.

An intimidation tactics if Desmond ever saw one.

He was sure they would trash his place if they were ordered to.

Reluctantly, of course.

But trashing one’s place was better than being called insubordinate and punished for it.

If things go to shit, Desmond could just kick all their asses and book it.

Desmond clasped his hands together as he said lightly, “Actually, someone came before and offered me a job in Ḥalab. I refused, of course.”

Which was true.

“But considering how-” Desmond stressed the word, “… unappreciated I am here.”

Desmond continued to smile as he said, “I believe it’s time for me to leave this place. Ḥalab is filled with many merchants with different ingredients I can use for my…”

Desmond glared at the greedy man as he continued to politely smile, “… concoctions.”

“Tha-that’s-” The man spluttered before shouting, “That is an admission of guilt! By not showing how you make them, you are admitting to being a devil worshiper.”

Desmond could see that none of his guards were buying that crap.

But they were powerless as well.

Desmond’s smile fell as he said, “If you’re not going to let me leave in peace, then I’ll just have to take you all down and keep you silent until I have to leave.”

“I promise not to give any of you lasting damage except you…” Desmond stared at the greedy man who flinched, “I’ll hurt you in a way that will make you remember your stupidity every single day.”

Desmond stepped towards him, making the knights take a step towards the man to protect him, the nearest one whispering, “Desmond, wai-”

“I won’t kill you.” Desmond smiled once more, making everybody freeze as a cold shudder went up their spine, “But you will waste the rest of your life wishing I had.”

.

.

That afternoon, Desmond the bartender left Acre. When the people checked his bar later that night, they saw men unconscious on the floor with one of Naplouse’s men tied to a chair, conscious but barely coherent.

Carved on his forehead was the words “1 Timothy 6:9”.

.

Desmond did not, in fact, go to Ḥalab.

But he did start his next bar in one of the cities that is part of the Silk Road.

[pastorfutureletthembe]

Here we go again--

TRIP ABROAD TURNS INTO BUTTERFLY EFFECT

First thing worth mentioning is that the prime color in this artwork is pale blue. I feel like it's quite rare, most of INPLICK arts for Link Click have the same palette: burgundy red, shades of gray and black (except for the whole Surprise Beat thing which is splashed with flashy pink). All but this one:

(probably when they were 17 or sth)

For the sake of the argument, let's say it is a significant distinction to make. The reason is simple: the teaser taking place at the airport and the trailer prove that shit started three years ago, while CXS and LG's graduation trip. If this chronology is correct, then blue probably symbolizes Lu Guang's innocence or happiness. Blue used to paint Lu Guang but now he only sees the world in black, white and red. In the birthday official arts, blue is associated with his character. His flower is freaking Forget-Me-Not; Myosotis.

So yes, that's why I think the color palette here is relevant to the time period we're going to explore in the Yingdu Chapter.

The couch itself is blue when we're so used to the pair sitting on a brick sofa. The cakes and the flowers are the usual shade of red, though.

On the table: red roses in a vase. Petals are all over the place. Ominous. We actually see a roses bouquet in the PV of XETROverthink, held by Li Tianchen.

On the trolley: 1 bottle of wine, 2 CXS's feet, 3 glasses, 4 cakes, 5 individual desserts. The glass half full is Liu Xiao's, since it isn't on the trolley in the original artwork he is absent from. I said it in another post but the plate counts 4 portions, as in 4 antagonists, while the pudding might be Lu Guang's. The cakes are probably metaphors for timelines/curves, clocks dressed as desserts with a red fruit representing a dead Cheng Xiaoshi. V and VI are the only missing parts, just like Qiao Ling's one. CXS put his feet on the trail and I think it's both funny and tragic. I believe the correct saying is "put his foot in his mouth" but in french we say "mettre les pieds dans le plat", which literally translates "to put his feet in the plate" (to say something brutal with no tact or to do something stupid without thinking it through). He has both feet nearing timeline cakes and his head is five inches away from doomed flowers.

On the floor: 1 vintage phone. 1 camera. 2 envelopes, 3 pages of letters. 4 polaroids. Probably: 2 magazines and 3 pages of newspapers. The vintage phone could be relevant to THE TIDES, era-wise. The camera is taking polaroids and two of them are still dark, meaning they just took a shot and are yet to be revealed. The rest must be related to this chapter's plot. So much for holidays, guys (are they investigating CXS' missing parents?)

If you look closely, you'll see four different mentions of time:

Lu Guang's watch (hold this thought)

The polaroid: Big Ben

What looks like newspapers

The hourglass

We also have four mentions of information/communication

Letters

The polaroid: a public telephone box

Newspapers/magazines

Vintage phone (I was wondering why the phone had twelve numbers but after some research, I realized that some of them had # and *)

On another note, I don't know if their hands--

I mean, there's something definitely happening here but let's say for the sake of my sanity that what is supposed to be noticed are the sunglasses. If I'm being honest, this is the real oddity here and the teaser weirdly showed them off?? They're standing out because everything else is so blue for one thing.

They're pink-ish, which is close enough to magenta, so one of Lu Guang's colors (cf. Dive Back In Time). The color itself is weird for sunglasses. Lu Guang doesn't care about fashion, he wants practical. As a girl who loves pink sunglasses, I'll tell you: pink is shit at doing sunglasses' job. CXS told him to wear a cat hat, okay, but did he choose every other accessory?? My guess is that the pink served a purpose in connection with light.

And why is Lu Guang's watch on the other wrist in the artwork? I checked and LG wears it on his right wrist in the donghua and manhua. It can be the opposite for some artworks though... Or blocked from view for some reasons. It's almost as if we're not supposed to know which side is the actual reflection. 👀

Something else is reversed here, actually: the colors AND the pocket of Lu Guang's shirt. It could be a mistake, though.

>>>>> Basically, I think the artwork is telling us that the Yingdu Chapter is going to hurt and make us cry. If we're indeed about to see Lu Guang lose his humanity to try and save Cheng Xiaoshi for the first time therefore destroying worlds, I have no doubt it would be after Infinite Sadness™.

The real question this teaser isn't answering is either we'll go through the original timeline or a rewind. The last episode of season 2 makes me frown. How to be sure that the Lu Guang who dives exists before and not after the events we see unfold for two seasons? Is Yingdu Chapter a flash black or an actual dive itself? Lu Guang seems to be determinate and in a bad mood in the PV after all, could directly happen after one of CXS's deaths.

EDIT: someone mentioned that LG wears his watch on the left wrist when we get images of CXS getting stabbed. (It hurts right here in my meow meow)

[kairiscorner]

what if miguel and y/n switched bodies for a day bc of sum villain that put a spell on them or smth imagine how weirded out the hq would be to see miguel smiling and all cheerful just not being his usual self 💀💀 and y/n being grumpy and petty

HFIREOGHRJTNVEIFBBREUFI BOO, I ... you have awoken my younger self's love for freaky friday (yeah i liked that movie as a kid BWAHHAHAHAHAH) anyway, I LOVE THAT

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

being in your shoes. — miguel o'hara x reader

"wow... i'm a fucking statue come to life." said miguel's awestruck voice with a chuckle following his statement of disbelief. he admired his palms, then his knuckles and the backs of his hands and arms—every vein and every curve, groove, and bump of his muscular arms were just a sight to behold; and the way his fists looked when clenched, and the way his fingers unfolded like the blooming petals of a flower... it was too much for your heart to handle, which, in this case, was technically his heart—anatomically speaking. as he admired the beauty of, well, himself–you went up to him with widened eyes, which quickly morphed into a scowl. "this is... humiliating." your own voice muttered in a low voice, almost as a growl, but miguel chuckled and ruffled your hair. "ooh," the big man let out a soft sound of curiosity at the discovery that he was practically twice your size.

he pressed his elbow down onto your head, making you–rather, miguel–grumble at this act of degradation and disrespect upon shorter people. "wow, y'know, i wouldn't blame you for doing this to me if we ever got back to normal. hell, i don't even want to go back to normal! have you seen this body?" you asked him aloud with a chuckle, his own chuckle that was hardly ever heard, reverberating out into the atmosphere and making the you inside of his body swoon. "stop laughing, it's not funny, this is a cause for concern." he said with your voice as he folded your arms over your chest and glared at you, instinctively pouting despite his lips not appearing as pouty on purpose anymore.

"oh, shit, you do pout?" you asked him with a chuckle that made you giggle internally. miguel didn't appreciate how you abused his laugh so much that he grumbled and turned on his heel–in this scenario, it was your heel–and stormed out of his office as you remained there; admiring his wonderful body and flexing, asking lyla to take pictures of this rare moment when the photo shots of miguel are candid but also taken with such flare that you'd think he was crazy for agreeing to this–the miguel o'hara everyone knew was... nothing like this.

as you walked down the halls in a pink compression shirt and yoga volleyball shorts, as opposed to the usual spider suit miguel donned on every day–you smiled at everyone you met, even if they didn't greet you first–stunning and shocking everyone out of their minds. wide-eyed lenses and hung open mouths greeted you as you greeted them with a warm smile that nobody had ever witnessed before. it was like an silver lining had unexpectedly shown through as the eternal, dark and thunderous clouds tore the sky asunder and welcomed the first rays of sunshine that the spider society had sworn they saw before... on you. but that sunshine was replaced by a gray rainy day hovering over your head and furrowed eyebrows that didn't complement your soft, adorable, amicable face.

whenever anyone greeted you, with miguel in your body, he'd practically growl at them to a loud silence–he'd nod without even looking anybody's way, confusing everyone into thinking you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today or something really bad had happened to you. as everyone went over to you, patting your shoulder, asking you if you're okay–he's scream in your higher pitched voice that you were just peachy.

everyone was astonished at how boldly angry and furious you were being, and at how boldly sweet and darling miguel was being today–everyone kept referencing that a freaky friday situation must've happened to you two, with only miguel in your body explaining that was exactly the situation, but they all laughed it off as a joke, since it came out of your mouth. "yeah, pequeña–oh, fuck, that sounds sexy–yeah, uh, chiquita–you're acting out of your mind right now, darl." "darl?!" your voice snarled in an angry, squeaky voice, making miguel chuckle and ruffle your hair again. "so sweet for me, chiquita." you said in miguel's voice, teasing him in your body as he grumbled.

oh, this was not gonna be fun for him, at all... but it was gonna be way, way too much fun for you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[justagalwhowrites]

hi hun! ❤️ send you this for the no outbreak joel haunted house/haunted hayride/haunted forest one shot. thank you so much again! you are the best. 😊

HI BESTIE!!!

Love this ask so much!! I felt like New in Town Joel was the best Joel for this one, so here's BFD!Joel taking Beautiful to a haunted house because he's the kind of guy who will do anything his woman wants. And we love that for us <3

Hope this is what you're looking for!

Haunted House

You've always loved haunted houses so your boyfriend, Joel Miller, takes you to one just before Halloween. Featuring New in Town Joel Miller and set between the chapters First Thanksgiving and Second New Year.

Pairing: Best Friend's Dad!Joel Miller from New in Town x Female Reader from New in Town

CW: Smut! No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 2.1k

“You’re kidding.” 

“Promise you, Beautiful, I’m really not.” 

You gaped at Joel as the two of you made your way from the makeshift dirt parking area to the ticket booth for the haunted manor. 

“Joel,” you laughed in disbelief. “You love horror movies! How have you never been to a haunted house?” 

“Haunted houses are very different things,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Movies are just in your living room or a theater, shit’s not actually there…” 

You stopped in your tracks and it took Joel a second to realize he’d lost you and come to a stop, too. 

“What?” He frowned. 

“You’re scared.” 

“No,” he scoffed a little too hard and a little too fast. “I’m not scared, I just…”

He trailed off. 

“Just what?” You teased, stepping up close to him so you were just inches away from him, smiling up at him. 

“Just not sure I’m gonna like feelin’ out of control,” he said, sounding a little sheepish as he tugged you against him, one hand on your waist the other cupping your cheek to tilt your head toward his.  

You frowned a little. He sounded more genuinely unsure than you’d expected. 

“We don’t have to go,” you said. “Really, I don’t need to do it…” 

“You like your haunted houses,” he smiled a little and kissed you gently. “Want to do it with you. Besides, who knows. Maybe I’ll like it.” 

 “OK,” you said, still a little uncertain but you kissed him quickly, anyway. “But if you change your mind, we go home.” 

He laughed a little. 

“Not changing my mind, Beautiful. Let’s go get the shit scared out of us by fake serial killers.” 

“Also probably clowns,” you smiled, taking his hand and leading him to the ticket booth. 

Joel felt antsy behind you as you stood in line, his arms draped over your shoulders, holding your back to his front, his lips occasionally finding your temple or your cheek or the curve of your ear. 

“Don’t worry, Baby,” you smiled back over your shoulder at him and gave his forearm a squeeze. “I’ll keep you safe.” 

“Gonna use you as a human shield at the clown part,” he teased. 

You laughed as the two of you were guided into the first room of the haunted house, wallpaper peeling and rotting wood exposed. A lamp flickered ominously from the corner and there was a creak from a shadowy spot near the hallway on the other side of the room. Your heart rate picked up and you squealed a little, too excited to hold it in. 

Joel laughed. 

“Really don’t understand you sometimes, Beautiful.” 

You smiled, taking his hand again. 

“Away we go!” 

You kept his hand tight in yours and crept across the room, watching and waiting for something to jump out at you. 

The two of you almost made it to the hallway when a woman leapt out of the darkest corner, screaming and reaching for you. You jumped and yelped and Joel tugged you against him before he laughed and relaxed his hold on you. 

“See?” You said as the woman snarled and reached but kept her distance. “It’s fun!” 

“Maybe,” he said, keeping an eye on the woman as you led the way to the hall. “Still think you’re weird.” 

In the hall, you were met with a tall, knife wielding man, making you yelp and making Joel jump between you and the would-be attacker as the pair of you ran past him and into the next room. 

“See, I can tell this isn’t an actual horror movie,” he said, a little breathless once there was a moment of quiet. 

“Yeah?” You asked, sticking close to him, on the look out for the next fright. “How?” 

“We fuck way too much to survive a slasher,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as you laughed. “It’s always the virgins who make it out alive.”

The next room you stumbled into was filled with sloppy, neon paint and ominous organ music. 

“Thought you were kidding about the damn clowns,” Joel muttered. You didn’t get a chance to reply before a clown jumped out at you, cackling as he reached and groped. 

You ran, too busy holding Joel’s hand and watching the first clown to fully watch where you were going and ended up running head first into another clown, his face paint streaked with blood and teeth sharpened to points. You screamed and jumped back into Joel, who caught you and held you close. You dodged the second clown, pulling Joel along with you as you ducked below the clown’s arm and ran for the next door. 

The zombie room freaked you out the most, skin hanging from his face as he scrambled across the floor for you in an eerie, inhuman way. It was so sudden and from such an unexpected place you shrieked and froze, Joel tucking you behind him and guiding you to the next room as you peered around his arm to the man snarling at the two of you. 

It had been years since you’d gone to a haunted house with a guy but you found yourself getting turned on, being so close to Joel when you were scared, watching him instinctively protect you - even though you knew there wasn’t anything to actually protect you from. 

The feeling got stronger the longer you were in the haunted house, almost a distraction by the time you reached the last room. Once you were headed back to the car, your panties were wet and you were trying to remember just how far of a drive it was back to the house. 

“That wasn’t too bad,” Joel said, his arm draped around your shoulders. “Some of the noises you make…” 

You smirked a little. 

“Bet you could make me make other noises.” 

“Oh yeah?” He asked, voice low. 

“Think there was an empty park few miles down the road,” you said, turning to face him, walking backwards and guiding his hands to your waist. “We could see if there are any serial killers looking for hapless, horny victims in cars.” 

“You seriously tryin’ to get me to fuck you in a parking lot?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Are you arguing?” 

“Absolutely not,” he growled, pulling you into him and kissing you. “Never gonna argue with that.” 

You laughed and went alongside him again, tucked under his arm. 

“I will say, after that adventure, I feel confident in my zombie apocalypse plan,” you said, lacing your fingers with his that were dangling over your shoulder. 

“You have a zombie apocalypse plan?” He laughed. 

“You don’t?” You frowned at him, skeptical. “How many times have we watched Shaun of the Dead and you don’t have a zombie apocalypse plan?”  

“Apparently I don’t need one,” he teased. “You got it covered. Alright, fill me in, what’s the plan.” 

“Well, first, we make sure we’re in the same place,” you said. “Because you’re clearly going to be my best hope at survival.” 

“Sure,” he said and you could tell he was fighting a smile. 

“Then we go get Sarah.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Then Tommy and Maria,” you continued. “Because I feel like between you and Tommy we’ll do pretty well.” 

“Feelin’ like you’ve got more confidence in my zombie fighting skills than is really appropriate,” he was fully smiling now. 

“Nah,” you waved him off. “You’d do great. Anyway, we haul ass to Galveston, steal a ship, ride it out on the water.” 

“See that part’s not bad,” he said. “You all wet in a swim suit all the time. I can get behind that. Alright, guess we can adopt your zombie plan as the official Miller zombie plan.” 

“A vital part of any household, truly,” you smiled as he opened your car door for you before getting in the driver’s seat himself. 

“You serious about the park?” He asked, brows raised. 

You just reached across to his lap, taking hold of his thick, half hard cock through his jeans, stroking him slowly, firmly. 

“Depends,” you said, voice darkening with want. “Think you can make it to the house?” 

 He groaned. 

“Park it is.” 

When you made it there, he didn’t even have a chance to turn the car off when you’d unbuckled your seatbelt and all but dove into his lap, taking his cock into your mouth with a satisfied moan. His hand flew to the back of your head as you took him into your throat, sucking him and working his shaft with the press of your tongue. 

“Christ, Beautiful,” he was already panting and you pressed your thighs together, looking for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from the needy ache inside you. “Didn’t know a haunted house would get you this hot n’ bothered…” 

You moaned around his cock and sucked hard, his fingers knotting in your hair as he guided you up and down his shaft, swallowing the salty taste of him that made your mouth water. 

“Not gonna last, you keep doin’ that,” his voice was strained, thick. You sucked him harder and his hips thrust up into your mouth. “Oh shit, Baby…” 

You could feel him stiffen and he yanked your head off him and you pouted at him, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. 

“Got another place I’d rather come if that’s alright with you,” he panted, looking at you with wide eyes in the moonlight. Even in the near total darkness you could tell his pupils were blown. 

“Fuck, please,” you said, kicking off your shoes and yanking down your leggings, Joel watching hungrily while stroking himself, still dripping with your spit as he did. 

“Goddamn, need inside you Baby,” he managed as you clambered over the center console and straddled him. You aligned him at your entrance and took him into yourself in one firm, swift motion and you both moaned in relief at it, the feeling of being joined. You sat still on top of him for a moment, adjusting to the size of him. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you’d fucked him, he was so thick and long he always stretched you in a way that was just on the pleasurable side of pain, the initial burn satisfying as he utterly filled you. As the burn faded, you started to ride him, his hands on your hips as you set a heady and needy pace over him. 

Joel brought a hand to your front, his thumb pressing into your clit, his fingers cupping your sex, spreading around where he was entering you, making you moan. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, the hand that was still on your hip lowering his seat back so he could see where you were joined before moving to your thigh. “Look so damn pretty taking this cock.” 

“Joel,” you moaned, your body getting tight around him. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come…” 

“Good,” he thrust up into you. “Make me fucking feel it, Baby. Want to feel you come, want to feel you come all over me.” 

He pressed harder into your clit and it was like all the heat in your body suddenly centered on your core, everything going molten and tight before you came apart around him, your hips stilling over him as your pussy throbbed around him. 

“Fuck, there you go,” he fucked up into you through your orgasm, pressing deep, working your clit. “Gonna fill you up, leave myself so deep in you…” 

“Please,” you panted, still not able to control your body as you rode out the last of your climax. “Need it Joel, need you to come for me.” 

“Fuck!” He gasped and you felt him press deep and throb hard inside you, the heat of him pumping into you over and over as your pussy gave his thick cock a final milking squeeze. 

You slumped over onto his chest as he finished, his length still buried deep inside you, both of you panting for breath. 

“Alright,” he said after a minute, his hands going to your bare ass as he leaked out of your pussy. “Decided I love haunted houses.” 

You laughed. 

“Really?” You teased, kissing his neck. 

“Oh yeah,” he said, still breathless. “If it gets you to fuck me in the car like we’re damn teenagers, it’s my new favorite thing. Gonna have to do this every Halloween.” 

“Every Halloween?” You asked, lifting your head to look at him. 

“Every one,” he smiled. “As long as I spend them with you.”

You smiled back. 

“Think I like the sound of that.” 

He sat up just enough that his lips could reach yours. 

“You and me both, Beautiful.” 

[libraford]

I don't mean to keep talking about work shit but I'm back in that place where I like what I do and want to continue to do it, but there are parts of it that are starting to wear on me personally.

Work bitching under the cut.

We have a whole new crew this season except for me. And my boss is getting more stressed out because of her bosses, which means that when the new crew has questions it falls to me. Which is fine- the person who trained me was real knowledgeable and I'm decent at coming up with solutions to problems on my own.

The new people think I'm 'very chill.' But the truth is that most of the problems they're fussing over are things that I've encountered before and I know how to solve them or who to call if I can't. Sometimes my solutions aren't perfect and the overhead bosses notice that we had to rig something.

My immediate boss wants perfection. I told her that I can't promise that. She still thinks that I can do that, but I've never been a perfectionist. She will show you every hair out of place, every wrinkle in every collar, every misplaced crop.

Well?

Our subjects are children and children are imperfect. I didn't wash my hair for a year in fifth grade because I had constant earaches and didn't want to get my head wet. Sometimes kids are just funny looking- they make weird faces when you tell them to smile, they bug their eyes out, they don't sit still. Like I'm sorry, parents, that your kid doesn't sit with perfectly placed hands and a natural smile- but that's your goofy kid. Love and cherish their goofy years.

With most kids, I have a few tricks for getting them to fix their shirts and hair, get into the correct pose, and somewhat approaching a natural picture smile. But when you're doing 60 subjects a minute, some of them are not going to be perfect.

Yesterday I had a student who was special needs, did not like to be touched, and had specific wants for her photo. Her mother died last month and she wanted a photo of her holding the locket with her picture in it. Its the cutest photo ever.

They'll see that I went off-book. They'll see that her skirt isn't perfectly pleated. They'll see that she has some stray hairs.

I made an accommodation for this child. I accepted that we weren't going to get it perfect, but we were going to get a photo that her grandparents were going to cherish forever. Its truly an adorable photo. If I waited for perfect, I wasn't gonna get it.

Another kid was having a bad day. She was crying. I had to take her picture while she was crying, which is insult to injury for a kid who is having an internal crisis. We weren't going to get perfect.

I instruct the special needs teachers to send their kids to me because I'm very patient and I know some tricks and I know my equipment and I know how to make some adjustments to make it easier that some of my new photographers might not. I may not get perfect. I hope for happy, I hope for 'looking at the camera.' Its a win if I get both.

When I'm doing yearbook candids, I do fast and good. I have a system that allows me to take a rather high volume of decent photos that I know will look good in a yearbook without interrupting a class to get them. You literally can't get perfect here except on accident. They're kids in their natural environment.

When I'm doing sports candids I aim for volume. I know where to stand to get the best shots. If I take enough pictures, occasionally I get a really good one. But I don't look for perfect. I can't be like 'hey basketball dude, could you twist your hips a little bit to get that flattering curve of your spine?' Not happening.

I learned to work fast because I am being asked to do multiple things within a short time frame, so I learned how to process tasks in an efficient way: learning the typical building layout to minimize my workload and prepare for certain hiccups that happen often.

I mention them to the new people. I tell them that I am good and fast because I have done these things for three years and I am familiar with thinking on my feet. Often, I have to get things done quickly so that I can go help the new photographers who are struggling. If they prefer to go slow and focus on details first, that's fine. I will focus on volume and speed, I will pick up the slack while they are still learning.

I am told that I am going too fast. I need to slow down, focus on details, get things right instead of get them done.

But which would you prefer? That your kid was just a little messy for their photo or that I didn't take their photo at all because we ran out of time? Last season, one of our photographers had an emergency and I had to photograph nearly 800 students by myself.

The boss was shocked that they were good. Glad to hear we were expecting garbage.

Yesterday, while at a job, the boss was there to help one of the new photographers with one of the more complicated tasks. The new photographer felt that she was being pressed to go faster than her standards would allow. I told her afterwards that speed comes with time, there are some things you can't account for, and it wasn't necessary to push her that hard.

Our other new photographer is a 'perfectionist' and she takes so very much time getting every hair and every position and every expression, but she struggles to put up her equipment every time and if there's a problem she shuts down and can't think of a solution.

I have to be able to set up quickly so that I can make sure she has an extra hand to help her with issues. I have to photograph quickly to make sure that if she needs help I'm available.

And her photos are not really that much better. I'm often coaching her on cropping, on posture.

Slow does not equate perfection. Every person I've met that calls themselves a perfectionist is a perfectionist until it comes to the actual job.

She wants me to do class groups. Every time she trains me on class groups, there is some reason that I have to hop onto a solo unit. The first time it was because one of our photographers, another perfectionist, was taking too long and it created a bottleneck. Last time, it was because our other photographer went into labor and the remaining photographer was slower than hell.

So I'm learning that my speed and ease is an asset in these situations, but in situations where speed is not an asset then I should slow down- which experience tells me that if you slow down you're not guaranteed to do better.

Earlier in the week, I was showing one of the new girls how to do a dance backdrop setup. I had her look over my shoulder while I did the white balance and then exposure. I had shown her how to do it on a previous day and this was just reinforcement. Its also something that we do literally on every job, just in a different context- she should understand the concept and I gave her the option to raise any questions.

The boss told me that if I'm training someone how to do something I should show them how to do it, then mess up the settings on purpose for them, and then have them fix it. We were running behind schedule and I had actually been on schedule to leave like two hours prior but chose to stay so that we could work on this project together. I was not intending on training anyone.

She asks me why I don't want to become a trainer.

Its not usually like this. Usually, I can coast a little. But I'm filling the shoes of a couple people that had to sit this season out and now she's busting my chops to be perfect when 'perfect' was never my goal.

I dunno.

Its exhausting.