#it turns out that just having a show centered on a love story between two women is not enough to get me hooked on a pairing

[niuxita21]

I haven't done a proper long ass ramble about TV on here in a while, probably because the people who were most likely to read it are long gone from here so I am essentially now just shouting into the void (but aren't we all, really?) Anyway, now that I've had time to get acquainted with more of the Thai lesbian shows (I know they're called "GLs" but it feels weird to use that term, like I'm intruding on something that isn't mine or like I'm being a bandwagoner or whatever), I feel the need to do a little ranking with my opinions because, to the surprise of absolutely NO ONE, they are the complete opposite of the mainstream and I feel very alone haha.

8. The Secret of Us: This was weirdly the very first one I tried to watch back when I was still travelling around Asia and so it was available on Netflix. I've mentioned before that I couldn't get into it, and in truth I couldn't even finish the first episode. It didn't help that the couple started off as exes, which is already a hard sell for me because I need the slow burn or the enemies to lovers or whatever to really make me yearn for a couple to be together. That, plus the fact that they tell you the story of how they get together in a flashback in the first episode in which they basically sleep together after knowing each other for 2 days (if I remember correctly) just completely failed to hold my interest (not that there's anything wrong with sleeping together after 2 days, like I said, I personally just need the slow burn and the yearning. C'est la vie). Which is a damn shame, because the actresses are absolutely beautiful together, but at least I can look forward to their upcoming bodyguard-themed series, which definitely has all the markings of being a hit with me.

7. Affair: This one I did manage to finish one episode of and that was enough to realize I wouldn't be able to continue. It's weird, because it's not that it was bad. The acting was good, the characters were interesting, the relationship dynamic between the two leads was certainly something different than the typical storyline, and yet... I was SO BORED. Like I struggled to get through the episode, and I definitely was not invested enough in the main couple to follow their trials and tribulations for however many episodes there were. Again, I can't really explain it, but perhaps it was simply that I didn't see the chemistry between them that other people see.

6. Show Me Love: I literally only gave this one a shot because I found out it featured the same actresses that will be in Petrichor, that upcoming show about the cop and medical examiner who fall in love, so I was curious to see what the chemistry was like between them and whether it would be worth it to pay for the subscription to the streaming service if it's not available on YT. It was a struggle to get through because I just did not care enough about the pageant storyline, and the writing was very confusing at times like there were some things that just straight-up did not make any sense lmao. That being said, the leads are very very pretty together, and with a better script and storyline (and directing wrt the romantic/love scenes) I could 100% see myself rooting for them as a couple, so that was definitely not a waste of my time. Small wins.

5. The Loyal Pin: It took me about 9 episodes to realize that I was just... not into the main couple. I kinda figured I was wayyy out of the target demographic for them but I thought, they're so popular for a reason, so surely I'd be able to see it, too. Well, turns out I was wrong, haha. I got so caught up in crushing on Pin's lesbian aunt and her magnificent face from the very beginning that it was easy to believe I was into the whole show. However, at one point in episode 9 I realized that there were like 7 episodes left of Pin and Anin having couple scenes and for some reason my first thought was "Oh God, how repetitive" LMAO. That, plus the fact that Pin's aunt's subtextual, 3-scene love story made me more emotional than the show's main couple's most romantic love declarations was definitely a big clue that this show perhaps is not for me. I'm gonna see it through until the end, though, because far be it from me to deprive myself of looking at such an exquisitely gorgeous creature as Pin's aunt (plus it gives me something to do on Sunday mornings), but I don't think I'll be checking out GAP any time soon. Such is life.

4. Blank: This one is surprisingly holding my interest (this is DESPITE the age gap storyline, not because of it, in a completely unexpected turn of events. Perhaps I'd be more into it if they had the younger one act less like a child even though she's supposed to be 20). I watched the first episode of this one on the same day as the first episode of Affair and, in a stark contrast, I definitely wanted to continue, so that must mean something. It's probably because the older one of the leads is sooooo beautiful, and her character has such a cool style, like I adore every single one of her outfits. But there was also a moment in episode 3 or 4 of season 1 where they were all dressed up for an event and had a scene together and I definitely felt the chemistry. They really took their sweet time to get them together, which was fine by me, and now that they are formally an item they are surprisingly cute given my slight apprehensiveness in the beginning because of how the younger one acted, so I guess I am in this for the long haul. I also definitely would be interested in watching anything else the two actresses star in.

3. Pluto: Quite enjoying this one. I don't necessarily ship the main couple (although the actress that plays the twins is very very very pretty and the actress that plays the blind girl is adorable so they make a super cute couple), but I am VERY intrigued by the plot. In particular, what the hell is going on with the side throuple (??) situation and the fact that you KNOW the comatose twin is gonna wake up at some point, probably when it creates the most drama, and I am positively salivating at the potential conflict. I also can't even begin to predict how it will all be resolved as I have not read the book and I'm not planning to, so I like watching something where I don't need to speculate because I know that whatever happens will end up surprising me anyway. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

2. 23.5: I thoroughly enjoyed this one. I wasn't even gonna bother checking it out because I knew it was a high school romance, which is almost impossible for me to get invested in. However, I was bored one Saturday night so I gave it a shot. And while they're definitely not gonna go down as my ride-or-die pairing, the show was quite charming and hilarious, it had a surprising side f/f ship that I was very much into as well, and the lead was absolutely adorable. Their couple interactions were also super super cute. I found myself even wanting to pace my consumption of the episodes so I could live a little longer in the universe of the show. The entire friend group from the school was very enjoyable to watch, it was all around a very wholesome little show.

1. The Two of Us: Brilliant. Amazing. Fantastic. Showstopping. Spectacular. Invented love and relationships. Changed me on a metaphysical level and permanently altered my brain chemistry. What's that you say? It's only a low-budget spin-off of an m/m show with 15-minute episodes that barely allow for any plot and that are carried on the shoulders of the leads' insane chemistry? And your point is? Look, here's the thing. I started watching this one purely because the short episodes made it a small time commitment. I had just dropped my previous f/f ship on a show from another country and in another language, which shall remain nameless and only gave me angst, censorhip, and disappointment. And then I came across these two and they gave me all the trope-y, age-appropriate telenovela nonsense I had been CRAVING for so long. So yeah, perhaps if it hadn't scratched an itch I didn't know I had, I wouldn't have fallen so hard so fast, but also, really, it was like this pairing was genetically engineered to hit every single one of my wishes when it comes to f/f pairings. Older women? Check. Domesticity? Check. Sickening adorableness? Check. Of course I had to imprint on the ONE pairing that doesn't have like, a set commitment to star in things together and that seems to have such a small fandom in comparison to the behemoths from other shows, but you know what, I wouldn't trade that for the world. Even though I would give away one of my kidneys FOR FREE just to see them get a proper full-length, 8+ episode show where I can watch them fall in love slowly and tantalizingly, if this little show is all I ever get of them together as romantic leads, I will still cherish it and be forever grateful we even got this much.

[azmageddon]

Silence

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian's twin!healer!reader

Summary: When you get stuck Under the Mountain, your mate finds the sudden silence deafening.

Warnings: none!

a/n: Based on an anonymous request! Requests are so fun! I love exploring ideas I never would have thought of. Keep them coming! This all takes place within the same AU where reader and Azriel kept their relationship secret from the IC (besides Cassian).

Azriel's POV

The silence was deafening. Never in the last 450 years had he felt such empty silence. The bond was never closed. 

But now it was silent and cold. The golden thread that joined him to you floated from the middle of his chest, right at the center of his soul, into nothing. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing until he saw stars, willing this to be a dream he would wake up from. But Azriel knew better than to think this was a dream. He never slept anyway. 

“Keep Velaris safe,” Rhys’ voice had said. “And don’t come after us.”

Rhys’ voice was calm, yet commanding. It was the demand of a High Lord: something Azriel physically couldn’t ignore. 

At first, he didn’t understand the command. What did he mean, don’t come after us? Keep Velaris safe? You and Azriel had just been having a mental conversation, gossiping over the abhorrent fashion of the Autumn brothers, when Rhys’ voice interrupted you mid-sentence. 

But when Azriel reached back out to you to ask what the warning meant, he was met only with the thick, suffocating silence. 

The bond was never closed. It stayed open when you were hard at work: treating the injured, delivering babies, or easing the pain of Illyrians’ clipped wings. It stayed open when you were angry, or sad, after an argument, especially if you wanted him to feel particularly bad about it afterward.

The bond was never closed. Not when he went on missions for weeks at a time. Not even when he dragged Rhys’ prisoners to the dungeons of the Hewn City and did unspeakable things. You were his comfort. Your shared emotions were what grounded him, reminded him that life was worth living. They were a constant in his life, as effortless to absorb as breathing. 

You had become his inner voice; his conscience. His reminder that he wasn’t the villain of this story. Now that it was gone, he wasn’t sure. 

For 450 years, the bond was never closed, a vow the two of you had made when you accepted the mating bond. But now, that silence was louder than any battle or war he had ever partaken in. 

The memory of when he had found out you were mates played in his head. Azriel couldn’t keep the memory from flooding into his mind and the guilt that came along with it every time he remembered. 

You, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, watching him with worry in your eyes. 

“How long have you known?” He remembers asking, venom lacing every word he spat at you. He was angry and embarrassed; how could he have missed all the signs? How could you keep such an important, life altering secret from him? He couldn’t show that embarrassment, couldn’t show weakness, especially not to you. So he chose anger instead. 

“Since the day we met,” you replied, taking a step and trying to close the gap between the two of you. Instinctively, Azriel took a step back, the shock turning his embarrassment to shame and anger to rage.

“I was eleven when we met, Y/N,” he hissed, implying the absurdity of the time frame. Nearly a century of his fate was kept a mystery to him. Cassian had joined them at that point, pointedly observing that Azriel wasn’t taking the news well. A thought surfaced in his mind. Turning to Cassian, he has to refrain from advancing on his longest friend. “And how long have you known?” Cassian’s silence was the only answer he needed.

Azriel shook his head to clear it, choosing not to remember how you cried at the way he turned away and left you with your heart in his hands, just for him to crush it. 

It all made sense after your confession. He never understood why you insisted on being childhood friends. He was broken and lonely and disowned by his own family, but you had always shown true kindness and friendship. As you grew together, you slowly evolved into innocent adolescence first loves, and eventually adult lovers. It wasn’t until your untimely move from Illyria to Velaris to work for the late High Lord that Azriel never saw you again. That is, until the first war with Hybern and your admission of the truth. 

After Azriel had recovered from the initial anger and shock, your best kept secret had become a shared secret as the two of you accepted the bond. He still remembers the first time he heard your voice in his head. Your lovely, soft voice that wrapped around his mind like the sweetest honey. 

“Old age getting to you?” You teased as Azriel took what looked like a painful blow to the stomach from Rhys during training. 

He was so taken aback by your voice that he even turned to you, thinking you had said it out loud. But you weren’t looking at him; you had your back turned in a combat sequence with your brother. 

The momentary lapse rewarded him with another hit from Rhys, this time on the side of the head. 

“Everything alright, brother?” Rhys asked, concern flooding his voice. 

But Azriel only smirked and turned back to his brother to begin again. 

“You’ll pay for that later, love” he responded through the bond and could have sworn that he saw you falter in your training from his peripheral vision. 

How could he have let this happen? How could he have not foreseen that you would be taken from him? A mysterious invitation calling for the High Lord and his second in command to attend a party Under the Mountain? What kind of Spymaster couldn’t ascertain the danger that now all-consumed the other half of his soul?

Azriels felt something hit his knees, the sting traveling up to make his teeth chatter. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and saw that he had fallen to the ground of the Townhouse. Cassian quickly knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders to keep him from total collapse. 

Azriel stared at Cassian and saw his lips moving rapidly, but no words came out. He furrowed his brows in confusion. What was he trying to tell him? 

In fact, Azriel heard no sound at all besides the buzzing silence in his ears and his own mind hurling insult after insult of his own sad excuse of being a mate. 

But wait…that was it. Cassian had turned to the others and Azriel was able to read the words on his lips as he spoke to the remaining Inner Circle in the room: She’s his mate.

All at once, too many voices spoke and the sounds came rushing back to Azriel. As if he would keep him from dissolving through the floor, he gripped onto his found brother for dear life.

“Cassian,” Azriel groaned, finding his voice at last. “Cassian, she’s gone. I can’t feel her.”

“We will get her back, brother. I promise.”

[urdreamydoodles]

hi hi! I love your writing and was wondering about what you’d think everyone’s reaction to a drunk us. Maybe we went drinking together and were a lightweight or something (idk 🥲) anyways thank youuuuu!!!

X-Men x Drunk!Reader (Part.1)

How they deal with their drunk s/o (Part.1)

A night out with your partner quickly turns wild as your tipsy self unleashes a little chaos around.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Raven Darkhölme & Laura Kinney

I was extremely inspired by this prompt, thank you <3

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan is absolutely used to handling chaos, but nothing quite prepares him for the brand of trouble you unleash when tipsy. When you’re several drinks in and decide it’s a good idea to start a spontaneous dance battle with some random patrons, Logan just sighs and crosses his arms, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. He’s tempted to pull you away but can’t deny how much he’s enjoying the show.

- He’s mostly unfazed when you start taking your "battle" a bit too far, challenging one particularly large guy to a dance-off. Logan leans against the bar with a smirk, ready to step in if things get out of hand. He figures you can handle yourself, but if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s already prepared to make his presence known.

- When you stumble over to him, grinning like you’ve just won a gold medal, he can't help but chuckle, pulling you close and whispering, “You’re a handful, y’know that?” But it’s clear he’s enjoying this different side of you, especially when you insist on dragging him onto the dance floor despite his protests. Logan grumbles but lets you lead, his usual stoicism softening just for you.

- It’s when you try to order “a round for everyone” on his tab that Logan decides enough is enough. He firmly wraps an arm around your waist and steers you away from the bar, muttering about how he’s “not made of money” as you laugh and lean into him. He’s torn between scolding you and letting out a laugh of his own.

- On the walk home, you ramble about the night, sharing exaggerated stories and embellishments that make Logan roll his eyes but secretly cherish every word. Despite his gruff exterior, he listens to every detail, finding the way you see the world endlessly entertaining and a perfect counterbalance to his own guarded nature.

- By the time you’re back, Logan’s more than happy to tuck you in, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You’re finally starting to settle, mumbling something about how much fun you had with him. He just smiles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re trouble,” he murmurs, though you can hear the affection in his voice. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy absolutely thrives on chaos, and he’s more than ready to encourage it the moment he sees you’ve had a few drinks. When you suddenly decide it’s a great idea to “borrow” someone’s hat and start spinning it around like a magician, Remy’s right there, egging you on with a wicked grin and suggesting even wilder antics. “Go on, chérie, show ‘em what you got.”

- He’s delighted when you turn to him with that mischievous sparkle in your eye, pulling him into your impromptu show. You two quickly become the center of attention as he plays along, letting you use his trench coat for added flair while he flourishes a deck of cards with his signature charm, drawing oohs and ahhs from the crowd.

- When you start loudly declaring that Remy’s “the best-looking man in the room,” he just smirks and pulls you close, whispering, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, ma belle.” You can tell he’s absolutely eating up every bit of attention, and he makes sure to dip you dramatically on the dance floor, laughing along with you.

- Things escalate when you decide to start a card game with some nearby strangers, with Remy’s deck, of course. You might be a little hazy on the rules, but he’s having too much fun watching you bluff your way through. The two of you make a formidable (if slightly unorthodox) team, charming everyone at the table with your combined wit and unpredictability.

- Remy makes sure to keep you steady when you start wobbling a bit, an arm always draped around your shoulders as he guides you from one bit of chaos to the next. He’s vigilant without being obvious, letting you have your fun while ensuring no one gets too handsy or tries to take advantage of your state.

- When the night winds down, he insists on carrying you back if you’re stumbling, laughing when you protest that you can walk just fine. Once home, he lays you on the bed with exaggerated gentleness, grinning down at you with that signature smirk of his. “Ma belle, you certainly know how t’ keep things interestin’,” he whispers before placing a soft kiss on your hand. For Remy, nights like this with you are what make life exciting.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt is simultaneously amused and a bit alarmed when he realizes you’re tipsy. He’s not used to you being so bold, so when you start loudly complimenting him and declaring him “the handsomest guy in the room,” his cheeks turn a dark shade of blue. He tries to calm you down, but you’re too busy grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the dance floor.

- At first, Kurt’s hesitant to join you, worried that his appearance might draw stares. But you’re so unbothered and so full of joy that he can’t help but relax, letting you lead him. His movements are clumsy but endearing, and he laughs along with you, his tail swishing in rhythm as he finally lets go of his worries, at least for tonight.

- When you start insisting on “showing everyone his bamf trick,” Kurt chuckles nervously, trying to talk you out of it. But you’re persistent, so he finally gives in, teleporting the two of you across the room in a puff of smoke. Your delighted laughter is infectious, and he starts teleporting you both to random spots around the club, filling the room with giggles and gasps from onlookers.

- Eventually, you try to climb up on a table to make an “important announcement,” and Kurt quickly teleports you back down before you can get too carried away. He’s laughing as he steadies you, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes. “Mein liebe, maybe we should stick to safer activities, ja?” he teases, holding your hands firmly in his.

- As the night goes on, Kurt never strays far from your side. He’s a mixture of amused, charmed, and just a little bit flustered by your antics, but he’s also keenly aware of the attention you’re drawing. When anyone tries to get a little too close, he’ll bamf in between you and them, a protective look on his face as he politely but firmly keeps them at bay.

- Once you’re back home, he’s the sweetest caretaker, making sure you’re comfortable and tucking you in with a gentle smile. He holds your hand as you drift off, murmuring softly in German about how lucky he is to have someone as vibrant and fearless as you in his life. Even in your chaotic moments, Kurt’s love for you only grows stronger.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott is a bit hesitant when he notices you’ve had a few too many drinks, but he’s dedicated to making sure you’re safe and enjoying yourself. When you start insisting on trying to wear his visor and “see the world through his eyes,” he’s both flustered and exasperated, gently guiding your hands away with a laugh. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want that,” he says, trying to keep a straight face as you pout.

- You surprise him by dragging him onto the dance floor, and Scott, ever the responsible one, initially tries to decline. But seeing you so excited and insistent, he finally gives in. He might be awkward at first, but he quickly adjusts to your rhythm, even pulling you close and twirling you in an attempt to match your enthusiasm.

- When you declare loudly to a few nearby patrons that Scott Summers is “the best and most handsome leader,” he can’t help but blush. He’s clearly flattered and a bit embarrassed by the attention, but he just nods, smiling shyly, as you shower him with compliments. He feels oddly proud of your open affection, even if he’s a little overwhelmed by it.

- Scott keeps a close eye on you throughout the night, gently steering you away from any potential trouble or prying eyes. When someone bumps into you, causing you to stumble, he’s right there to steady you, one hand firmly on your waist. He’s the picture of a protective boyfriend, subtly keeping others at bay while still letting you enjoy yourself.

- When you start to get a little too loud and insist on “making a toast to the greatest mutant leader ever,” Scott decides it’s probably time to get you home. He chuckles softly, catching your hand and guiding you out of the club, all the while listening to your increasingly dramatic proclamations of love and admiration. He’s touched by it all, even if he won’t admit it.

- Back home, Scott helps you settle in, making sure you’re comfortable and well-hydrated. He sits by your side, holding your hand as you drowsily tell him how much you love him. Scott just smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too, even when you’re a handful,” he murmurs, content to stay by your side until you fall asleep.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean is equal parts entertained and concerned when she realizes you’re tipsy. She’s usually the responsible one, but she can’t help but laugh when you start slurring your words and calling her your “favorite telepathic goddess.” Jean blushes, clearly flattered by your adoration, and gently shushes you, though she’s clearly enjoying every second of it.

- When you start dancing wildly, Jean initially tries to calm you down, worried about drawing attention. But seeing the joy in your eyes, she eventually lets her guard down and joins you, holding your hands and spinning you around as you laugh. She’s surprisingly graceful and a fantastic dancer, easily matching your energy and guiding you through the moves.

- At one point, you insist that you and Jean “show off your telepathic connection” to the crowd. Jean laughs, gently steering you away from the idea. Instead, she subtly uses her powers to make sure you don’t stumble, mentally guiding you to stay upright and steady. Her subtle help goes unnoticed by you, but she’s just relieved to see you having fun.

- Jean finds herself laughing even more when you start a friendly debate with a nearby stranger about the “genius” of her red hair. She can’t believe how fiercely you’re defending her beauty, even as you insist it’s a “scientific fact” that she’s the most gorgeous woman in the room. Jean’s cheeks flush, and she wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, “You’re adorable, you know that?”

- When you start to get tired, Jean’s the perfect caretaker, gently guiding you out of the bustling club. She makes sure you’re cozy, even grabbing her own jacket to drape over your shoulders. She keeps a hand on you the entire way home, reassuring you and quietly laughing at your sleepy, affectionate murmurs.

- Once back, Jean gets you settled on the couch, brushing stray hair out of your face with the softest smile. You reach for her hand, mumbling something about how lucky you are to have her. She blushes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m the lucky one,” she whispers, more to herself than to you, as she sits by your side until you drift off.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo is incredibly amused when she realizes you’re tipsy; she’s rarely seen this side of you, and she finds it adorable. When you start calling her your “queen of the skies” and insisting she “make it rain just for fun,” she laughs and gently pats your cheek, reminding you that some powers are best kept for emergencies.

- You grab her hand and pull her onto the dance floor, much to her surprise. Ororo might be a graceful and poised leader, but she has a playful side too. She lets you lead, laughing as you spin her around, her silver hair flowing around her as she dances with surprising ease. It’s a rare sight, and you can tell she’s having fun, loosening up just for you.

- When you start loudly telling everyone nearby that “Ororo is the most powerful woman in the world,” she tries to shush you, laughing softly. She’s both flattered and slightly embarrassed by the attention, but she allows you to bask in her presence. She’ll gently tease you for your enthusiasm, a fond look in her eyes as she watches you defend her honor.

- Ororo’s always watching out for you, subtly guiding you away from any potential trouble. If you start to stumble or look a little too wobbly, she’s right there to steady you, her hand on your shoulder and a calm smile on her face. She finds a certain joy in taking care of you, grateful for this softer side of your relationship.

- At one point, you try to “command the winds” like her, playfully imitating her powers. Ororo laughs, incredibly entertained by your antics. She doesn’t mind the teasing, and she even indulges you by summoning a soft breeze that ruffles your hair, making you gasp in delight. “See? The winds listen to you too,” she jokes with a wink.

- When you’re finally ready to head home, Ororo makes sure you’re comfortable, holding your hand and gently brushing your cheek as you murmur about how amazing she is. She chuckles softly, telling you stories of her adventures to help you relax. Once home, she tucks you in with a gentle kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Sleep well, my love,” as she watches over you, content and deeply in love.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue is equal parts amused and nervous as she watches you go from a few drinks to a bit too tipsy. You start telling her she’s “the prettiest southern belle ever,” and she can’t help but blush and laugh, giving you a playful shove. But there’s a touch of worry in her eyes—she’s protective and feels a need to make sure you’re okay.

- When you try to dance with her, Rogue hesitates, but your enthusiasm is contagious. She ends up joining you, making sure to keep her gloved hands carefully in place. She’s gentle but full of energy, matching your moves while constantly keeping an eye on you to make sure you don’t trip over your own feet. Her laughter is light and warm, and she looks almost carefree.

- You start raving about how amazing Rogue is, telling random people nearby how she’s “a hero who can’t even touch people, but still manages to save the world.” She gets a bit flustered and shy, trying to hush you with a soft “sugar, that’s enough,” but the pride in her eyes is unmistakable. No one’s ever praised her like that before, and it means a lot.

- When someone accidentally bumps into you, and you look about ready to start a tipsy argument, Rogue steps in with a charming Southern drawl and defuses the situation. She’s got a sweet, calming presence when she wants to, and she manages to steer you away with ease, laughing about it afterward while holding your arm gently.

- Rogue knows when you’re reaching your limit and insists on taking you home, using a soft but firm tone to make sure you listen. She doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and seeing you a bit out of it brings out her nurturing side. “Alright, sugar, let’s get ya back before you do somethin’ we’ll both regret,” she says, guiding you with a patient smile.

- Once home, she sits with you, listening as you tell her how much you love her and appreciate her strength. Rogue’s heart swells with emotion, and she gently brushes a gloved hand along your cheek. “You’re somethin’ special, darlin’,” she murmurs, her voice warm and full of affection, staying with you until you’re sound asleep.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is a bit bemused but mostly wary when he notices you’re getting tipsy. He’s used to maintaining control in every situation, and your loosened inhibitions make him a bit nervous. But when you start complimenting his intelligence and calling him “the smartest, most powerful man in the room,” he lets a rare smile slip, finding your praise amusing.

- You start dragging him around, pointing at various metallic objects in the bar and insisting he show off his powers. He rolls his eyes at first, but he eventually indulges you by making a few small metallic items hover, just to see the joy on your face. Erik isn’t one to perform tricks, but he finds himself unable to say no to you.

- When you loudly declare that “Magneto is the future of mutantkind,” he tries to quiet you, but he’s clearly flattered by your support. He’s a man who’s used to admiration but doesn’t often receive it so openly. There’s a softness in his eyes as he places a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back to your seat with a chuckle.

- Erik stays close to you, watching with an amused smile as you stumble through conversations and rant about how incredible he is. He’s fiercely protective, stepping in if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way. He’s calm, composed, and carries an air of authority that subtly warns others not to mess with you.

- At one point, you try to mimic his deep, imposing voice, quoting some of his more famous speeches. He’s visibly amused, and even a bit impressed at how well you remember his words. Erik finds your respect for his ideals endearing, and he places a gentle hand on your back, chuckling as he listens to your tipsy impression.

- When it’s time to leave, he’s entirely in control, guiding you out with a strong arm around your shoulders. Once home, Erik sits with you, listening as you share your adoration for him. He’s not the most openly affectionate man, but he reaches out, gently squeezing your hand as he says, “Your loyalty is a rare gift, and I don’t take it lightly.” He stays by your side, quietly protective, until you’re resting peacefully.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Charles is endlessly patient as you start to get a little tipsy, a gentle smile on his face as you go from poised to adorably unfiltered. When you begin praising his brilliance and calling him “the kindest genius in the world,” he chuckles, incredibly touched. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he teases, his eyes warm with affection.

- You insist that he shows off his powers, and Charles tries to decline, but your insistence eventually makes him give in. He subtly uses his telepathy to give you an image of your favorite place, a soothing mental picture that instantly makes you smile. He finds joy in seeing you happy, and he uses his powers in the gentlest, most comforting way.

- Charles is protective and attentive, ensuring you’re comfortable and not getting yourself into any trouble. When you loudly declare your love for him in front of others, he’s both embarrassed and deeply moved, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re quite the charmer tonight,” he whispers, his voice filled with warmth as he gently holds your hand.

- When someone tries to join your conversation, and you’re too tipsy to notice their intentions, Charles politely but firmly steps in, his calm authority enough to send them on their way. He might be gentle, but he can be firm when needed, and he’s especially vigilant when it comes to keeping you safe.

- You start telling Charles that he’s the greatest leader mutantkind could ever ask for, and he’s genuinely humbled, listening with a fond smile as you praise his wisdom and kindness. He doesn’t always let himself accept such compliments, but coming from you, they mean the world to him, and he quietly thanks you with a soft, appreciative kiss on your hand.

- When it’s time to leave, he makes sure you’re steady, guiding you with gentle hands and a reassuring presence. Back home, he helps you get comfortable, listening as you continue to express your admiration for him. Charles smiles, stroking your hand and murmuring, “I’m grateful for your support more than you know.” He stays by your side, his calm and comforting presence grounding you until you drift off to sleep.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- Bobby finds your drunken antics both hilarious and endearing. As the night progresses, you start comparing him to a “walking snow cone” and insisting that he make ice sculptures for you on demand. Bobby, always up for a bit of fun, humors you by creating little ice animals in the palm of his hand, laughing as your eyes light up in delight.

- When you slip on an ice patch he accidentally created, Bobby quickly catches you, apologizing profusely while chuckling. You start calling him your “snow prince” and playfully berate him for “making the world slippery.” He just grins, his hold on you steady, clearly enjoying your tipsy declarations and the way you cling to him.

- You insist on taking selfies with him, urging him to freeze up cute little props for the photos. Bobby goes all out, conjuring up ice hats, snowflake glasses, and even a tiny ice crown for you. By the end, your phone is full of adorable photos of the two of you laughing and posing together.

- When you go off on a tangent, telling the bartender and anyone nearby how incredible Bobby is, he gets a bit bashful but loves every second. Bobby has always loved being the center of attention, but hearing you proudly gush about him has him smiling like a fool. He playfully nudges you, saying, “Keep it coming, babe; I don’t hear this enough!”

- When you get a bit too warm in the crowded room, Bobby uses his powers to create a gentle, cool breeze just for you. You giggle and thank him, calling him your “personal A/C,” and he chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and playfully cooling you down whenever you request it.

- By the end of the night, Bobby is happily holding you up, guiding you home with an arm around your shoulders. He listens as you continue to talk about how wonderful he is, and he just grins, giving you a quick, frosty kiss on the forehead. “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” he says, staying with you until you’re safely tucked in and fast asleep.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- Wanda is amused by how talkative and unfiltered you get when you’re drunk. She’s often quiet and reserved herself, so seeing you let loose makes her smile. You start rambling about how “beautiful and powerful” she is, and she blushes, trying to brush it off, but your sincerity warms her heart.

- When you ask her to use her powers to make things “magical,” Wanda gently warns you, not wanting to attract too much attention. But when she sees the hopeful look in your eyes, she can’t resist. With a subtle flick of her fingers, she makes tiny red sparks dance in the air around you, creating a little “magic show” that leaves you giggling with joy.

- At one point, you try to mimic her iconic hand gestures, waving your hands around dramatically as if casting a spell. Wanda laughs softly, guiding your hands in the proper motions. “Like this, darling,” she murmurs, her fingers intertwined with yours as she playfully shows you her “magic moves.”

- When someone bumps into you a bit too roughly, Wanda steps forward, a protective fire in her eyes. Though she doesn’t escalate the situation, there’s a warning in her gaze that makes the person quickly apologize. She holds you close, whispering, “You’re safe with me,” her voice soothing and reassuring.

- As the night goes on, you keep insisting that Wanda is “the most powerful and amazing person ever,” and she laughs, flattered by your drunken praise. “You might be a little biased,” she teases, but there’s a soft blush on her cheeks, and you can tell she’s deeply touched by your admiration.

- When it’s time to go home, Wanda wraps an arm around you, using a bit of her magic to guide you gently so you don’t stumble. Once you’re home, she stays with you, listening as you continue to talk about how much you adore her. She strokes your hair and whispers, “You mean the world to me too,” staying by your side until you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Pietro finds your drunken state absolutely hilarious, especially when you start trying to mimic his super-speed by running around. He quickly catches you each time, his laughter filling the air as he playfully warns you that “You’re not quite fast enough, babe!”

- You start challenging him to races, even though you know he’ll win. Pietro humors you, letting you “win” a couple of times, but eventually, he zips past you with a playful smirk. “Better luck next time!” he teases, only to scoop you up and spin you around when you pout about losing.

- When you get tired, Pietro is immediately by your side, lifting you into his arms without a second thought. You giggle and tell him he’s “better than a rollercoaster,” and he laughs, racing around just to hear your delighted squeals. He loves seeing you happy and will do anything to keep you smiling.

- When someone looks at you a bit too long for Pietro’s liking, he’s instantly protective, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and making it very clear that you’re his. He glares at the person until they look away, then turns back to you with a soft smile, his fingers brushing your cheek affectionately.

- You start bragging to strangers about Pietro’s speed, telling them he’s “the fastest guy in the world,” and Pietro just laughs, loving how proud you are of him. “Keep it up, and I’ll have to show off even more,” he says, giving you a cheeky wink as he zips around the room, just to impress you.

- By the end of the night, he’s carrying you home, his arms strong and steady around you as he runs. You cling to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he smiles, whispering, “I’ve got you, always.” Once you’re home, Pietro stays by your side, listening as you drift off, mumbling about how much you love him. He kisses your forehead, whispering, “Love you too, my slowpoke.”

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- Emma finds your drunken state absolutely fascinating, especially when you become more playful and bold. Normally calm and reserved, you start teasing her about her “icy” demeanor, and she’s amused, a rare smirk on her face as she listens to you try to “crack” her tough exterior. She’s secretly charmed by your confidence.

- When you dramatically declare that she’s “the most beautiful woman in the world,” Emma rolls her eyes with a soft laugh but secretly enjoys every word. She’s used to compliments, but something about hearing them from you, even in your tipsy state, makes her feel genuinely adored. She’ll brush a hand over your cheek, murmuring, “Careful with those compliments, darling—you’re liable to spoil me.”

- As the night progresses, you start showing off for her, attempting overly elaborate gestures and winking clumsily. Emma finds your efforts hilarious but still looks at you with genuine affection. Her fingers brush yours, and she lets herself be a bit softer with you, impressed by your uninhibited side.

- When someone gives you a bit too much attention, Emma is instantly protective. She’ll stand close to you, radiating that commanding aura, and make it clear that you’re taken. She’ll give you a subtle nod, as if to say, “Don’t worry—I’ve got you,” and her calm confidence reassures you instantly.

- You get a little bolder as the night goes on, playfully daring her to dance or try something “un-Emma-like.” Amused and intrigued, she might indulge you, swaying slightly to the music or even placing your hand in hers for a private moment. She’ll laugh, saying, “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood tonight,” though you can tell she’s enjoying herself.

- When it’s time to leave, Emma makes sure you’re steady, her arm around your waist as she guides you to the car. She’ll whisper little reassurances, telling you how much she appreciates this rare, open side of you. Once home, she’ll help you settle in, her voice soft and reassuring, reminding you that she’s there for you completely.

Raven Darkhölme aka. Mystique

- Mystique is both amused and intrigued by your drunken state. Normally guarded, you become surprisingly talkative, telling her all sorts of stories. She listens with a raised eyebrow, smirking at your candidness. “So, this is what I miss when you’re sober?” she’ll tease, clearly enjoying this rare glimpse into your unfiltered thoughts.

- You keep reaching out to touch her, fascinated by her blue skin and how it shifts under your fingers. Mystique finds this endearing, gently teasing you but allowing you to trace her features. She’s rarely this vulnerable, but your innocent curiosity brings out a softer side, and she even leans into your touch.

- When you start rambling about how “amazing” and “mysterious” she is, Mystique just chuckles, a rare, genuine smile crossing her face. Normally, she brushes off praise, but hearing it from you makes her feel appreciated in a way she’s not used to. She might even mutter, “Careful, or I’ll start believing you.”

- As the night goes on, you get into a bit of mischief together, with Mystique indulging your chaotic ideas. She’ll shift into different forms to amuse you, and you giggle every time she surprises you with a new face. Her laughter is warm and genuine, her guard completely down as she shares these fun moments with you.

- If anyone even looks at you the wrong way, Mystique’s protective instincts kick in. She’ll throw a deadly glare their way, making it very clear that you’re off-limits. Her fierce loyalty to you is both comforting and thrilling, and you find yourself feeling safe and cherished in her presence.

- When it’s time to go, she keeps an arm around you, guiding you back with quiet reassurances. She murmurs little words of comfort, her voice softer than usual, and even hums a low melody to keep you calm. Once home, she stays by your side, brushing your hair back and promising, “I’m here, always.”

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- Laura is a bit confused by your drunken antics, as she’s not exactly used to seeing you so uninhibited. She watches with curiosity and maybe a little amusement as you sway around, stumbling slightly. Laura finds herself oddly charmed by this side of you, even if she’s unsure how to respond at first.

- You keep reaching out to hold her hand or touch her arm, and though Laura is usually reserved, she lets you. Your affection surprises her, but she’s not one to pull away, especially with you. When you look up at her with that tipsy grin, she can’t help the tiny smile that breaks through her usual stoic expression.

- When you start playfully teasing her, calling her “your fierce protector” and joking about her serious demeanor, Laura is both amused and a bit flustered. She’s never had someone look at her like you do, with so much warmth and admiration, and your words mean more to her than she’ll let on.

- As the night goes on, Laura gets a bit protective. If you start wandering or leaning too close to others, she’ll gently pull you back, her grip steady but careful. “Stay close,” she’ll murmur, her voice soft but firm, a little blush on her cheeks as she realizes just how much she likes keeping you safe.

- You keep talking about how “amazing” she is, going on and on about her strength, courage, and loyalty. Laura is taken aback, not used to hearing such open admiration, but she listens quietly, her heart swelling with pride. She doesn’t say much, but her hand stays in yours, squeezing gently whenever you look her way.

- By the end of the night, she’s helping you home, a quiet but steady presence by your side. Laura makes sure you’re comfortable, brushing hair from your face as you drift off. Before leaving, she murmurs, “I’ll always keep you safe,” her voice barely a whisper. She stays nearby, her protective instincts on high, ensuring you’re well cared for as you sleep.

[fxrmuladaydreams]

use me (mv33)

max x reader

summary: max needs a way to take his frustrations out, you offer yourself to him

notes: !! contains smut minors dni !! i have other stories in the works but as a max girlie this took precedent, it had to be done after watching the singapore quali

You were on the edge of your seat watching the remaining 15 cars zoom around the track. Both the Red Bulls had been having issues during the weekend, not driving as fast as they had been in previous races.

You watched as your boyfriend, the reining world champion, made his final lap in Q2, scoring fairly low, and just falling further down the list as other drivers crossed the line. Liam Lawson of all people was the one to push Max down to 11th. You had to admit the kid was talented, but you knew Max was going to be very unhappy with the results.

You knew you were right when you saw Max get out of his car before they had even pulled it into his garage. He stormed away, pulling his helmet off his head as someone practically had to chase after him.

“He’s going to be pleasant.” A voice pulled your attention away from the scene in front of you.

Christian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his headset now resting around his neck.

“He’ll be fine.” You tell him, however you know just how explosive Max can get when he doesn’t do well.

“You should go see him, calm him down. He won’t kill you.”

You snort. “Right.”

“Think you can calm him down in the next 30 minutes?” He asks.

“I can try.” You stand up to start heading in the direction Max walked off in.

You find him sitting in a corner, drinking from his water bottle, his eyes trained on the ground ahead of him.

You stand next to him and run a hand through his hair. While he would usually lean into you, craving more of your touch, he doesn’t react now, unmoving from his current position.

“How are you?” You ask, in an attempt to tread safely.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m great, how are you?” He doesn’t hide the sarcasm in his tone.

You tilt his chin up so that he’s looking you in the eyes. You can practically see the anger swimming around in the blue eyes you fell in love with.

“You know the press are going to eat you alive if you walk in with that attitude.” You tell him.

He rolls his eyes, and looks back down ahead of him. “They’ll be cheering, dancing on my grave.”

You glance down at your watch. 25 minutes until Max will be needed for press. 25 minutes to bring back your happy Max.

“C’mon.” You take his hand, and slowly pull him up.

“Where are we going?” He asks, following you.

You lead him back to Red Bull hospitality, taking him up to his driver’s room. It’s small, a massage table sits in the corner, a shelf against the wall with more race suits and fireproofs.

“You need to get your anger out before you go do press.” You tell him as you lock the door.

“What, do you want me to throw things around the room?” He asks with his hands on his hips.

“I want you to fuck me.” You tell him, your voice completely serious.

He looks shocked for a moment. The two of you were always pretty private in your relationship, never showing too much PDA, and never having sex anywhere outside of your home. His shock soon dissipates, and turns into thoughtfulness, as if he’s thinking about the risk versus the reward.

You walk towards him in the center of the room. Your hands lift to his shoulders, softly massaging them before your arms wrap around his neck. You lean your head towards his, softly nudging your nose against his. He already looks like he’s losing his self control, his eyes watch your lips as you whisper to him.

“Use me, Max.”

He dives down to kiss you, his lips firm against yours. There’s no asking for permission for his tongue to enter your mouth, it pushes past your lips and tangles with yours.

You grip onto his hair as he hoists you up on the massage table. He stands between your legs, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of teeth marks on any skin he can find.

He tugs your shirt and bra off, flinging them to some corner of the room, desperate to have access to more of you. He travels down your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples, teeth softly biting at it while his fingers find the other, pinching at it. After he’s satisfied he switches to the other, continuing his work.

Your pants and underwear are the next to come off as Max trails his fingers along your center. He smirks when he feels your hips move to meet his hand.

He pulls a whimper from you when his thumb brushes against your clit. He kneels down, pulling you to the edge of the table and lifting your legs over his shoulders. His hands press down on your abdomen to keep you still as his tongue laps over you.

His nose brushes against your clit, send a jolt to your hips. His hands press down harder on you as his eyes look up to meet yours. They’re a stormy blue now, his pupils enlarged and eyelids hooded.

“Stay still.” He says, his voice low and rough.

His tongue is quick to continue prodding against you, slowly pushing inside you as you let you a long moan. One of your hands flies to his hair, tangling itself in his light brown locks, as your other keeps yourself propped up.

Your taste is sweet, one of his favorite flavors really.

“You taste so good mijn liefje.” He softly moans against you as he eats you out, his nose now bumping your clit over and over until you cry out his name, cumming on his tongue.

This only encourages him, as he takes everything you give him. Your body is tired, exhausted from keeping yourself upright, ready to collapse on the table.

Max stands up and it’s only then you realize that he’s still in his clothes, his race suit still hanging off his hips, while you’re completely bare in front of him.

“I’m not finished with you yet schat.” He shakes his head as he pulls you upright to kiss you.

You can taste yourself on him, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when he’s kissing you the way he is. It’s all tongue and teeth and it’s messy, but still so good.

He pulls you off the table, your legs slightly wobbling beneath you. You’re surprised when he turns you around, keeping your body trapped between his and the table. You hear his clothes move around some more, the thick fabric of his race suit rustling around, then you feel him softly kick your ankle with his leg.

You spread your legs for him, wide enough to allow him room, but still close enough that you can stand comfortably.

He reaches a hand around you to feel between your legs.

“Think you’re wet enough to take me?” He asks. Max has always been a caring lover, even in his dominant moods he still checks in with you.

“Yes Max, please fuck me.” You lean forward against the table and push your ass back against him. You can feel his cock press against you as he grabs onto your hips.

He fists himself a few times before lining himself up with you then pushing in.

The stretch is a lot but feels so good. Max stills for a moment, leaning down to press a kiss against the flushed skin on your back.

His sweet demeanor quickly turns back to his dominant one though, slowly pulling out, then giving a harsh thrust back into you. You try to grip onto the table for dear life as Max pounds into you from behind.

Your moans aren’t quiet, yet neither are his grunts. The door being the only thing blocking you from the rest of the Red Bull team is the farthest thing in your minds at the moment.

He wraps an arm around your middle pulling you up so that your back is pressed against his chest. He’s still wearing his fireproofs, only having pulled the pants down far enough so that he’d be able to bury himself inside you.

The new angle causes him to sink even deeper in you. You feel so full, so consumed by Max.

He grins when he feels you clench around him. His right hand travels over your body, squeezing your breasts before stopping over your neck. He wraps his hand around it, putting a slight pressure on it as his other drops back down to where the two of you meet. He finds your clit, and rubs quick harsh circles into it.

He lets out a low laugh as you clamp down even tighter around him. He leans his head down, his lips brushing against your ear as he teases you. “You like that? Does that feel good?”

Your mind is so clouded over that you can only moan in response.

“Oh, you can’t use your words? You’re just dumb for my cock huh? It’s a good thing you’re so pretty.” He bites down on your neck, sucking a dark hickey onto it. “Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me again?”

You nod your head, feeling something tighten in your core for the second time tonight.

It only takes a few more rough thrusts before he’s got you cumming again, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer.

The hand on your clit moves to your hip so that he can control his movements. His release follows as his thrusts become sloppy and erratic. You feel his warm cum fill you up as he holds himself inside you. He keeps himself there as you both come down from your highs. He softly presses kisses to your back as you catch your breath.

You hiss when he slowly pulls himself out. His hand falls away from your neck as he uses both to make sure you don’t collapse to the floor. He turns you back around and lifts you back up onto the table.

He finds a towel and spreads your legs to help clean you up. The sight in front of him causes his cock to stir with interest again, his cum is seeping out of you, trailing down your thighs. Your skin shines with the layer of sweat that’s coated your body. Your chest rises and falls with every deep breath you take. Your neck has several marks along it, fresh hickeys to show what you’ve been up to.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asks, throwing the towel away to a corner of the room.

You give him a lazy smile. “Not at all. I really enjoyed that.”

“I love you.” He says, helping you back down from the table.

“I love you too.”

You’re both quiet at you get dressed again. You still feel a little wobbly on your feet, but are beginning to regain your balance.

“So do you think you can handle the press without chewing anyone’s head off?” You ask him as you both head to the door.

“Oh definitely.” He grins.

He wraps an arm around your waist as you leave his driver’s room and head back to the main area of the paddock.

Max gives you a quick kiss before he separates from you to do his post qualifying interviews, leaving you with the rest of the team.

When Christian spots you he sighs. “Y/n… no…” he says as he looks at the marks along your neck and the way your legs shake if you stand in one spot for too long.

You shrug. “What? You told me to calm him down.”

Needless to say everyone was surprised when Max was calm cool and collected during his interviews.

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[youleftmenochoicebut]

HATE TO BE LAME — james potter.

SUMMARY. — three times you almost tell James you love him + the one time you actually do.

PAIRING. — james potter x fem!childhoodbsf!reader

WARNINGS. — fluff, angst, uhm… death? if smth else here may be triggering lmk, im still kinda learning all this

A/N. — sorry for cross-tagging! i think i only did on that first post, haven’t done it on the rest and def won’t do it again!

1970.

you’re sitting by an old oak tree, laying back against it, holding an apple in your hand. you throw it up in the air then catch it without much fuss, having been doing this for almost thirty minutes. it’s getting pretty boring, waiting for your bestfriend in your usual meeting spot.

the wheat field you and James have made your personal hang out place is perfectly centered between your houses, both of you having the same amount of road to pass to get here, and it’s been your favorite since forever.

most of the time, like right now, you meet to fly around and practice on your broomsticks, even though you’re too young to even have them. perks of being born in wizarding families that teach magic and all from the moment you’re born.

another heavy sigh leaves your lips, and you bite into your apple, chewing on it completely. the summer’s merciless this year, the temperatures especially high for britain, and the heat pisses you off even more than James being late.

you stand up after eating your apple, gathering your stuff annoyed, when he finally shows up. you hear him first, only then see him when you turn around.

“hi there, mate!” he calls out, clutching his broomstick in his hand as he practically runs to you, and you look at him unamused.

“you’re late, Jamie.” your lips quiver, and you cross your hands over your chest, quickly moving back to picking up your toys and others. “almost an hour.”

“i know, i’m sorry!” he groans softly, approaching you with an apologetic but still goofy smile, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “my mum made me tidy my room first. even under my bed! it was a nightmare!”

you pout, mulling over your options for an answer, careful eyes set on him and sliding over his form. his curls are messed up (you can see a spider web cling to them all the way from here), the glasses on his nose askew, and he’s breathing faster, probably running to you from home the whole way. you slowly nod, putting your things down again.

“i made you a wreath when i was waiting for you.” you say as you search through your bag, then pull out the wreath, motioning him to sit down in the shadows under the oak. the wreath is clumsy, but nonetheless pretty, mostly made of wild flowers, poppies and daisies.

you place it on his head, smiling when you notice his grin only get bigger, and you pull away soon.

“i’m gonna wear it all the time, Y/N!” James exclaims enthusiastically, waving his hands like an excited toddler, and for a while you let him tell you stories. when he mentions going into the nearby river to catch some frogs, you nod, but as he stands up you pull him back down, remembering your mother’s words.

you turn around to your bag, taking out a bottle of sunscreen, then look at him again.

“my mom said that her muggle friend bought her this. it’s a cream to protect you so the sun doesn’t hurt you!” you explain at his surprised expression, and you know you were the same level confused when your mother told you about it.

you squeeze some of that sunscreen onto your palm, from there putting it on James’ face and slowly rubbing it in.

“i think you’re going to be in Hufflepuff.” James murmurs suddenly and you raise your eyebrows, your hands freezing on his cheeks. “you’re just so kind.”

you and James are starting Hogwarts next year and the closer it gets the more excited you two grow, the only fear growing along with your excitement being that of a case where you don’t end up in the same house. with James being sure he’s gonna be a gryffindor, you’re sure you aren’t.

“my whole family’s been in Slytherin.” you shrug, renewing your movements on his face, and you’re trying hard not to chuckle when he makes a stupid face at you.

“well, it doesn’t matter to me!” he tugs at the end of your braid and you push him away playfully, rolling your eyes. “you’re my bestest friend. i’m gonna like you best no matter which house you end up in.”

that’s when it hits you. even thought you’re only ten, even if it doesn’t make sense.

i love you.

i love you, it rings out in your head like an alarm clock going off, i love you.

the words almost slip past your lips, but you manage to happily crook out something else instead.

“you’re the bestest, Jamie.”

1975.

“Y/N, stop running!” James groans as his eyes follow you around the huge room. you, him, Sirius and Peter have been doing the whole ordeal to become animagi for a good few weeks, and now that everything was done, the only thing left was to actually change.

the boys… aren’t having it, for sure. Peter’s all red on his chubby face, panting heavily, Sirius is deeply focused on the task (trying to act like a dog in hopes it’ll just work like that), James only has his eyes on you while Remus just reads a book in the corner of the room.

and you’ve actually managed to change into your animagi form after only a few hours of trying, now running around the room of requirement in your tiny arctic fox body, little tongue out cutely.

you stop in front of James, tilting your head, and then just reach out your paw to put it on his knee. he lets out a relieved sigh before you take off again, your claws making almost a clicking sound against the floor as you run over to lay down in Remus’ lap.

“oh, c’mon, mate! stop bragging, will ya?” James huffs, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. you whine, and Remus scratches you behind your ear, making you roll onto your back playfully. “Y/N, i’m not joking. change back.”

if you could, you would roll your eyes right now, jumping off Remus and freezing in place for a moment. it’s the first time you turn back into human form, and neither of you know how it’s actually gonna go.

so, mere seconds later, you’re laying naked on the floor in front of four teenage boys. Sirius smirks, but turns his gaze away soon enough, Peter looks away so quickly he bumps his head against the wall, and Remus doesn’t even glance up from his book at you.

James, on the other hand, skips over to you, throwing a blanket over your body. you sigh, suddenly feeling sore from the transformation, and you look at him with a frown.

“you alright?” he asks, reaching out to brush your hair back away from your face, and he gives you a smile.

„yeah.” you whisper, the frown on your face disappearing soon enough as you hear the voice in your head again. it’s quiet at first, growing louder by every second passing with your eyes set on him.

i love you. i love you. i love you.

but you keep your mouth shut, painfully aware of your friends being right behind you.

1977.

it’s snowing outside the castle, and it’s snowing lots. for early december you’d say it’s really a big amount. most of the students are out on the hogwart’s grounds, playing in the white landscape, while you are strolling down the halls with an obstinate expression on your face, holding your wand in your hand tightly.

you’re determined to tell James how you feel. finally, after all those years, you’ve decided it’s time. you bump into someone, only realizing it’s Remus after you’ve passed him, not even registering what he’s said to you. it doesn’t matter now, because you’re going to tell James how you feel and you’re going to live happily ever after.

yeah, right. sure.

you storm into the Gryffindor common room, practically jumping with each step you take, feeling like you could just fly off any second. you see James talking animatedly with Sirius on the couches, and they’re both as excited as you have ever seen them.

„hi, boys!” you skip over to them, ruffling Sirius’ perfectly messy hair, which earns a scoff from him, then turn to James „can i talk to you for a moment?”

„sure, foxy. what’s up?” he takes your wrist, leading you into a secluded corner of the huge space, and you can see him beaming. he’s always like a walking ray of sunshine, but now it’s all so… so much more. „oui, actually, i need to tell you something.”

your heart skips a beat at that. that’s it, you think, he’s gonna confess his undying love for me, for sure. well, the grimace that graces your features after his next words is a clear indicator that’s not true.

„Lily agreed to go on a date with me!” he practically, no scratch that, he definitely yells out, and for a moment you swear you can see his ears move in excitement. „can you believe it? i wanted to try, one last time, and i took Moony’s advice! i went up to her alone, and i just… just asked her. and she said yes.”

you nod, mustering up a small smile, but as James continues to yap along you dissociate. that’s not how it was supposed to go. yeah, of course you always knew James liked Lily. at least, that’s what he’s been telling you. you, and Remus, were never convinced. you’ve thought he liked the thrill, the adrenaline, that he just liked bugging her. apparently not.

you don’t realize you zoned out until his finger pokes your cheek, and your eyes snap back to him. you let out a forced chuckle, nodding again, before you manage to speak.

„that’s great, James.” you say, squeezing his hand with that fake smile on, and he’s too spiraled on the thought of Lily to notice you being off. „i hope Lils knows she just tapped a keeper.”

1978.

„stop messing it up, James.” you grumble as you adjust his bowtie for what must be the thousandth time, your tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as you fiddle with the material. sure, you could do it quickly with magic, but doing it like this makes you calm your own nerves.

„sorry.” he mutters quietly, his eyes darting all around the room before setting on you. you step back after a moment, crossing your arms over your chest while you look him up and down.

all the guests are out in the garden, already waiting for the groom to come out so the ceremony can begin. James looks absolutely handsome in his tuxedo, but honestly there’s not a time where this man doesn’t look fine as hell.

„don’t be nervous. you’re marrying the love of your life.” you smile at him softly, reaching out to smooth out the collar of his dress shirt, trying to keep your heart from sinking lower than it already has. „and if anything, Sirius and I will help you escape.” you add jokingly, winking at him in hopes of loosening up the atmosphere.

after all you’re his best woman. yeah, it sounds weird, but if Sirius is the best man, then you’re the best woman. that’s all you’ll ever be, and you’ve made peace with it. somewhat.

„yeah, foxy. right.” James lets out a heavy breath, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly, and he fixes up his curls once more. „we should go. Lils is all ready probably.”

„before we go…” you sigh, your lips pursing for a beat, your gaze turning gentler. „i love you, Jamie.”

you say those words, even though you know they will be misinterpreted. you say them, even though you’ll never explain them. you say them, and you wish you could see something click in his eyes, something that makes him realize it’s you he should be marrying right now.

you say them, and you watch him cheerfully reply.

„oui, i love you too, Y/N!” he chimes, giving you a hug too quick and too short to be anything more than friends, then takes a step back. „now, c’mon, i gotta get married!”

1981. (status: erased)

you’re here.

you feel your heart race in your chest as you stand in front of the Potter’s house in Godric’s Hollow. it’s been hours since it happened, a week since you last saw them, a day since you last talked to them.

you take a breath, then another one. it’s excruciatingly painful to just breathe, and the cold, almost winter air is not helping with that.

you’re only here because it’s your job. your partner’s off, talking to the neighbors, and you’re supposed to go in and investigate.

you know that someone took Harry to st. Mungo’s, probably one of your own subordinates, so at least you know your godson is safe.

but it doesn’t change the fact, the reality of what’s waiting for you inside.

your steps are slow, unsure, as you make your way inside. the house you had countless happy memories from and about, all of them destroyed now. without the lights on, without the sound of James’ and Harry’s giggles, without Lily’s warm smile, the house feels intimidating. threatening even.

you think of simpler times, or even moments from merely weeks ago, when your whole friend group hang out here. now, all that’s gone. Sirius just got arrested, Peter went missing, Remus locked himself out. Dorcas and Marlene grieved, so did Mary.

the wooden floor creaks underneath your leather boots, and you remember the time when last christmas Sirius hung there mistletoe, not realizing he would have to actually kiss someone else than Remus, and ended up giving plenty of kisses to James when they went in and out of the kitchen passing drinks.

you go past that, walking further into the house, and then you see him. well, not completely for now, just his legs. you can feel the lump in your throat grow bigger, and you swallow, your eyes watering already. you approach the staircase, falling down onto your knees without flinching when they hit the stair in a totally painful angle, and a sob rips through you. you look at the lifeless body of James Potter laying across the stairs, and you cannot control the tears that fall down your face.

you move up a few stairs, now sitting by his head, and you adjust his crooked glasses, feeling the salty taste of your tears on your lips.

„i love you, James.” you whisper shakily as your hand rests over his cheek, and another sob wrecks your body. „i’m going to raise Harry the best as i can, i promise.”

[lev1hei1chou]

Cafe Drama

Gojo x reader Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Gojo loves drama when he’s not the center of it Masterlist

"BABE, YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED!"

You almost dropped your phone. Not a hello, not even a 'Hey, how are you?' Just Gojo, screaming into the phone, voice filled with eagerness.

"Satoru, what—"

"So I was on this mission, right?" he interrupts, not bothering to wait for you response. "And I decided to take a break at this cute little cafe. You know the type, rustic charm, overpriced lattes, the works."

"Uh-huh," You reply, already grinning because you know this is going to be good.

"Okay, so I’m sitting there, minding my own business, trying to decide between a macchiato and a cappuccino—very important stuff, obviously—when suddenly, BAM! The couple at the table next to me starts arguing."

You can almost see his eyes sparkling with glee as he recounts this. Gojo loves drama when he’s not the center of it.

"So, naturally, I tune in. It’s like my own private soap opera. The guy’s all like, 'I can’t believe you did that!' and she’s like, 'Well, maybe if you paid more attention to me instead of your stupid phone!' Classic stuff. Anyway, they’re getting louder and louder, and I’m just sitting there, sipping my coffee, trying not to laugh."

"Of course you were," You chuckle, shaking your head. "You love a good train wreck."

"Exactly! But it gets better. The guy stands up, and I think he’s going to storm out, but no. He leans in, gets all serious, and says, 'You’re being irrational.' Which, by the way, never helps. She stands up too, and I’m like, 'Oh boy, here we go.' She picks up her glass of juice—orange, if you’re wondering—and I’m thinking, 'No, she wouldn’t.' But she did. SHE DID, BABE!"

"She threw the juice?"

"Right in his face! Full-on, slow-motion movie style. It was beautiful. Juice everywhere. The guy’s just standing there, dripping, looking like a soggy, defeated puppy. And the whole cafe goes silent."

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, picturing the scene in your head. "Did anyone say anything?"

"Oh, the barista tried to act professional, but you could tell she was dying inside. Everyone’s just staring, and the guy, poor guy, he wipes his face and says, 'You know what? I don’t need this.' And then he slips on the juice! He didn’t fall, but it was close. Very close. He regained his dignity just enough to leave the cafe without actually hitting the floor."

You're laughing so hard now, with tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Did you do anything? Or just watch?"

"Me? Oh, I applauded."

"No you didn’t!"

"I did! How could I not? It was a stellar performance. I gave her a standing ovation. I think she appreciated it, too. She bowed before storming out. Quite the exit. Ten out of ten."

You could barely breathe. "Only you, Gojo, would turn someone’s breakup into your own personal entertainment."

"Hey, I’m just here to enjoy the show life puts on for me. And to share it with you, of course. How’s your day going? Any juice-throwing incidents I should know about?"

"Sadly, no. My day has been quite boring compared to yours. Just paperwork and a slightly burnt grilled cheese."

"Tragic. I’ll have to take you to that cafe sometime. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see round two."

"As tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll pass on the drama. But thank you for the update, babe. You always know how to make my day."

"Anything for you, babe. Now, tell me more about this grilled cheese situation. Burnt, you say? Sounds like a crisis."

You giggled, settling back into the couch, feeling the warmth of his ridiculous story still lingering. "Well, it started with the toaster oven malfunctioning..."

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 10 - Final Part

I love this story so much and I want to squee and cry at the same time because now I can only visit them as a spectator.

Part 1 is here. AO3

CW: Vague mentions of sexual acts.

It became a code between them, 150. Any time, any place, if they wanted an out or just a reason for intimacy the number would be said and you and John would disappear. The guys of the 141 caught onto it quick enough. When John starts leaning closer, dropping kisses on any small piece of you he can reach they all know to listen for that one number that meant the two of you were either leaving or they were getting kicked out.

The fifth time it happened Kyle, Simon, Gary, and Johnny were watching John flirt with you across the kitchen counter as you are putting away the leftovers from their team dinner.

Simon leans closer to Gary and mutters quietly, “If he says one-fifty I’m gonna need someone to fifty-one-fifty me.”

Kyle, who had the unfortunate timing to be taking a sip at the moment of this comment, shot beer through his nose. The coughing laugh drew both yours and John’s attention. Johnny was the only one confused at the table.

You pass John a towel and watch with concern as Kyle wipes his face and then the table where he made a mess.

Johnny turns to Gary and whispers, “What’s a fifty-one-fifty?”

Gary smirks as he replies in a hushed tone, “It’s the code for an involuntary psychiatric hold in the States.”

“Oh! Because they are h—”

The towel cut off Johnny’s suddenly normal volume voice from across the table. Kyle’s aim hit dead on even as his body still shuddered with coughs. Everyone knew that Kyle had finished his coughing fit because he is wracked with a massive sneeze.

John looks over his men at the table, eyes narrowed.

“Anything to discuss muppets?”

“Oh leave them alone John,” you call from your place head in the refrigerator.

Everyone but you watches as John catches sight of your half-bent state and his demeanor takes on a lascivious cast. Side eye is shared between the four men at the table.

Skirting the counter John sidles up to you as you straighten, one hand falling to your back, resting above the rise of your pants, and the other gently pushing the door of the fridge closed.

Despite what the guys assume to be his best efforts John’s hushed voice carries. Must be a side effect of either him using his captain’s voice for so long or the intrinsic quality in his men to tune into his voice.

“Can I offer you 150?”

Glancing up under your brows you fight down a smile. Your hands drift around John’s middle, resting on his waist.

“How ‘bout zero? I have drinks with my friends downtown in thirty minutes and your men are still here.”

Pouting is a new look for John. Gary makes a face as if he has just seen the devil’s ass and found it covered in boils.

“Love you, John, have a good time with your guys,” you lean up and press a kiss to his lips before stepping back and addressing the team. “Have a good poker night guys.”

You leave with a chorus of goodbyes on your heels. For all their annoyance with John and his inability to maintain focus with you nearly every one of the guys liked you and had added you to their mental shortlist of good people.

Simon started to rise to grab the poker supplies but froze at John’s abrupt hand slash. The familiar movement to wait caused all the men to hold their positions. When the sound of your car pulling away and down the road finally fades John looks at his men.

“I have something to show you. Stay.” He takes off from the kitchen, feet eating up the distance to his destination.

He is back in less than a minute. Simon sat back down while waiting for his return. Both Kyle and Johnny sent their sergeants questioning glances, but neither Gary nor Simon had any clues.

John set a jewelry box on the center of the table. Gripping the small knob between two fingers he pulled out the bottom left drawer. It sat empty except for two rings, one with a large clear stone that could be nothing but an engagement ring and the other a matching plain band.

“Gonna wife the bonnie up?” Johnny waggled his eyebrows at John.

Rolling his eyes John looked at the rest of them for their reactions. Simon shrugged, arms folded across his chest.

“She’s good people.”

Gary nodded, “I doubt you could ever find someone better for you. She treats us like the good side of the family.”

Kyle half stood and pulled both rings from the drawer.

“I would marry her myself if I thought I could fight her away from you.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at something on the inside of the band. “What’s the 150 by the way? Must be important if you had it engraved on the band.”

The men had never seen their captain embarrassed, let alone go beet red.

John straightens up, hand reaching back to rub the back of his neck and scratch at the base of his hair.

“I might have offered 150,000 to see her naked before we got together.”

Guffaws and full-throat laughter cloud the room as John snatches the rings from Kyle, shoves them back in the drawer and returns the jewelry box to its place of honor on your dresser. It sits next to a photo of the two of you at the first New Year’s at Kyle’s, the one taken before John disappeared and nearly died.

Stepping back into the dining space the laughter has died down into the random chuckle and snicker when anyone would look at John for too long.

“Alright boss, tonight we are betting on truths because I desperately want to the full story about offering to see your bird naked,” Gary launches the challenge across the table.

That is how the night goes, John fighting for his proverbial life to keep his secrets to himself and losing to odds that casinos would weep for.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

It takes him a few weeks. A few weeks of girding his loins after getting the needed approval from his men to ask you. He had spoken to your father who placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder and said “If she finds out you asked me before her no god will be able to save you.”

With that, deeply concerning and somehow still accurate, warning ringing in his ears John starts to plot. He wanted to give you a grandiose event where he paid for a flash mob and the biggest damn bouquet he could find. He ran the idea past Simon who blinked at him as if trying to dislodge the thought that he willingly followed an idiot.

Simon placed a hand on the same shoulder your father did and gave a single shake of his head.

“She would hate that and you know it,” he walks away as if he didn’t just singlehandedly ruin John’s plans.

Falling into bed that night John sits next to you, back resting against the headboard as he runs a hand over your shoulders. You don’t cuddle when you are ready to truly get to sleep. It’s hard to cuddle the way you cock one leg, twist and strangle your pillows and finally flop into the oddest positioning claiming it is for comfort.

The thought slips out, like every part of him but his mind is ready for your answer already.

“Would you marry me?”

Your breath hitches under his touch.

Pushing up to one elbow and one hand you look up at him. John focuses all his years of training on keeping his face even.

“Of course, I would marry you.”

“When?” He probes.

You tuck your knees up under you, kneeling on the bed now. John lets his hand fall to yours in your lap.

“Tomorrow.” The serious look on your face is enchanting.

“No white dress or cake or fancy party?” Narrowing his eyes at you he wonders at your response. You had no doubt imagined and even designed the dress of your dreams.

“The frills don’t change the goal, just the timing of it,” you thread your fingers through his as you knee walk closer to him. “I love you and would marry you now, except any judge we have to wake to marry us would probably tell us to piss off and come back in the morning.”

Lifting a hand to your cheek John’s heart swells in his chest at the weight you rest in his palm. The soft look on your face makes his decision for him. Leaning forward he drops a kiss on your lips.

“Close your eyes and don’t open them till I say.”

Your lids drift close without hesitation. John climbs from the bed, retrieving both rings he bought for you. Blowing a lung’s worth of air through his nose he kneels, one knee pressing him up from the floor and the other a resting place for his elbow as he holds out the ring with a stone. He tucks the other onto the pointer finger of his left hand. Would hate to lose that.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

It takes you a heartbeat to locate him, eyes blinking before settling on him.

“Yes.”

You don’t let him even ask.

“Typically I need to ask—”

“Nothing about us is typical. Yes.”

John laughs, nerves shivering through his body as he sheds the layers and layers of stress he had built up in his mind.

Sticking out your hand impatiently you wiggle your fourth finger at him.

“Hurry up John. I want to fuck the lights out of you. Now get up here.”

Never a man to turn down an offer like that John slides your new ring into place and stands to be devoured by your kisses.

As you ride him into oblivion he places the flat ring on the ring finger of your other hand.

Never has a man been more lucky than he to take a nap at a seamstress’ shop.

Part 9 | Fin

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

@madsothree

[authorhjk1]

A request for Sana's delicious tiddies please!

https://www.instagram.com/p/C0dZRXrvuyU/?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

The Roman goddess

Minatozaki Sana X Male Reader

The museum you are strolling through is called Castel Sant' Angelo. It used to be tomb for the Roman Emperor Hadrian and his family. Now, it's a very well known museum in Rome.

You admire the architecture and the sculptures standing around. The ceilings are quite high. All the walls are painted, the gorgeous colors bringing the ancient scenes to life.

You are not only here for fun though. It started around two years ago. Your career as an author. Until December two years ago, you did write, but it was more for yourself. You finally made your breakthrough with your first novel "The Roman eagle", about a lowly born Roman legionary, who rises through the ranks. You never thought this would make you big. And you didn't expect so many people wanting more. You didn't plan on it, but that one book is slowly turning into a series.

The second book came out at the end of last year. "The curse of Neptune". And now, you are working on your third. Since you didn't plan on writing a series, you have started to introduce several main characters with their own life stories.

You are now sitting on your third part. Not having a title yet, you keep wandering around the museum. You have already written quite a few pages, but the new character you want to introduce is hard to picture. It's supposed to be a woman. A woman, who is deceitful and ambitious, not caring about the ones around her. She only married her husband for his status and is now aspiring to climb the ranks. With or with out him.

You enter another room. The ceiling is high as well. The painted scenes show several different parts of day to day life from the Romans and their gods. The center of the room is reserved for a tall, almost life-size statue. Being an expert in history, especially Roman history, you can tell immediately that that's Venus. The goddess of love.

Wanting to have a closer look, you step forward. But your gaze is caught by the woman who is standing between you and the piece of art, her back turned towards you.

Her posture is flawless and you can't help but admire how straight her back looks, due to the white high heels she is wearing. The black skirt is quite long, almost reaching the floor. As you walk past her right, you see that it has a large slit in the front. Her naked leg is more than just captivating.

Glancing at the statue, you've always wondered how Venus would look like, if she was real. It feels like you might be able to paint a picture now.

The woman's white top is highlighting her chest, the fabric stretching over her tits. The turtle neck and the tied back hair make her look elegant and strict. Like a teacher or a rich man's wife.

Standing next to her, you smell her scent. Definitely flowers. Maybe roses? You were never the flower expert. Would Venus smell like this too? Roses are always considered the flowers of love. The idea doesn't seem too far fetched.

You notice that the young woman is standing quite close to the statue, holding a brochure in her hand. Usually, knowing about history isn't really a great turn on for women. But being in a museum, you might give it a try. She does have that classy look. So maybe she could be interested?

"Art and war should always be studied from a healthy distance."

You see her react. Not her face, since you are still standing two steps behind her, but the slight turn of her head. You could swear the corners of her mouth turned upwards, before she turns back towards the statue.

One step. Two steps. Her heels disrupt the silence in the otherwise empty room.

"A lot of people think that Venus and Aphrodite are the same goddess."

You were able to take a quick peek at the brochure she is holding. The people who work here should do a better job.

"But they have quite a couple of differences."

You wait a couple of moments. She doesn't say something or turns around. But she didn't run, which is at least a good start.

"While Aphrodite is the goddess of love, beauty and sex, Venus has to offer more than just that."

You walk behind the young woman, starting to feel comfortable, talking about a topic you are very familiar with.

"She actually started out as the goddess of gardens and vineyards. Before the Romans merged her with her Greek counterpart. And even then, she represents not just lust and sex. But also motherhood. You could say that she is a more loyal woman."

You glance at the woman, whom you are standing next to now. Her left side profile almost makes you stutter. She really must be a goddess.

Knowing that you might never meet someone like her ever again, you decide to shoot your shot. What's the worst that could happen? She could scream and run away. But it's only the two of you anyway.

"Which form is the one you can more easily identify with? The Roman, or the Greek one?"

You stand next to her, your shoulders almost touching. Turning your head towards her you almost whisper.

"Loyal? Or promiscuous?"

A smirk plays around the brunette's lips. She is not running yet.

But to your huge disappointment, she raises her right arm, her hand on the same hight as her chest. You are only distracted for a second, before you see the golden ring on her finger. It's decorated with a huge diamond in the center and a couple of smaller ones all around.

Of course she is married. A woman like her? Come on. You sigh internally. You should've figured.

"Promiscuous."

You were about to turn around as you hear her sweet voice. It takes you a second to realize what she says.

"I think I would be more like Aphrodite."

Is she saying you still have a shot? Even when she just showed you that she is married?

"Tell me more. I'm not sure if I can make a decision yet."

And she wants you to keep talking?

You take a deep breath, not wanting to screw this up.

"Venus has a more elevated status than Aphrodite. Her arguably most famous human son is Aeneas. The man who established Rome. A lot of emperors' wifes identified with Venus."

You see the woman tug a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

"And you are saying that the Greek form wasn't as important?"

It's the first time she actually looks at you. Her beautiful features make her look way more elegant than from the side. Her lipstick makes her look stricter than she might usually would. You can tell that she is Asian, but not from which country.

"She was important. But not in the same way as Venus. She did have her own celebrations though."

The brunette is now fully turning towards you. It takes a lot of willpower to not look at her chest. It's almost as if she could sense your struggle. She places her hands on her hips, barely leaning forward. It makes her tits look just a little bigger.

"What kind of celebration?"

Her voice has changed. Until now, she spoke quiet. Just like someone should, while visiting a museum. But she is now whispering. Just like you did before. Her captivating gaze makes you stare into her eyes.

"A big part of the celebrations were Aphrodite's priestesses. The Greeks used a suiting form of worship for the goddess of love."

You take a step closer. Your shoe grazes hers. The smell of roses becomes a little stronger.

"They slept with her priestesses. That's how they worshipped her."

The brunette is unable to hold back her chuckle.

"And you are sure you didn't just make that up?"

For a moment her cute side shines through. She looks adorable when she smiles.

"I didn't. You can look it up."

"I don't want to though. I like listening to you."

"Well..."

You are too surprised to give a good answer. And there is not much more to say about the topic anyways.

The brunette seems to have caught up on that.

"What do you think about worshiping her now?"

"What?"

Your surprised face makes her almost moan out. You looked quite confident while hitting on her. The fact that you are getting shy is a turn on for her.

"There aren't many people here. And I think we should do it in front of the statue. You know? To pay our respects."

A million reasons why you shouldn't do this rush through your head. More than enough to say no. And yet, you can't help but catch yourself, leaning forward.

Your lips meet and you can immediately feel her hands wrap around your back. The kiss turns sloppy very fast. Pure lust and want radiate from her lips.

Once she breaks away, you can see that her lipstick is a little smeared. She seems to have recognized the worry in your eyes.

"Don't worry about my husband. Didn't Aphrodite constantly cheat on hers too?"

She got a point there. She did very much so.

Her lips meet yours once again. And this time your hands start to explore her body as well.

You still can't believe you've managed to come this far. She is probably the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She could be the human form of the goddess.

"How bad do you want my tits?"

The fact that she caught you doesn't even bother you. Your mind too focused on taking in her flawless body.

"Really bad."

Her lips meet your neck, definitely leaving a hickey there.

"Show me."

You start pulling at the white fabric, getting it out of her skirt. Your hands dive underneath as the brunette locks lips with you again.

The smoothness of her skin is intoxicating. Her tight midriff feels well toned and cared for. Your fingertips reach her bra as you continue your quest.

Her hands are not idle either. You feel one of them opening the button of your pants, while the other has taken a fistful of your shirt. It's as if she is pulling you into her. Her hand sneaks into your pants, her fingers searching for the waistband of your underwear.

At the same time, you've finally gotten rid of her bra. It slides down her clothed frame, before it falls to the ground. It's white.

Her tits feel amazing. They are just as smooth as her skin. You start to knead them, still unable to understand how you got here.

She is a goddess. How are you able to stand in some museum, while you play with her tits? A mystery you don't even want to uncover. Some things are better left unknown.

The brunette's hand has found it's way into your boxers by now. Her slim fingers dance along the length of your shaft.

A moan escapes her lips. It's one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard. You didn't know that a person could sound so perfect.

"That cock of yours...."

She trails off, slightly biting your lower lip.

"It feels so big."

Her words make you even harder. A normal reaction to a goddess like beauty telling you that you have a big dick. Something you thought you would never ever experience in your life.

Your hands become a little rougher as your animalistic instincts slowly take over. You never felt so uncontrollable before.

Pinching her nipples, you hope for another moan. You get one. She moans into your mouth, closing her hand around your cock.

"I want this in my mouth."

You feel her pulling away. Your hands regretfully leave her tits and her top. But when she starts to kneel down, a wave of pure happiness washes through your body.

An excited tingle rushes through every fiber of your being as you watch her pulling down your pants. Your boxers following quickly after.

A gasp escapes her mouth, when she sees your cock for the first time.

"My husband isn't even half as big."

With a big smile, her face turns into something very cute. She gives your tip a kiss.

"A cock worthy of fucking my tits."

Her words turn you on even more. Her lips slowly wrap around your tip.

It takes her a while to pick up the pace. But once the brunette is there, her blowjob is quick and effective. You remember that you are still in a museum, standing pants down in front of a statue of Venus.

You are not a very religious person. But in that moment, you pray to that goddess, thanking her for this incredible experience.

Your prayer is interrupted by the brunette's slurping sounds. Her wet blowjob has ruined her lipstick completely by now. She looks so hot with your cock in her mouth. She places both her hands flat on your hips, before starting to fuck her face onto your cock.

You can't help but let out a loud groan, your hand automatically wanders to the back of her head. You don't start to dictate the pace. But you feel her head going a little faster.

With a woman like her, it's obvious that you won't last long. Especially if said woman fucks her face with your cock. You feel your orgasm approaching. The familiar tug in your lower regions makes you groan.

The brunette seems to have felt you twitch inside her mouth. She moves away, letting your dick fall out off her lips.

"You have a very delicious cock, you know?"

Not waiting for an answer, she starts to pull up her top. It's bunched up above her breasts. You are finally able to see them now. They seem perfectly shaped. Flawless like the ones of a goddess. Not too small, but not too big either. Just perfect handfuls.

"Try not to cum so fast."

Her wink turns her into something cute for just a moment. Then, her goddess like aura is back.

You feel her soft mounds wrap around you. She presses them together, making your cock disappear between them. As soon as she seems ready, you start to thrust upwards. You see her bite her lip as your tip appears in her cleavage.

Fucking her tits feels amazing. It feels better than anything you've experienced before. There is no comparison at all. Her soft mounds feel like they are made for you. Her warmth makes you feel hot and horny.

Eventually, she starts to stick out her tongue. It touches your tip whenever you thrust upwards. The new wetness on your tip makes you remember that your orgasm is close. It also helps with sliding trough her chest.

You have to hold onto her hair again, unable to stand by yourself.

"Your cock feels so good."

You hear her sigh as she stares down at it.

She suddenly looks up, opening her mouth, while sticking her tongue out. Her spit slowly starts to drip down her tongue. You watch as she drools all over her own cleavage. Her saliva starts to coat your cock. It makes her tits feel even smoother.

The young woman let's out another moan.

"I bet you would feel so good in my pussy."

You close you eyes, imagining yourself inside of her. The thought alone, almost makes you orgasm.

"My husband is so small, I'm practically a virgin."

She continues her talking, knowing what it does to you.

"I've never felt the pleasure of someone just pounding into me. I want to feel it. I want to feel how you rearrange my guts."

You hiss out, unable to silence the pleasure that is building up in your system. Only a little longer. You only want to hold out a little longer.

"I have such a tight pussy. You would love it."

Your grip in her hair strengthens as you approach your climax.

"That's it. Cum on my tits. Make Venus proud."

You glance at the statue for just a second. It feels like the woman on her knees is the real goddess. A beauty, too much for you to handle.

"I'm gonna cum."

You grunt out, unable to hold on any longer.

"That's good, honey. Cum on my tits. Use them like a canvas."

You groan one last time.

"Give me all of it."

You explode in her cleavage. Your cum hits her throat and chin, while some coats her tits. It feels like this is the strongest orgasm you've ever had. More cum than usual leaves your body.

In the end, her tits are covered in your semen, just like she wanted. Some is dripping down her chin. You see that her hands didn't get away without some, either. A few drops of your cum stain the big diamond on her ring. She notices it as well.

You watch in awe as she starts to lick her ring clean, after letting your spent cock leave her tits.

"Wow. That's a great load."

She scoops up some of your cum with her finger.

"And it tastes good, too."

She licks it off, before looking at you.

"What do you say? Right here? Or a hotel room?"

The option to say no doesn't even enter your brain. Still afraid of getting caught, you choose the hotel.

The brunette gets off her knees. You watch her pull her top down and putting the hem back into her skirt. Slowly, your cum starts to leave wet spots on the fabric. You pick up her bra, offering it to her.

"Keep it. Maybe you are lucky and you can complete the set."

With those words still lingering in your mind, she takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

You've never head a clear picture of Venus or Aphrodite in your mind. Now you do. It's the woman who is holding your hand, her chest covered with your cum.

The fact that she is taking you to a hotel is making you hard again.

With one last glance at the statue, you finally know how to continue your next book.

The third part "The Roman goddess" will certainly become a bestseller.

________

Thank you for the ask. I unfortunately don't have the time to write much more.

The introduction seems a little long to me. Please keep sending short requests guys, I'm trying to shorten the part where I set the scene. With limited success as you can see.

Sana in that outfit definitely deserves a proper story, which I'm unable to write at the moment. I hope you are satisfied with that. I might be able to write the follow up somewhere in the future.

Have a nice day!

[haechansdoll]

my little doll - ml x reader

Pairing : Boxer!Lee Mark x f!Reader

Description : Humans have hormones, you understand that much. But does that explain why you can't stop the filthy daydreams that fill your head whenever you see a specific redhead? Does it excuse you for getting turned on by him simply breathing in your direction? And to make matters worse, he is off-limits, if your father found out you were messing with his prized boxer? You would be chained to a tower and your red-haired crush would be used as mincemeat.

Warnings : Bloody Nose, Perversion, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Panties, Caught Having Sex, Overstimulation

Wordcount : 20k

Hormones.

You dearly hate them, you hate how your chest does somersaults at the mere sight of him, or the fact you have to cross your legs when his voice tickles your ear, let alone the mocking sensation of arousal that forever plagues your core at the sweet little pet names he sure loves giving you. From the crimson red hair that falls over his shoulders, typically pulled back with a loose-fitting clip, a matching pair of eyes that have this undeniable sultry and charming glint to them, or the scars from broken bones or other mishaps he has yet to give you a story about that stick to his powerful arms and mesmerizing torso.

If anyone were to find out about the things that run through your head, the lewd imagery, the erotic scenarios... you would never be able to show your face again. It's normal to have less-than-pure thoughts, right? You're no less human than the next person, everyone has desires and fantasies!

But does that excuse the fact you've desperately been waiting for any chance you can get to go and relieve yourself? That the more you stare at him, the more you think about how good he may be in bed? His muscles flexing with each thrust, imagining the length and girth of his cock, would his voice be gruff or husky?

The recollection of your inner desires has you aching, it is humiliating, to say the least. Especially when the man who is the center of these very thoughts just so happens to be standing behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other guiding your wrist. The close proximity has you feeling sick, between his voice right beside your ear and his hands on your arm.

To be honest, aren't you sick? Pretty sick in the head to be lewding Mark without his knowledge, what would he think of you if he were to learn of these sinful scenarios you let consume you? You simply cannot help it, any woman in your position would probably be the same, right? Thinking of all the things those hands can do, how his rough fingertips would feel between your legs, his tongue against your...

It isn't like anyone knows either, after all, it would spread like a wildfire if anyone were to find out about your less than an innocent crush. In your opinion, you do quite a good job at masking it, not too clingy to him but also not completely avoiding him. After all, he is your father's "student" if you could say that, often training under the watchful gaze of your dad.

Sometimes it still feels like just the other day when you two first interacted, him introducing himself, saying how he works under your dad. You heard of him from your father often boasting about this guy he is training. You figure it would be another older guy, rough around the edges, not good enough to be eye candy. You couldn't have been any more wrong, completely in shock to learn that this "guy" was not only a lot younger than you expected but looked like those Greek statues.

You can never quite focus when he speaks to you, eyes wandering ever so discreetly, ears deafening when you catch sight of a bead of sweat dripping down his neck, how the lump in his throat bobs while he talks or drinks water. 

Even now, as you throw another punch per his instruction, your focus is entirely elsewhere. Not on the way he tells you to twist your wrist when launching your fist from your body, but rather how good it feels when he speaks right next to your shoulder, each word making your eardrums vibrate. If only he knew that you weren't very focused on his self-defense lesson, but rather how good it would feel to have those big hands wrapped around your neck or your thigh... anywhere is fine by you.

Most nights you find yourself fantasizing about Mark…Mark, all the filthy scenarios possible flooding your already corrupted mind the whole time you feel yourself up. Gripping your sheets and pretending it's his hair, breathing into your pillow to try and mask the sounds of pleasure you just can't keep in. You feel awful every time you finish, though. Hastily fixing yourself and going to shower, hoping the water will wash away sin.

Alas, you know that any level you go to repent would never erase the tainted marks of lust from your body. You're trapped in this, like a stalkerish fan swooning over her celebrity crush. Again, thanking whomever it concerns that mind-reading is not a thing.

A hand comes down onto the top of your head, drawing you from your deeper workings, "That time was really good," Mark praised with a grin, fingers dripping from your skin, much to your dismay, "Try it again without me guiding you, put your all into it!" If you had any less self-control, a moan would have passed your lips from his perfect voice, each word rolling off his tongue like honey from a spoon. 

Times like now you wish you had a deeper relationship than what is now accessed, that way you could just grab at his arms and give him the prettiest bats of your lashes all for the sake of begging him to take you somewhere private. That's all you want right now, to feel his soft lips on yours, to taste his tongue that probably will feel minty from the gum he is currently chewing. The simple privilege of being able to kiss him would surely kill you.

You throw another punch and really start to feel that ache in your shoulder, but Mark calls it a "good burn", something you remember even your father saying back when you were little. Your eyes glance to the clock hung on the wall, usually, you are hoping time will fly by, but right now? You hope it goes painfully slow, who knows when the next time will be when you have him so close with his hands all over you.

"I think you've mastered how to punch someone, I'm a little scared by how quick you are..." The playfulness in his voice does more than make you smile, it also contributes to the arousal that continues to soak into your panties, which you can probably assume are ruined at this point, "Let's practice a kick for if you're being restrained by two people." 

The last thing you expect is to feel him come up from behind and wrap his arms around your torso, restraining your arms and keeping you firmly pressed to his solid front. You would have cum right there if it wasn't for how focused you were on the veins in his arms or his flushed knuckles, "So if someone comes from behind, they'll most likely grab you in a way to trap your arms." His voice vibrates in his chest, which in turn vibrates against your back. 

Mark gives you a bit of a squeeze, a soft gasp fluttering from your lips not because of the restriction on your lungs but rather how if you arch your back just enough... you would probably feel the one thing you daydream about. The one thing you imagine fucking you every night when you touched yourself. 

"It'll be hard to elbow them, and depending on how tall they are you may not be able to head-butt them... so you can take one of your legs and then jab your heel into the arch of their foot, the point is to fracture or break those bones because then it'll either make them immobile or they won't be able to run after you when you get away." You nod your head along to his words, "Or, some people say to put as much as you can to lean forward because attackers expect you to thrash in their arms or try to hit them."

Mark lightly nudges you as a means to lean forward, you almost think not to, afraid of the hormones that are already driving you up the wall. But you do it anyway, leaning forward, despite the fact he is pressed into every inch of your backside, "Take both of your hands and grab at one of my legs, whichever you think is easier, and then you're gonna pull as hard as you can to try and knock me off."

You almost feel bad, but you assume that since he is giving you this lesson, he expects to get roughed up a little. So despite your inner conflict not to, you lean forward as much as it takes to grab the leg closest to you, that being his right leg, and firmly gripping his calf and pulling his leg towards you. You're almost surprised by how easy it was, one second he is holding onto you, his breath wafting against the back of your neck, and now he is flat on his back.

"That caught me off guard," He says in disbelief, without your knowledge his crimson eyes watch how you slowly stand up straight after successfully breaking free of his grasp, "I shouldn't underestimate you considering how intense your father is with training." He notices your panties peeking through the fabric of your yoga leggings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip, and staring until the red fabric is no longer peaking through.

"When I was little he taught me some basic things," You turn around to offer him a hand, which he gratefully takes, "But I don't think the moves I learned when I was little will be much assistance now." You help him up with a smile, for a moment you forget the tension that had previously been eating you, "Thank you for helping me, you make it more fun than it should be."

The crimson-haired boxer offers you one of his signature smiles, flashing those pearly white teeth you always think of dragging your tongue over, "You're adorable," His fingers playfully give your cheeks a pinch just to see you pout, "Let's do one more move before you gotta close up, I think you have it in you to give it a try." Who are you to argue? After all, it means more time to ogle over him, to feel his hands, to dream up filthy scenarios that have your pussy throbbing.

What you don't expect is to feel one of his hands fall on the dip of your waist to stabilize you, the other coming down to hook under your knee and slowly lift your leg, "You're pretty flexible, I expected that... naturally everyone's legs are stronger than their arms. So sometimes if you see an opening, go for a nice high kick right into either their chin or nose." So that's why he is holding you like this.

His words, just for a moment, blur as you look at his hands on your body. The position is oddly provocative, it is easy to just picture you both nude, his cock driving in and out of you just like this. His hands holding your soft thighs wide open for him, one leg hooked over his arm as those very fingers tease your clit, his other hand snaking up your front to tweak your nipples and torturously squeeze your tits.

It's disgusting, filthy that all he is doing is holding you like this to guide you and you're imagining him fucking you just like this. It's horribly wrong, sickening - but oh, it would probably feel so good like this. His tip would rub against that sweet stop your fingers can barely reach, his breath against the very shoulder he would mark with hickeys...

"There we go," His voice sounds so close it nearly makes you flinch, "Okay, you want to aim with your heel and not the tip of your shoe because it can strain your ankle or even hurt the arch of your foot. So lock your leg as you swing it up and pretend like you're jabbing someone with your heel." You wish his cock was jabbing your insides, but nonetheless, you strike your heel into the air effortlessly.

Mark whistles at the power in your leg, what he would give to see you beat the shit out of someone. He is sure you could probably even take him out if you tried, which is another reason he hopes he never gets on your bad side. The first reason being that your dad would kill him.

"Maybe I should start practicing with you," He muses when you smoothly bring your leg back down, "I bet you'd be able to break me down, especially with a kick like that." What you would give to simply watch him train with your father, you've seen it a handful of times. How he drives his fists into the punching bag, or the muscles in his thighs stiffening when he tries to knock his sparring partner down. He always leaves you drooling, hoping to feel those very hands wrapped around your throat or to ride his thighs while he teases you for being such a slut. 

As much as you would love to spend the time with him, you know you wouldn't be able to handle all the touching, to see him sweating and his muscles showing through his less-than-covering tank top. Sometimes he even goes shirtless, which is ten times worse and even more hormone-inducing. If only there was a way to confidently tell him, "I've wanted to have sex with you since I first saw you, so please do whatever you want with me."

"I think you'd probably break me..." The words weren't meant to come out sounding so sexual, leaving a pinkish blush on his cheeks and at the tip of his ears, "But we can always practice like this whenever you want." You miss how he shuffles in place, trying to knock your first sentence from his head. Break you? He knows what you meant... but even he has some not-so-innocent thoughts.

With it being time to close, regulars gradually leave the gym, bidding you a farewell per usual, the machines slowly becoming empty. Though the only person who patiently remains, discreetly watching passing figures as they leave the building, is the redhead you have been eyeing all day. It is rather exciting, watching the final person pack up their things and leave, finally granting you the privacy you've desired all day.

You begin the process of locking up the gym, working the locks on the alternate entrance, as well as pulling the drop-down fence that cages the windows. You two often leave through the back door, so you always lock up the front earlier than you both intend to depart. Whenever he stays a little later than usual, he often waits for you to close and you will leave together. 

Being so focused on closing the main entrances and front of the gym, you don't notice the figure approaching you from behind, not until a shadow casts over you and you notice the lighting change. Not until a hand falls onto your shoulder, to which you peer behind you to see Markall packed up, "Did you bring a sweater? It's supposed to be cold out."

"I didn't, but it's fine because my car is right there." He knows it is, but he also knows that you tend to park quite a bit away from the apartment you share with your father because it didn't have a parking garage, "I'll be fine! Worst case scenario I catch a cold and can't come to work tomorrow." That's when you remember an important detail about tomorrow, one that you've been looking forward to all week.

"You have a match tomorrow, right?" Comes your voice amid his needless thinking, "Dad is making the plans, he's been running around all day... I think he may be more excited than you." You try to change the subject, knowing he will be persistent regarding you taking his sweater.

"Yeah, and that's another reason you should take my hoodie... that way you don't get sick and you can be there to cheer me on." His words make you feel so warm and fuzzy inside, is he really that worried? Does he really want you there to see him? It's too much, you may just pass out knowing he wants you to cheer for him in the crowd!

You heard rumors of professionals possibly attending, managers of some sort. It all sounds a little too good to be true, but knowing your father he is always pulling strings. To locals, it's considered a big deal because of the chance to gamble bets, entertainment... The matches are memorable. Mark likes the attention, to hear people chant his name and praise him, that adrenaline he gets when he is so close to winning. It is a drug, an addiction he just cannot shake. He needs support.

Finally, you take the hoodie from his hand, pulling the thick fabric over your head and covering yourself, "Thank you, Mark." He is so sweet, it makes you feel guilty for letting these thoughts ravage your brain. For allowing yourself to lewd him constantly, he has been nothing but respectful with you and all you can think about is how fucking good it would feel to sit on his face right now.

"Are you gonna be there to give me some good luck?" His words catch you off guard, give him some good luck? you never really see him before his matches, usually, only after will you congratulate him and offer to take him out for something to eat, per request from your father. It is a tradition to celebrate after a successful fight. Most of the night you will ogle over him, how good he looks with a slightly swollen lip, or how you would kill to lick the little bit of blood sticking to the fresh wound on his brow.

What could you possibly do to give him good luck? You will have to think of something, you can't disappoint him, "Since tomorrow is a big deal, I guess I have to make sure you have as much luck as possible, right?" Your words bring a grin to his face, you've always been so kind yet carefree. He likes that a lot about you, how you don't take everything so seriously, and never feels like he has to walk on eggshells around you. 

Whatever it may be, he likes getting some sort of recognition from you before he fights, you leave this positive and sweet taste in his chest. He finds that he tries harder with you around, whether it be to impress you or earn plenty of praises and compliments when the match is over. He doesn't care what you come up with, so long as it's from you.

Mark Remembers that you're off the clock and should get home before it's too dark, "A-Anway," He clears his throat and adjusts his gym bag over his shoulder, "Let's get out of here, I think we both could use a shower..." Despite his words, he is eyeing how exhausted you look, sweaty and your eyes a little swollen from overworking yourself. It reminds him of the time you went on a run with him, an innocent invitation he gave you since he never really sees you outside of the gym.

To his surprise, you weren't at all a bad runner, but unfortunately, your stamina does not nearly match his and he can still remember how cute you looked, tripping over your feet and waving your hand for him to slow down. The sweat that stuck to your face, neck, chest... how you were shivering all the while scraping to regain some oxygen in your lungs. Your fingers holding onto his arm, leaning into him with your eyes closed. 

You had looked so pretty that day, but all he could think about was whether or not you'd look the same if he were to have sex with you. Would the sweet bead up the same? Would your eyes get heavy once it was over? Would you pant and cling to him like now, doing your best to keep up and not collapse from exhaustion? That was the first time he ever thought of you other than as a friend, and ever since it feels like the daydreams have gotten a little worse.

Not nearly as explicit as yours, though.

God, you want to fuck him so bad. You want to ride him until your thighs burn, to feel his teeth marking your skin with every push of his hips, to open your mouth just so he can spit in it... reminding you that you're nothing but a perverted, disgusting, awful whore. That's exactly what you are. A brainless, hormonal...

Right, you're supposed to be leaving. With a final adjustment to the sweater he had kindly given you, you lead the way to the back door of the gym. You wish you didn't have to depart so soon, just before he had his hands all over you! Touching your legs, holding your waist... can't you turn back time just enough to go through that all over again? Even if it's just him guiding you to a proper punch. 

What you would give to feel those hands on your tits, or cupping the apex of your thighs. Would it feel different from when you touch yourself? Probably. His fingers are bigger, thicker, rough... you can only imagine the way they would curl to rub that special spot inside of your walls. You bet he would be able to make you squirt, you can only imagine it... if only.

"Make sure you sleep early," He chimes from beside you, "That way I can see you early before I have to go prepare for tomorrow night." It is bizarre how insistent he is on seeing you before the fight, did you do something different to yourself? Deep down, you're praying he may just have a little crush on you, but you doubt it. He could like anyone, he would never choose you... right?

Nonetheless, you don't let your selfish thinking distract you from the handsome man beside you. What doe sit matter whether he likes you or not? At least he talks with you. But every human has selfish desires, yours just happens to be wanting the crimson-haired boxer beside you to be yours, "I wouldn't miss a chance to see you," The words come out faster than you could bite your tongue, but with the cat out of the bag you roll with it, "Maybe I could bring you something to eat?"

The suggestions noticeably brighten him, the two of you coming out of the back door which you begin to lock for the night, "That would be nice, remember those grape leaves you had made that one time? I'd kill for those..." Neither of you misses how his voice noticeably quiets, as if he only wants you to hear that, for the huskiness in his tone to catch your ears. 

To say it doesn't cause a million and one butterflies to waltz in from your stomach into your chest, would be a lie. It would be a lie to deny how the most minuscule quirks he has always leave you in a state of your own temporary bliss. You wish you could hear him whisper over and over, to come up behind you like in those cliche romance films from the 60s. For his arms to encase your midsection, lips meeting the shell of your ear, telling you how his day is better now that he is home with you.

Oh, what you would give to live out a shitty romance film from however many decades ago with Mark. To be that mindless trophy wife even if for a day, to forget all responsibility and for him safely coming home to you to be your only worry. To spend your hours cooking and cleaning, making yourself look your prettiest if it means letting him use you to destress.

You just want to make him happy, is that so wrong? Maybe.

"I'll be sure to make you some," You say back, eyes falling from his to instead look at your sneakers, "W-Well, I'll see you early tomorrow... I'll be sure to bring your sweater back." You miss the subtle smile due to your eyes being elsewhere, a smile that lasts until you look back up to him, "Drive home safe, I can't wait to see the fight tomorrow."

The two of you bid your farewell, Mark keeping his eye on you up until you safely enter the comfort of your car, and only then does he get into his own. You always miss those gentlemanly gestures he does, how he never leaves until he sees you're safely in your car, always keeping an eye out for you whenever you go off to the bathroom. He gets so worried over you being just a minute too long, and part of him excuses it for a "need to protect" urge in him.

But a very small part of him has already learned to accept he may or may not have feelings for you, whether they are romantic or platonic, he cannot pinpoint; especially because he hasn't even fully accepted the fact he has potential feelings for you. 

Regardless, you drive away, unaware of how he waited for you to leave first. The entire ride home, all you could focus on was the cologne that stuck to the hoodie he let you borrow. How the masculine odor filled not only your nose but the car. It felt mocking like the hoodie knew how down bad you are forMark, but you try not to let it get to you. You try not to imagine how it would feel to bury your face into his shoulder and smell the cologne stuck to his skin.

That familiar heat floods between your legs, reminding you of how awful you are. Even with him gone, you can't stop the dirty thoughts. Maybe you just need to get laid? Maybe it's less that you like him, and just you being horny and deprived of intimacy. 

You know that isn't the case, but it's nice to pretend it is.

What would his favorite position be? Would he prefer you on top? Bent over? If you had to decide, you'd want to be able to see his face, to watch how good you can make him feel. No amount of brainstorming could probably compare to how sexy he would look engulfed in pleasure, nor how he would sound. You take him for someone who tries to hold back their moans, not wanting you to know you're being good for him.

"Oh, god..." You whisper under your breath as you continue to drive, knuckles bulging from gripping the steering wheel so hard, not to mention the ache in your lower back from how far you've arched yourself to try and ignore the throbbing in your clit. It's ridiculous, here you are driving home on an empty street, your apartment building isn't even that far away...

And yet you find yourself pulled over on the side of the road.

The entire time, you mentally scold yourself, eyes frantically looking about all the while you sick back into your seat. Your nose is buried into the collar of the sweater, the familiar scent comforting you while your hand moves under the waistband of your leggings and then under your soaked panties. Were you really this wet? Usually, you would be riddled with shame, but now? You can only thank yourself, knowing it will make it all the easier for your fingers to snake themselves inside of you.

You know that your fingers will never compare to the real thing, and most of the time you don't even get much pleasure from them being inside of you, but that minor sense of fullness somehow is just relaxing. Between your index and middle fingers being knuckle deep inside of your pulsating entrance, your walls clenching around what little space your fingers take up, and your palm grinding into your clit.

"M-Mark..." His name is always falling from your tongue, every time you find yourself viciously rubbing your clit in desperation, or grinding into the soft fabric of your pillow. Whatever you may be doing to pleasure yourself, his name is the only thing that you manage to utter during the entire process. Praising him for making you feel so good and whimpering how it's too much for you. 

If only he could see you now, curled up in your car and humping at your hand, panting and whining for the only man you've thought about for however long you've known him. If only he were here, to witness how filthy you are, that you're anything but sugar and honey - you're not sweet at all, you're just a needy nymphomaniac. 

You spread your thighs just a little more, fingers dipping in and out of your entrance only to then come out and give your neglected clit circular rubs before seeping back inside of your pussy, "I wanna cum,Mark~" Imagining it is his fingers pumping in and out of you, that it's his palm that continues to grind into your poor clit.

With the fabric of his sweater pressed firmly to your nose, it helps to muffle your pathetic sounds; strings of his name and pleas floating within the air of your car. the only other noise being the wet squelching sound of your fingers inside of you. It all feels so lewd, to be touching yourself like this in your car. If anyone were to find out, surely you would be not only shunned, but you'd never hear the end of it.

But god his hands felt so good on your thighs and waist when he was training you earlier, they were so warm, so big... his palms rough when they dragged over the skin of your arms. You wish he would've gone just a little higher

"F-Fuck... ah~ fuck me,Mark-" You squeak when your fingers nudge at your walls a little too roughly, further hiding your face in his sweater as it gradually becomes harder to contain your whimpers. The thought of him praising you, calling you his good girl, and saying you take it so well - would he pepper your teary face with kisses? Slow down to make sure he doesn't completely ruin you?

Your insides feel hot, tortuously hot. Every grind of your clit into your palm gradually brings you closer to the anticipated climax. Are you catching a fever? You know it is just your body readying itself for the oncoming bliss, the buildup in your stomach that feels like electricity, "I-I'm cumming," You breathe out a strained whine, "F-Fuck, I'm cumming... I'm cumming~!" You lose your voice as your fingers focus on your clit, rubbing back and forth against the poor nerve.

"M-Mark~ fuck, fuck, fuck- nngh~!" It all happens so quick, the squirting of your climax soaking into your panties and leggings, tainting the skin of your hand and pruning fingers, luckily not too much getting on the seat of your car. But it isn't the mess, it's the pulse you feel in your clit, a neverending throb that has your walls clenching and unclenching. 

You must look wrecked, between how you've managed to bizarrely sink into your seat, your leggings and panties slightly pulled down and your fingers covered in a mess of your cum and slick. You feel ridiculous more than you look it, having just touched yourself in your car to the thought of someone who most likely sees you as nothing but a friend. 

Once again you feel like you're taking a walk of shame; pulling your panties and leggings back up despite the uncomfortable and icky sensation of how wet the fabric is, adjusting yourself in your seat, and looking around for any ongoing or incoming cars. Only when you deem it safe, pulling out of the spot you had parked to continue your trek home, all in silence as a means to reflect on yet again letting your lust get the best of you.

All you can do is hope that when you get home and take a nice warm shower and make those grape leaves poor Mark asked for, that it will somehow erase this awful encounter with yourself from your head. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day. Though, you doubt it will take eight hours of sleep to cure you of the hormonal devil on your shoulder.

To make matters worse, the familiar chime of your phone interrupts your mental meditation on what just happened. Though, it isn't your phone that makes things worse, but rather the fact that the very name you see in the notifications bar is the one person you were hoping to get out of your head. You almost think not to answer, let alone look at it, but you could never do that to him.

Upon opening the message, you nearly cry with guilt - how can he be so sweet? Why do you have to be so awful?

Remember that time we went for a run? I forgot I took this pic of u when we finished... after u started to vomit because u pushed urself 2 much. U looked cute tho (:

Scrolling up you hold back the urge to get on your knees before some religious statue and beg for forgiveness. There he is smiling at the camera, holding it high enough to catch himself but also you in the back, to your surprise you don't look awful. Sure, you may be on the verge of death from running so much, and even sweatier than him, but the sunset somehow brought it all together.

And did he just say you looked cute?

You bite back the urge to squeal and get into a car accident, but mostly not to verbally freak out. Does he really think you're cute? Really? You almost don't want to believe it, why would he think you're cute? You don't dwell on it too much, happily accepting the compliment and rereading the message over and over again until another one comes through.

We should do it again, I had fun <3 see u 2morrow, don't forget the grape leaves!

Why does he have to be so perfect? It's always the nice guys who are barely out of your reach. Not that you deserve Mark, someone as obsessive as you doesn't deserve that sort of happiness - not when you focus more on wanting to have sex with him every day, rather than building up the courage to just ask him out.

Maybe tomorrow you will try.

The following morning comes all too quickly, but you give yourself credit for having not had a wet dream - something that shamefully occurs often - and waking up to the sound of your early set alarm without trouble. You're never usually up at this time, but keeping your promise to the crimson-haired man you think about more than you do yourself is your top priority. It would be awful to say you will be there with breakfast, only to diss him.

And surely he would end up not liking you at all, he has mentioned being prejudice against people who do not stay true to their words. 

You like to think that you got ready so quickly, so haphazardly due to your stress over possibly being late... but you know it's because of how excited you are to see Mark and the fact he told you he wanted to see you before he would have to go and prepare for his fight.

Before you leave, you make sure to grab his sweater which you left neatly folded at your desk. When you got home after your shower, the first thing you did was throw it in the wash and put it as far away from you as possible - that damned sweater, you should have never accepted it because look what it made you do! Nonetheless, you are grateful he thought of you and your health and that is the reason you washed it, to cleanse it of any and all evidence of the sin you committed in your car last night. It is still humiliating that you allowed yourself to lose that self-control, but at least you're not in denial. 

If your father were to have seen you with that hoodie, you are almost certain he would have recognized it and interrogated you. Luckily, that didn't happen, because if it had you aren't sure you would be able to explain without the flooding images of last night filling your head and driving you up the wall.

But none of that is your concern, not when you have to make it to the gym in time for him, you're certain he should be there at this time, as well as your father who is preparing the back building where all boxing training, practice, and matches go on. Your only hope is neither of you bumps into your old man, but with how analytical he is, he practically smells when and where he needs to stick his nose into business that isn't his.

As you pull your car into the lot of the gym, noticing the familiar vehicles that belong to both the man you are excited to see, but also the one you hope you don't bump into, the butterflies begin to catch up. He wanted to see you, even to now you still replay those very words, asking you to come by earlier so he could see you before he had to go and prepare himself for the night.

The nerves are beginning to start, you never quite got over that feeling that you were stepping into unfamiliar territory. You've known Mark for quite some time by now, can't you just get over it and walk in there? It isn't even him that you're fearful of, more so the eyes that may follow you the moment you step into the gym. What will others think? You're never so early, and walking up to the redhead with a bento box? You can only imagine the rumors this will start.

Yet, you suck it up. Your father didn't raise you to run away from things, worst-case scenario is he can't talk right now and you end up looking like a fool. You doubt it, but there are a hundred and one possibilities you are anything but prepared for. But isn't that what makes it exciting? The unknown.

Not really, you hate the unknown. The entire walk to the front door of the gym, as well as entering it to see not many people you are familiar with there, which isn't surprising since you work from the afternoon until it gets dark. Nowhere in sight do you see the redhead you have been waiting to see since you last saw him yesterday evening, and you aren't even sure where he could be.

Part of you worries you may be too late, but you figure if he were to be anywhere he must be in the back building. The only issue is you would have to possibly come face-to-face with your father, not only to hand back Mark's sweater but also breakfast you prepared for him. You almost think to just bail, claim there is a ridiculous amount of traffic and you're still on the road, but he isn't stupid.

And you're also not gonna hurt his feelings.

You carry yourself towards the back doors of the building to find the separate structure where all the boxers practice and train, it is rather run down in comparison to the main gym, but it makes sense since most of the fights that go on here go on without the knowledge of authority. You aren't even sure if your father has a proper permit for this building, but he's gotten away with it before, and you're sure you've seen local officers in their casual attire attending the matches.

But all of that is beside the point, not when you enter the building and come face to face with chaos. Between people moving chairs and tables around, cleaners mopping at the floor, boxers gathered to the far end of the building where you see your father. Unfortunately, there is noMark-

Before the figure behind you can even speak, this weird tingle down your spine alerted you to an approaching figure, which you quickly look back only to be met with long red hair and a bare, sweat-tainted torso. Had he always been so tall? So big? You have no clue where to even look, your eyes jumping from his chest to his shoulder, raking over his long hair, and finally locking with the familiar crimson eyes you are used to. You feel silly for staring at him, but you just can't help it.

"You made it," Comes his voice, a grin plastered onto his face at the sight of you holding his sweater and the bento box, "I see you brought me some gifts, is this what I think it is?" The tip of his finger points at the box of grape leaves, to which you hold them out for him to take, your words trapped in your throat at the sight of him completely shirtless in front of you. 

Mark opens the box and whistles at the plentiful amount of grape leaves you had prepared for him, "You spoil me~" He hums while bringing one to his lips, taking it all in his mouth in one bite. Your eyes lock on a droplet of oil that is stuck to the corner of his mouth, how his jaw looks when he chews, the bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallows. You can only imagine how much better he would look swallowing your cum, if only he was there last night to catch your juices in his mouth when you made yourself cum like that.

"How is everything coming along?" You finally find your voice, even if to just ask a question, from what you can tell most of the necessary tasks are just about done - which would leave Mark with an hour or so to get ready for the match later this afternoon - and most are just focusing on creating space to accommodate the customers coming to watch.

Nights like this your father makes the most money, charging for entry and snacks. You call him a shark for how he robs these people with his ridiculous fees, but what business is it to you? If it's what the people want, you're sure they would pay any amount just to watch some men beat each up other up. You weren't a fan of boxing until you first seen Mark, only ever wasting your time to see him in the ring.

When he swallows his third grape leaf, much to your shock, his eyes scan the room with an unsure shrug, "I'd say it looks fine, I've been trying to help out but your father refuses... keeps saying I should just go and warm up in the gym." You would figure as much, your father has favorites and those favorites tend to get the better end of the stick. 

You smile seeing how happy he is with the bento box you prepared for him, nothing makes you happier than when someone enjoys your cooking. Especially the person you like, a lot. It feels good to just be able to look at him and feel nothing but that giddy crush feeling bubbling inside of you, without the added turn-off of your anything but pure imagery that infests your less than perfect brain.

"There aren't too many people in the gym... maybe it will do you some good to stretch or something before you gotta get ready." Mark knows you're right, and he doesn't particularly enjoy doing absolutely nothing when everyone around him is up to some sort of agenda, "I don't plan on going anywhere now that I'm here, it wouldn't make sense... did you need help with anything in particular."

Of course, part of you is hoping to hear something like 'yeah, can you suck my dick?' but you know that won't happen. It is quite humiliating to even think that, how nice his thighs would feel in your palms, his cock shoved balls deep in your throat, tearing up and choking from the size. You bet he tastes just as good as he looks, and he looks like he tastes really good.

Mark closes the bento box, "Actually, yeah..." The three fingers the were covered in the thick oil that the grape leaves are cast in are one by one popped into his mouth, and oh is a sight to admire. His tongue dragging over the single-digit before dragging it out from his mouth with a light pop, "You mind wrapping my hands for me? I never do it tight enough." 

You've seen him struggle plenty of times with that hair of his, thick and down to his lower back. You aren't sure how he manages to take care of it, after all, it always looks so silky and voluminous. The women in those shampoo commercials could never compare, you're sure if Mark ever got into doing commercials he would have shelves empty within the first two seconds of the ad. 

Who wouldn't want to sit there and stare at him? His voice shaking every bone in your body, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement, his pretty white teeth, not to mention thick lashes, and the way they frame his sharp eyes. Anyone would be happy to hear him talk, let alone drag their eyes over every dip and curve of his powerhouse of a body.

Before you are quiet for too long you come back to your senses, "Of course!" It comes out rather too enthusiastic, but Mark either doesn't notice or care. Especially not when you walk past him in that pretty little skirt of yours, you look so delicious clutching his sweater to your chest, your hips swaying in the most hypnotizing way. God forbid anyone, let alone your father catches his eyes checking you out from behind.

He follows you like a lost puppy, drooling over your legs and how soft they must be, how your thighs would feel amazing to just lay his head down on them. He's always found you attractive, and your sweet personality makes it ten times better. Whenever you wear those yoga leggings, he finds himself staring too long at you, watching you walk until you disappear somewhere.

What he would give to see you in cute little stockings, holding that skirt of yours up for him to admire the adorable panties you have on. Would you be into that? Letting him stare down at you, memorize every inch of your body, rub you through your panties, and push your shirt up and over your soft tits. The things he would do to you if you gave him the chance, and today he hopes he can coax you into paying more attention to him.

The two of you enter the gym, seeing that only a few other regulars have joined the same faces from when you came. The only sound being of the equipment and the cheesy music playing through the loudspeakers. Onlookers glance for a moment, watching the two of you as you both settle at one of the benches. You know they only look because they're interested in Mark and what he could possibly be doing with you. But who cares? You get to have an excuse to hold his hand!

"Did you sleep well?" He asks while fishing into the pocket of his shorts to pull out the hand wraps, "To be honest, I was a little worried about you since it was so cold... that's why I texted you, to make sure you were okay." Every word leaves you more and more in a state of speechlessness, he truly did care. All night that's all you could wonder if he genuinely cared and it turns out he did.

You contain your excitement, not wanting it to show how happy that made you, "Really?" You squeak out, "I-I was fine... your sweater kept me warm." You hide the flustered look by focusing down at the gauze in your hands, unwrapping the elastic material, "I made sure to wash it before I brought it back, I was pretty sweaty last night."

He finds you adorable, how your pretty hands hesitantly grab one of his and hold it in your lap. Your skin is so soft, so warm, he has to hold himself back from just squeezing or dragging his palm over the exposed skin. You're so careful with how you bring the gauze over his knuckles and between his thumb and index finger, making sure it is neither too tight nor too loose.

"Too bad, you always smell really good..." He watches your expression with a smirk, not missing how you tense up, "You never answered my question about whether or not you slept..." He loses his train of words as he watches your fingers trace over his knuckles. You're gentle, treating his hand like it's the most fragile thing you ever held, between the way you've fastened the gauze just right and are now just adjusting the wrap to better cover his abused knuckles.

The only thing on your mind is whether he takes proper care of his hands or not, does he make sure to clean them up and put ice? To massage all the kinks and knots out? You worry too much for him, not that he could ever tell. The tips of your fingers trace what scars aren't being covered, admiring how much he has probably been through to get this far. You've seen the way he trains, hours without a break, and always pushing himself, that's how stars are made.

Would it be so bad...? You feel conflicted, despite your hand already gradually bringing his closer to you, has anyone ever made sure he took care of himself? You try to do so, but sometimes your selfishness gets in the way. Is there anyone he lives with that pampers him? What you would give to be that person; rubbing his aching shoulders, kissing the bruises and cuts he has, washing his hair and back for him...

"y/n-" Your name leaves his mouth with a stutter, crimson eyes caught on your lips pressing delicate kisses to his knuckles. Your lips are soft, shimmering slightly from the lip-balm you have on, not to mention the warmth of your breath wafting against his hand. He doesn't protest, more so in awe at how pretty you look, how you don't even seem to be aware of what you're doing.

To say he hasn't pictured this exact scenario a hundred times or more, you wrapping his hands before a match, kissing each finger with one of your beautiful smiles. All he can do now is soak in this mini victory, a dream come true if you will. Your eyes peering through your lashes when your lips pull away from his hand, the cutest look of shame flashing on your pretty face, "Sorry, it just looks like it hurts..."

Mark stays silent as you hold his wrapped hand, reminiscing on how your lips felt on him, wondering if they would feel even better elsewhere. He doesn't respond right away, placing his unwrapped hand in your lap with a smile, "I liked it..." He says while you start to wrap his other hand, "Y-You should do it more often." 

You never expected him to say something like that, not that you expected him to be upset with you. To be honest, you weren't entirely sure what you were expecting his response to being when you pulled away. Part of you thought the atmosphere would grow awkward, unwanted even. Yet, here you are repeating the process with his other hand, the entire time you can't keep yourself from glancing up, only for your eyes to lock with his and his lips to curl into a smug smirk.

Just as you had with his other hand, you sheepishly bring the newly wrapped knuckles to your lips. Of course, this time you aren't as confident, but he finds it just as pleasurable. Your pretty eyes locked with his, kissing at the scarred flesh and trying to sit still. He can tell you're embarrassed simply by your body language, which you shouldn't be, he likes this show you're putting on for him.

Only when you finish, lowering his hand from your face and sitting up straight on the bench opposite to him, does Mark get a good look at your face. You would look good with a swollen bottom lip, irritated from his teeth nipping and tugging at it, and he wouldn't mind giving your cheek a playful bite, too. He realizes he doesn't quite want you to move away just yet, the simple act of you wrapping his hands already leaving him craving more of your attention.

"Could you help me with my hair, too?" You are only a little surprised by the question, especially since you've seen him put up his hair - despite it looking rather rough around the edges and a bit too low - and be perfectly fine with it. But you wouldn't turn down the opportunity to be close with him for a little longer. Did he ask that because he wants the same thing? You want to believe it.

Mark hands you the tie around his wrist, watching you come to a stand and circle around to stand behind him. His hair looks shiny, like layers of red silk on his head, "You have nice hair," You shyly state, putting the tie around your wrist as you start to gather his long and thick hair in your hands, "I bet you'd look nice with a half-up half-down style, but keeping it all up is probably for the best so it doesn't obstruct your vision, right?"

He wanted to answer you, but your voice sends such a chill through his spine, your warm breath hitting the back of his neck as you work to make sure not a single hair has fallen astray. Your fingers are like heaven, rubbing against his scalp, combing through the heavy bundle of red hair, "The last time I wore my hair down for a fight," He holds his tongue when you lean forward, the softness of your tummy pressing into him as you lean over his body to make sure you gather the hair in front, "I-It kept getting the way and stuck on things..."

You hum softly, not even really aware that the fact you're practically laying over his back to pull back the loose strands have him swelling in his briefs. Fuck, he would do anything to fill you up right here, let everyone watch him do it too. Pretty little y/n get her pussy stuffed for being a teasing little whore, panties around your ankle, barely fitting him inside of you. 

"You'll do great tonight," You say loud enough for only him to hear, "And um... maybe after we can go out for dinner?" Mark almost laughs at the predicament, it seems you beat him to it, "I-I mean, only if you're up for it, I just know this place with really good western dishes and I wanted-"

"Would you believe me if I said I was gonna ask you the same question after the match?" Your heart lodges in your throat, he is serious... right? Of course, why else would he say that? But it feels too good to be true! Would he really ask you out for dinner? It feels like everything is just falling together with the more the day goes by; wanting to see you before the match, wanting to ask you out for dinner, kissing his knuckles, touching his hair... it feels too perfect.

Technically it is because it seems your fifteen minutes of heaven is up when the familiar face of your father approaches you both, your fingers fall from the red hair you had been playing with, "I've been looking everywhere for you, kid... and you've been here the whole time!" His hands go up in the air, urgingMark to stand up, "Turns out we are actually behind schedule, the guys who came for the match are here an hour early so we gotta get you changed and ready to go in thirty minutes. Understood?"

PoorMark looks like a deer caught in headlights, "H-Huh? I thought the matches weren't until later...?" Even you are a tad confused by the situation, the matches are always held later in the day, wouldn't it be inconvenient to start now when there aren't even any customers?

But it turns out everything happens for a reason, "That was the impression I was under, but it turns out the new kid I hired to put up posters and shit put in the wrong damn time. So not only are people expecting a match in the next thirty minutes, but I haven't even finished getting the beer and shit out." Your father seems to be off the walls, between the anger in his tone and the way his brows are knitted close together, you don't think now is the time to upset him.

"You, go get changed and ready." Your father pushes Mark in the direction to the dressing rooms, "And you," He smiles while taking your face in his palms, "If I see that redhead getting too friendly with you I will kick his ass, now go and get yourself something to eat from the back you look half-awake." That's your father for you, even protective when the nice guys are around.

Alas, you do not argue, now is probably not the best time to tell him you wanted to go to dinner with Mark later tonight. You follow his orders to go and help with the food and beverages, you're sure he wouldn't want you working, but you figured with all the stress of the times being wrong you could help even just a little bit.

This is the most chaotic you have seen the gym, people coming with nowhere to go just yet, workers running around with chairs and tables and mops, carrying cases of whiskey and soda and things alike. If you weren't used to such disorder, for sure you would have cracked under the pressure of everything. Working a gym that also happens to have a "secret" boxing system in itself is just a mess.

Deep down, you feel bad for everyone and seeing the boxers rush in and out half-dressed in their uniforms and still trying to help, but at the same time, the fact that everything has been pushed earlier simply means you not only get to go out with Mark sooner but most likely stay out with him longer. You only hope that the stress of this mishap and the fight doesn't ruin those chances and he forgets, or even worse, just doesn't want to go out anymore.

As usual, you know that is just your overactive imagination and the pessimistic side of you, always questioning your worth and whether or not an opportunity is real or not. A lot of nights you spend laughing at yourself, how silly you were for holding so much doubt and worry over nothing; now is one of those moments.

When you should be focusing on helping to carry this case of water to the back building, you're wondering how Mark is coming along. He looked a little under pressure the last time you saw him, what if he might need help? Probably not...

But he did say he needed a little good luck before the match.

Maybe visiting him will somehow ease his nerves, despite him being a big guy with a lot of confidence, you are sure even men like him can be on edge for something like a boxing match. It's like football in high school minus being in high school and the football, right? Before game adrenaline, eyeing up the enemy, mentally and physically preparing yourself for the fight of your life. Everyone wants to win.

The only difference is that you know Markwill come out on top, you've never had as much faith in anyone as you do with him... which is why your feed deters from the back door to the second building in favor of finding which room Mark may be holed up in. Every dressing room has a name on it, and there are only five being used tonight because most of the boxers being trainees.

Your father is a big perfectionist, and if he doesn't have one hundred percent faith in you, then there is no way he will have you representing him. You learned that a lot growing up, but you think that's one of the reasons you crave perfection over minuscule things like how the gym equipment is set up, and where the towels and waters out, how things are accessible. They do say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

As you make your way down the hall of vacant and occupied doors, your eyes finally catch sight of the familiar name done in the familiar striking handwriting you have seen thousand times over. Mark has this little within quirk that you can easily identify, always sharpening his letters and irregular capitalization. You've always liked coming to work to see his name on the sign-in sheet, always so bold and pop from the rest of the list of names. 

For a moment you almost hesitate to knock on his door, but it is either now or never that you speak to him. You bring your knuckles to the door, knocking three times before stepping back and waiting. You don't hear anything on the other side of the door, could he have already left? It is a possibility, out of everyone his costume has always been the most... let's just say revealing. Mark is meant to be the eye-catcher, he is young, has bold red hair, is big and intimidating all the while looking soft.

All the boxers have their teams, and Mark's just so happens to be a nice, scary piece of eye candy. Not that you mind at all, more for you to look at! But when the door doesn't open, you come to the conclusion he isn't there, turning on your heel to head back out and see if anyone needs help. You're disappointed to say the truth, having wanted to talk with him for a second before the match, but not everything can just fall into place.

You get about ten feet from the door before you hear the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of its opening, "y/n?" The familiar voice stops you in place, you had thought the door belonged to someone else but turning to look into the crimson eyes of the person you had been hoping to see, "Hey, what's up?" He is only a little shocked to see you there, to be truthful he was hoping it was you on the other end of the door when he hurried to get to it.

But you standing there, he almost didn't believe it for a second, not until you scurried your pretty little self back the way you came to meet him at his door, "N-No! I just thought you could use a little help, you looked distressed when you had to rush out of there before." Your words sink in for a moment, you were worried. He finds it rather cute, you worrying your head over him and wanting to be a good helper.

"Is that so...?" He hums, smiling when you slowly crack under his gaze, "Can you help me get this shitty top on? Your father forgot to order a bigger size so we are trying to compromise." You're a little flustered to help him with his costume of all things, you'll be alone in a room with him and his uniform barely covers anything. Between the fact, his entire torso is revealed aside from the signature black arm sleeves, and you'll be dangerously close to him? You are melting and you aren't even entirely in his room yet.

No matter what, you refuse to turn him down, not now. You look both ways down the hall before quietly entering his room, the door shutting behind you both, "I'll be sure to order a resizing for you," You say and examine the rest of what should be a part of the top of his costume, "He must have gotten you mixed up with the new guy, but that's okay people aren't here to judge you for what you're wearing!"

Mark sits down for you, letting you adjust the arm sleeves on his arm, due to the collar and shoulder pieces not fitting him, they won't have anything to be held up with, "I find it kinda funny how big your dad is about image and impression, considering he has men beating on each other for like four hours straight." Your fingers feel hot against his skin, apply a makeshift tape to the inside of the hem of the sleeves so that it has a better grip on his biceps.

"I was thinking... maybe instead of staying for everything to finish, we could just go out as soon as my match is over?" Your heart leaps at the suggestion, you're starting to think that he can read your thoughts, that the entire time you were freaking out over that dinner date not working he heard it all and was now making sure you could rest assured. Again, once again your imagination going over the top, but it doesn't kill a girl to dream!

With nothing more to modify regarding his costume - which you realized he never needed help with it to start and he was giving an excuse for you to stick around - you circle to look him in the face, "I would like that, I don't really... I kinda only go to these matches to watch you." He knew that but you don't know that he knows, so he pretends he is shocked, "A-And because the matches are earlier than they were supposed to, maybe we have time before or after dinner to do something else?"

His mind wandered, he won't deny it, what could pretty y/n possibly have in mind for before or after dinner? He'd love for it to be you bouncing in his lap with your tits spilling out that top of yours, you'd probably love that, wouldn't you? Mark can just imagine how good you would look, squealing and gasping, doing your best to take his big cock, even crying a little because you don't wanna mess up and not be good enough for him.

Fuck, you look so tantalizing standing there, your fingers messing with one another in front of you as you wait for a response, "What did you have in mind?" Mark wants to know what sort of ideas you have brewing in your head. Here is he wanting to fuck you whenever he gets the chance, and poor you have no clue. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if you have fantasies of your own, it's always the one who acts all sweet and sugary that ends up being sour and spicy.

"I-I'm not sure... but we could figure it out later, right?" He is a little disappointed you didn't have anything specific you wanted to do, but he figured as much since everything is so last minute. Nonetheless, he can't wait to see what happens later, he knows you'll make it work just like you always do.

The silence that falls for a few brief seconds doesn't last long when a knock comes at the door, to which you look over in horror. You don't need someone walking in and seeing you here, especially if that is your father. But Mark has it under control, going over to the door and peeking out. You can't see who it is, but you can hear their conversation from start to finish.

"You're on in five, so get that uniform finished and get out there, 'kay?" You figured it was your father with how strict he is when it comes to time, "Also, have you seen y/n?" You freeze up at the mention of your name, you'll be dead if he so much as smells you in this room, which is the reason you sink further into the corner and as far away from the door as possible.

"I haven't, but I'll be done in a minute, don't worry." Less is more with your father, and thankfully you can hear the sound of him going on with whatever it was he was doing before checking on Mark. The door clicks shut and only then do you let out the breath you had been holding, "Shit, that was close..."

If only he knew how badly your heart was racing, and you wish you could say it was out of fear, but all you feel is hot, that adrenaline of your father finding his sweet little girl in the room of one of his scary boxers. What would he think? Sure he would tie you up in the tallest tower, but he would for sure hasMark's head on a pike in the gym. You almost miss that he is beginning to gather his things and ready himself to go out to the ring.

You still haven't given him any sort of good luck; no pep talk, no awkward friendship bracelet, no bouquet of cheap flowers. Why were you even here then? You wonder if he is disappointed, he did specifically say 'are you going to give me some good luck?' yesterday and here you show up empty-handed. But the last thing you want is to leave him with no sort of confirmation that you wish him the best.

Before he can leave, you are quick to make a move, "Mark-" You stop him with a grab to his wrist, crimson orbs look over broad shoulders to meet your own, "You said you needed good luck before the game..." What are you doing? You have nothing to give or show...

Markwaits in suspense, he had entirely forgotten the very words he said yesterday. He didn't mean it he was just teasing you a little like he always does. But the fact you remembered? He is flattered, albeit confused because he doesn't see anything in your hands and you don't have a bag or pockets on you... his head wanders, maybe a kiss? He would be more than just happy with that, through the roof even!

But as he watches you, tense where you stand and caught in some sort of conflict, the last thing he expects is to see you bend forward. He isn't quite sure what it is you're doing at first, but then your hands shimmy up and under your skirt.

What makes it even more of a smack to his face is when he sees something pink and lacy being slipped down your legs. Maybe it was how dumbfounded he was, but until you slipped your pretty legs out from the fabric and hold it out for him, does he realize that little pink lace is your panties, "A-A good luck charm for Red Riot from his... from his number one fan."

The two of you stand there for what seems like forever, did you kill him? He looks almost dead where he stands, his eyes wide, and locked on the bundle of fabric in your hand. You almost worry you did too much, "Kick some ass." You quickly take his hand and shove your panties in them, hurrying out the room with the most flustered yet satisfied grin on your face. You did it, sure it may have been a bit much, but your feelings are out there and the ball is in his field. Now it's his job to decide whether he accepts it or not.

You hurry out to the back building, knowing your father is most likely being driven up the wall by not knowing where you are. You concoct an excuse in your head, you were just in the bathroom because something you ate didn't sit right. He would believe that, right? He's always doting after you like you're still his little princess dressing up and walking around in sequins and glitter.

The building is a lot more crowded than you expected, but it is easy to find your father after shimmying through the crowd, "Where the hell were you, y/n? I was asking everyone and running around like crazy, I thought some psycho had-" You stop him with a gentle pat to his back, oh if only daddy knew what exactly it was you were doing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, right? You're here, and you better be making sure you leeches don't go over and try to steal snacks."

Almost directly after, your father is surfing through the crowd to try and sell gym merch, memberships, popcorn, and peanuts. He has always been a businessman at heart, and you are anything but shocked to see him with his bag of random foods and trinkets to sell to customers.

The chaos doesn't last long, the familiar ring of the bell that calls attention to the crowd has the room quieting. You are familiar with the process of hyping up the crowd, when you were little and watching boxing matches on television with your father, you would imitate the spokesperson to make him laugh. You always wanted to do something like that, have all eyes on you as you do nothing but talk.

But you grew out of it inevitably, though it doesn't mean watching someone else do it makes it any less enjoyable, "Anyway, let me stop boring you all with meaningless conversation... let me welcome the man representing this very ring, Red Riot!" Everything else was a blur, Mark happily coming out, but if anyone could tell something was off it was you. The way his eyes wolfishly searched the crowds, as if he is expecting something or someone to be there...

Only after the spokesperson finishes introducing the redhead to the crowd of wild and returning fans, does he return to that strange behavior of looking around, he doesn't even pay attention to his opponent who is trying to antagonize and rile him up. What you least expect is for him to walk straight across the ring to where you are and lean down so you can get a good look at his face, "You're crazy," He whispers with one of the scariest smiles you've ever seen, "I think I figured out what we could do before dinner, you better be in that dressing room when this is over."

If anything could describe the things you felt right then, it would be both fear and excitement. Especially when he shamelessly reaches through the ring, knowing your father is completely distracted and grabs you by the collar of your shirt, and pulls you forward. You trip over your own feet, holding down your skirt when you remember you gave your panties to the crimson-haired man that has you in the palm of his hand.

Mark presses the sweetest kiss to your cheek, and if it weren't for the fact you both were in public, you would have grabbed his face and smashed your lips right onto his. But you take what you can get and flash him your prettiest smile before he has to let you go and return his attention to the man he is supposed to fight.

Everything feels surreal, your fingers constantly reaching up to touch the exact spot his soft lips had found your skin. God, if you were to die you would be totally fine with it after having that kiss, the match feels like a blur. Usually, you are ready to cheer him on, but now? All you can manage to do is watch and wait for it to be over, and with the way, the fight is going? You're certain the poor guy he is against is going to fall any second. 

Mark dodges the third punch the guy has thrown, you're starting to think he is growing desperate and exhausted. Why else is he just throwing random and uncoordinated punches? You've seen it a thousand times before, they always start going wild when they are tired and desperate. And you know Mark well, he isn't a fan of a sloppy opponent. This is why, although you flinched, you're also not surprised by the force he puts into his punch to humble the man in front of him. You hate how messy things can get, the sweat on them, blood... it's like watching two wild bears claw at one another's throats.

"Ouch! Looks like you're gonna pass out there, buddy... thinking of calling it quits and handing the win to Red?" You wish he would say yes, that he would just give up and let Mark have it for the night. You can barely find it in you to worry over some boxing match when he demanded you to meet him in his room. All of these scenarios are burning through your head, and even if it isn't what you want, you would be more than happy with another kiss.

Between the punches and swings, the blood you just noticed was dripping from Mark's nose and onto the lips he had kissed you with, it is all so overwhelming in addition to your hormones going crazy. You have never wished for a boxing match withMark to be over so badly, and it isn't even that you don't want to see him fight! You just want to see him elsewhere, specifically in private... specifically where he is undressed.

But when you see the man get Mark in a headlock, your heart drops for a second, he has this, right? You know he does, but you hate how long it's taking him to get out of that. You always get nervous for him when he takes a few seconds too long to take the advantage back, "Oh, do we have a possible turn around?" You can't stand him being stuck like that.

The only thing you know that could possibly give him the energy he needs to get out of that headlock is someone cheering for him. And sure the whole room is cheering from him, but he specifically told you, 'hearing you cheer is different from hearing everyone else, so use your voice!'

With all you have, you take a deep breath and cup your mouth to amplify your voice, "You got this,Mark!" And if anyone can pick your name from the crowd, it is him. It's like watching someone suddenly going through a drug boost, the way his arms coming up and tug himself free of the grasp around his head, all you can do is continue to cheer for him until he finally lands a good enough punch stun the guy. Red eyes find you in the crowd, and although he looks scary with the swollen lip and blood from his nose, you still get butterflies when he gives you that charming smile and a wink.

"Never mind, Red Riot has once again held his ground! Don't forget to place your bets in the back on who will win and possibly receive a free gym membership for two months!" It feels like you have been standing there for a million years, the snack table isn't even at the top of your priority list right now, you couldn't care less if they stole everything including the table!

The fight is already in the hands of the very man you have been cheering for this whole time, you didn't doubt it for a second. It is only a matter of either that man tapping out or Mark knocking him out and you don't care which it is. You are on the tips of your toes with how things are looking, Mark has insane stamina but you can tell he is getting a little fed up and tired, "Knock him out, Mark!" 

He lands a punch to the abdomen, the man curling over to armor his stomach, which anyone knows is the worst thing you can do. Right then and there, you knew it was over, especially when right after Mark knocks him directly in the nose and the guy goes falling back. He may not be unconscious, but his body language, the wooziness to his movements... you know he is finished.

"Aaaand~" Everyone counts down from three, "We have checkmate! But are we surprised with who is the winner? No!" You don't even listen to what the man has to say, not when the referee climbs the ring to hold Red Riot's fist in the air, a formal symbol that he has taken this week's fight. 

And when he looks right at you with that goofy smile of his, you can't help but to practically jumping in place with your biggest smile, blowing him a kiss. Of course, you didn't forget his demand for you to meet him in the dressing room. The moment you see him climbing out of the ring, you are high tailing out of that building. Could your father be calling for you? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not.

Not when you are holding down your skirt and running double-time right out of that humid building to get to where you need to be. Every muscle in your body is aching, every nerve aflame. If you could describe what it was you were feeling, it's like teetering over the edge right before you cum. To feel everything in your body working, like a thousand electric shocks straight to your core. 

You're so focused on getting down that hallway and into that room, your ears are deaf to the oncoming footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, "Gotcha!" A scream catches in your throat when you recognize the arms that wrap around your midsection and pick you up, no one else wears black arm sleeves like this, "C'mere." His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to look back at him just so his lips could finally meet yours.

And you should be disgusted by the blood from his nose rubbing off on your upper lip, or how you can taste the iron on your tongue. But you have waited so long to kiss him like this, even if it wasn't you imagined a hundred times over, it feels better than you could ever concoct in your imaginative brain. His lips are not at all chapped, they are soft and plush and perfectly mold with yours. 

Only when his tongue playfully swipes at your bottom teeth do the two of you break apart for air, eyes locked together in a moment of silence. You've never felt like this, as if you have a million and one little feathers moving around all inside of you, "I don't what I'm gonna do to you first." His voice is like a growl against your nape, the vibrations deep and rumbling into your sensitive skin.

He doesn't let you go yet, his arms remain tight around your torso as he carries you in front of him the rest of the way to the room with your toes barely touching the ground, "What are you going to- ah~!" Your eyes tear up when he sinks his teeth into your neck, slamming the door behind him with his heel, "M-Mark... mm~" He doesn't let up on your neck, sucking at the already darkening bite mark he has created. If someone were to tell you that you would be in this situation, with Mark Markholding you snug against his front and forcing you to bend over the vanity in his dressing room, you wouldn't believe them.

"Fuck, I was so close to grabbing you and dragging you right back in here when you gave me these," He digs your panties from his pocket, "You thought that was cute, huh? Tugging these off right in front of me like that?" You know he isn't expecting an answer, but you can't expect but to give him the smuggest nod you can while looking at him in the mirror, "You think you're so cute, don't you?"

The way he speaks with you, it's almost on the dot with every fantasy you have had. To feel like the perfect bittersweet brat just for him, if this is the reaction you will get then you plan to push his buttons more often. Every word that leaves him has you further hooked on his line and you will do anything just for him to keep whispering those things in your ear, for him to grab your face and make you meet his eyes.

"I wanna kiss again..." You give him your sweetest pout, doing your best to peer over your shoulder and trying to reach behind you to bring him closer, but he is having none of your little needinesses. Your hands are gathered easily in one of his big palms, pinned in front of you at the desk, "Mark, please~" 

He gives you a shake of his head, his free hand coming up to grab your chin and keep you still for him, "Nuh-uh, look at you..." His thumb swipes at your upper lip, "Got blood all over you, babe..." You felt it and tasted it the moment you kissed him, but you couldn't care less, your tongue dragging over your upper lip to clean it up. And you didn't miss the wolfish look in his eyes, watching your tongue drag over that blood and smear it even more.

Before your tongue can retract back into your mouth, he is quick to lean forward and press his lips to yours so his tongue can pry its way into your mouth. You don't fight it either, this is exactly what you had wanted and you are getting it. His tongue tastes like mint and a hint of iron from his busted bottom lip, but it is all good to you, if you could you would dance your tongue with his until you were on the brink of asphyxiation.

But you know that isn't possible, not when he is already pulling away from the kiss in favor of leaving a trail of them down your tender neck. It tickles, but you take it like you're supposed to, only somewhat flinching when he finds the bruise he had already left. It feels like needles, burning under the playful tracing of his tongue over the bite marks in your flesh. 

"Jerk..." You're silenced with a sharp spank, and you should be whining over it, but you've wanted this time and time again. You have no room to complain that it left your poor ass burning, not when it has you craving another. He likes your little resistance, how you give him something to dance around. As much as he enjoys the idea of you being his submissive little lamb, this little game you have going on is all the more interesting.

Without warning the bottom of your skirt is tugged up, your bare and wet pussy coming right into view, "Look at you, walking around with nothing under this... I bet you enjoyed that, look at how wet you are." Mark's hand is so hot on your ass, tugging it to pull your pussy nice and open for him to look at. You look so soft, so sweet, if he could he would take a nice bite out of you right now.

"Fuck, you think you can fit it?" You try to answer, you really do, but you can't stop focusing on his hand mocking you. The way it slowly circles your ass, the pad of his thumb barely grazing at your slit, "You want it, don't you?" You nod slowly while watching him through the mirror, how his abdominal muscles flex with every movement of his body, the sweat that sticks to his skin, not to mention the evident strain in his pants.

Everything feels hot, from the tip of your nose down to your toes, it's like you've been engulfed in hellfire... in a good way. Everything he does to you feels good, even if it's just locking eyes with you in the mirror, or readjusting your hips to take in every dip, curve, and roll on your pretty self. It doesn't matter what he does, and you know that the reason he has you so worked up is simply that it is him.

You are aware that the two of you are strapped for time, being here and like this is as unconventional as it can get. You know you can't be too loud, and you both can't take as long as you want, but you plan to make the most of it. If anything, you still have time to possibly exchange that dinner date for something else and you're sureMark wouldn't mind that, not with how you can feel his breath down your spine.

As much as you dreamed of your first encounter with him to be romantic, the moment you slipped off your panties and put them in his hand drew the line between a romantic night out and the potential that night you both won't be able to keep your hands to yourselves, "You're gonna watch me fuck you," He points at the mirror for you to look, not that you haven't been staring at yourselves through it this whole time, "I want you to see the slutty faces you make."

For a moment, you actually believed that he would finally fuck you, as foolish as that is, but rather than pulling off his own pants he is guiding you to sit on the vanity desk with your front showing in the mirror. The awkward position forces your pretty thighs open, giving you a look at just how ruined your pretty little cunny is, how your slick sticks to it and dribbles just a little onto the vanity you are sat on.

No words are exchanged between the both of you, his eyes are locked on your changing expression while yours are locked on his wandering hands. His fingers snake their way from your waist, gradually moving upward and under your shirt. His palms are rough and calloused, still wrapped in the gauze you had done prior to the fight, pulling at the sensitive skin of your torso. The fabric has the hairs on your neck standing up and when his large hands grope your tits through your bra you feel a familiar electric shock goes straight to your core.

"What're you making that face for?" You hadn't realized the way your face scrunched up in response to his hands, and the cocky smirk on his face only makes you all the more embarrassed, "Are you sensitive here...?" To test his intuition, his fingers push under your bra to feel at your bare tits, grinning at how soft they are and the way they fit so nicely in his palms.

You hate how it makes you feel, how every swipe of his thumb over your nipple has your hips bucking just a little, "M-Mark... mm- ah!" You're caught off guard by the mean pinch he gives your pert nipples, giving the sensitive buds an observant twist, watching your every reaction and every little twitch of those soft thighs. You look perfect, completely at his mercy and leaning back into him as his hands do what they please under your shirt, "Hah... y-you don't have to be so harsh..."

"No?" You shake your head in response, a cute little pout pulling at your bottom lip, "But I like how you react and look," One of his hands pull from beneath your shirt in favor of hiking up the bottom of your skirt to reveal your swollen and dripping pussy, "You seem to like it, too... making a mess all over yourself." He isn't wrong, you love it. You love the burn of your nipples with every painful twist, how your tits feel sore from his tight squeezes.

But simply touching them aren't enough for him, he wants to see them. You're already a pretty little thing, he doesn't doubt for a second your tits will only add to the list of things he likes about it. As well as to the list of things that turn him on, you being at the very top of that list.

You peer over your shoulder expectantly, eyes flicking from his down to his lips, you give him the only hint he needs to lean forward and slot his lips with yours. His tongue tastes just as good in your mouth as it did before, dancing teasingly and brush under your tongue. It's a wet, icky feeling but also one you wouldn't want to share with anyone but him. And with you so distracted by his tongue dancing with yours and tracing over your teeth, it gives him the perfect chance to do as he pleases.

One hand is swift with guiding your shirt up and over your tits, and it doesn't take much effort for his two fingers to get the clasp behind your back to snap open. The only obstacle being the straps that prevent him from completely taking the article of clothing off, but you're already on it, all without breaking the kiss you are sharing with him. While you work your arms out of the straps but also keeping your shirt on just in case you two have to make a run for it, Mark focuses his attention on your spread legs.

Opening just one of his eyes allows him to see the arousal that sticks to your cunny shimmers against the light of the room, all he has done was kiss you and play with your tits... you're a perverted girl, getting this wet over nothing, he bets you were thinking things that would leave even him a little shocked. Maybe later he will make it his mission to drag those fantasies out of you.

With the way you're situated on the vanity, feet planted on the desk as to give him the best view of your entire body in the mirror, it is easy for you to spread your legs impossibly wider for his hand that continues to slowly travel down your navel. The kiss breaks, only for you to little his jaw and neck with kisses, stopping right under his ear to begin sucking your own hickey into the sensitive skin.

Nothing could have prepared you for when his fingers finally met your throbbing clit, dragging over the neglected nerve, barely applying pressure with how he circles your clit and smears your arousal over your pussy, "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" A pathetic hum of agreement passes your lips at his question, one you know he didn't expect you to answer. But he doesn't pay too much attention to that, not when he is dragging his fingers down between your folds to spread you open, "Fuck, you're so tight..."

Mark prods his middle finger at your not-yet-prepped entrance, watching how your walls suck his finger inside in desperation for some sort of relief. All this teasing and beating around the bush has your poor insides churning from the suspense. It's only one finger, but just as you expected that one finger feels a million times better than your two fingers. He knows how to curl them, to rub at the spongy patches inside of you, "Mm~! I-It feels good there..."

"Where?" He coos at your relaxed expression, "Here?" His finger rudely jabs at the spot he knows is making every muscle in your body go lax, to which you flash him a less than pleasant glare, "I'm just playing with you." His index finger is careful with how it slowly eases itself inside, pushing in with your middle fingers and getting you used to the stretch. It feels good, no discomfort in the slightest, and you can assume it's because of the way he continues to mess with that single spot that had your knees buckling.

His fingers push in as far as they can go just to mess with your walls, grinding and curling at the sensitive patches of nerves, only to remove both fingers entirely just to give your poor clit a few wet pats, "Ngh-Markiii, stop teasing it hurts..." He knows it does, he can see it in your twisted expression with every tap your clit receives, how you go from relaxing in his arms to flinching at the abuse.

But he can't help himself, not with how adorable you look bucking into his hand when he circles your clit, or your thighs twitching at the intrusion of his fingers. You look stunning, grabbing at his wrist when he is too rough, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. If it means seeing you continue to make such soft noises and to continue to breathe out his name like that, he'll keep doing what he has to do.

"If you don't want me teasing you, what do you want?" Oh, he can tell you weren't ready for that. It reads entirely in your flustered expression, and his fingers continuing to pump inside of you aren't doing anything to help... especially with the lewd squelching sounds your cunny just can't seem to stop making. It's humiliating, to say the least, how your pussy sucks his fingers inside desperately, the eroticism of watching his fingers disappear inside of you.

"M-Mark...: You don't even want to say all the things you want him to do to you, how do you tell him you've always wanted this? That night and night again you have touched yourself to the thought of him doing just about everything to you, from bouncing you in his lap, riding his face, bending you over, and having his way with you. You don't know where to start.

Mark can read it in your eyes that you have your words lodged in your throat, "If you don't tell me, this is all you're gonna get," He emphasizes his words with the pats of his fingers against your clit, "So be a good girl and speak up." You know he won't let you go until you give him exactly what he wants, the words are right on the tip of your tongue!

Your breath gets caught in your throat when his fingers slip out from your cunny, only to begin rubbing your clit back and forth, "I-I..." You squeak as he only seems to be rougher with you, purposely making you trip over your own words, "Mark~ fuck, fuck fuck-" Your fingers dig into his wrist, "I-I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-" A strangled breath gets caught in your throat when he quickly pulls his fingers from your clit, "W-Wait, I was close,Mark!"

"Answer me and I'll let you cum." 

His lips on your throat make it all the more difficult, but without the added pressure of his fingers abusing your poor cunny, you finally muster up the words to tell him, "I want you..." He gives you that look, the one that shows he expects more, "I want you inside me-"

"What do you want inside?" He coos, fingers brushing under your chin to bring your focus to him, "My fingers?" You shake your head with a subtle smile, "Hm... this?" He sticks out his tongue at you, only to earn himself another shake of your head. He feigns ignorance, pretending he has no idea what you could be possibly talking about. 

Your sneaky fingers reach behind you, Mark didn't even notice because of how absorbed he was with your cute tits, cupping at the bulge in his pants, "This..." He didn't expect you to be so bold, not after how stubborn you were just being, but he likes the playful squeeze you give him, "Does that answer your question?" Your snooty little comment earns a sharp pinch to your clit.

"Yeah, it does," Through the mirror you can see him undoing the belt that holds up his pants, watching the cargo material fall around his thighs and revealing just how strained his aroused cock is against his briefs, "C'mon, get down and bend over the desk." You didn't expect him to be so quick to give you what you want, but deep down you think he still has something up his sleeve.

Without arguing, you climb down from the vanity as you were told, watching Mark in the mirror as you lean forward and put your weight on the desk. As much as you were watching him, he was also watching you. His eyes dragging down the curve of your back to your soaked pussy peaking from under the hem of your shirt, he has imagined this very scenario time and time again, and here you are right in front of him.

Somehow the real thing requires so much more thought than if it were only in his head, knowing whether you're okay, making sure you're not uncomfortable. No longer is it all just him and his dirty thoughts, he has to worry about your feelings too. And he is fine with that, but he never expected himself to feel like he has two tons on his shoulders by simply looking at you. It's one thing for you to be in his head bent over, but for you to be bent over actually in front of him? Well, let's just say his nerves aren't cooperating.

Maybe you noticed this, enough that briefly stand up from your previous position to meet his gaze, "I'm kinda nervous..." If he knows it isn't just him that's a little fearful of the unknown, there is a possibility it could bring back his confidence, "We can start slow and find our flow, right? that's how it's supposed to be." You're right, and he knows you are, maybe it was the thought that you had these high expectations that were making him nervous.

Little does he realize, as much as you want to be pretty enough and good enough for him, he wants to be just the same for you. But seeing the way you look at him, no sort of judgment or expectancy behind your eyes, giving him your signature smile, helps to melt all of that frustration and uncertainty away. You've always been good at doing that.

He isn't sure what came over him to cup your cheeks like that and pull you into a kiss, and sure the two of you knocked teeth from how urgent the kiss was at first, but the passion behind the kiss seemed to cast every sliver of doubt and second-guessing aside. All of your focus is on him, and his focus is on you in that very moment. 

The electricity that surges through you with every push of your lips against his, tugging at his lip only for him to bite back and do the same to you. It's like you two found a middle ground, the kiss connecting you both in a way nothing else could, blindly guiding you two in the position you both need to feel comfortable. Somehow you finding yourself seated on the vanity desk and his hips between your spread thighs.

You break the kiss, lungs burning from holding your breath for as long as you could, eyes falling down between your spread legs, "Ah..." Your breath catches at the sight of him beginning to push inside, you didn't get a well enough look at how big he is, but the feeling alone is a little unnerving. You aren't even sure how much is in, but it feels like more than you truly think it is.

"Don't pay attention to that," His voice is hushed, grabbing your attention and making you pick your head back up, "Does it hurt?" To be honest, it doesn't, it's more like this full stretch that is only slightly discomforting. Something you weren't prepared for but believe you can handle. You shake your head, not wanting him to think he is doing something wrong, which he isn't.

His hair looks so soft, albeit messy because of the fight, but nonetheless still silky and you can't keep your fingers from combing into it, "I want another kiss," Your fingers tug the tie from his hair and watch the red locks fall to lay over his broad shoulders, "Unless you're too nervous to kiss me, hm?" 

Your challenge ignites a fire within his chest, you sure know what things to say and when to get him riled up. And what you just said about him being too nervous? Oh, he isn't having it. Mark doesn't even need to speak for you to see the "game on" look in his eyes, and it doesn't make you any more shocked when his hand finds your throat and uses it to pull you forward.

The air is knocked from your lungs at the jerk of your body forward to meet him halfway, but you don't complain for a second, not when he gives you the confidence you had thought disappeared. It feels good to have that authoritative role back in him, for him to be taking back control with how he wants you and what he wants to do to you. Through the sloppy kiss that he has you locked in, you can feel your body being laid back on the vanity.

To your surprise, you have enough room to properly lay back, and with that Mark takes advantage of it. The desk perfectly supports your weight, allowing him the chance to grab your right leg and hoist it over his shoulder to create a more open angle for him to have you in. Immediately you can tell the difference in the feeling with this position, it pushes deeper at your walls rather than just rubbing past those spongy patches.

"Ngh... fuck, th-there it..." You can't form the right words to tell him how good it feels, even with the slow and controlled pace he has set for you, "Mark, I can take more. Please." You don't even try to hide the need in your tone, how it comes out as almost a whine rather than a polite little request. And he doesn't mind the demand, if you need more he is going to give it to you. After all, you're used to being daddy's little princess.

"You really think you can take more?" You nod your head, your hum of affirmation coming out as a moan, "Yeah? I don't think you can." His words contradict his actions, his back arching forward as he picks up the pace. No longer is the room echoing with nothing but moans and the obnoxiously wet sounds of your overwhelmed cunny, but the added volume of skin slapping skin makes what you both are doing here all the riskier. 

His cock is ruthless, no matter the pace he uses you can feel every vein and the slight curve of his member, it feels too much even if he isn't giving you enough. The size itself is a problem, and he likes to use that to tease you; you're too small, you can't take it... it doesn't matter. If he finds a way to make you feel little and weak in comparison to him? He goes for it.

And you don't mind, you like the dominance, how he keeps you pinned down with one hand on your throat and the other pinning your left thigh down. You feel completely at his mercy where you lay, unable to do anything but take it, "Mark, fuck, fuck-" 

"Shh," He warns you, "Don't forget where we are." And you haven't, the whole time you two have been doing this all you could do was worry over someone walking in or by or something, "Don't need your father finding out his little girl is getting her sloppy pussy stretched open... and it'll make it worse if he finds out I'm the one doing it." You know that, but you're a big girl, you don't need your father's permission to get laid!

Unfortunately, you keep that attitude too. Why should you have to keep quiet? You're having fun, that's no one's business but yours and Mark's. "B-But... but I like it-" You gasp when your right leg is brought down from your shoulder in favor of both knees being pinned to your shoulders, "Ah- too much, too much, too much~!" 

Mark, as much as he loves your sexy moans and cutesy whimpers, he doesn't love the idea of either of you getting caught like this, and what better way to fix the noise problem than shoving the panties you kindly give him right in your mouth? And it's only better that the pink of your panties looks nice hanging from your glossy lips. 

"That's what you get, babe..." He pants out each word and adds salt to the wound by flashing a cocky grin, "Bad girls who can't keep quiet when they're told get dirty panties in their mouth." If only he knew the things he was doing to you, the strikes to your core his cock cause, how his intimidating dominance over you has your insides turning, "But you don't need your voice to make you feel good, right? Look at you..."

It's ironic that he asks you to take a look at yourself, a mirror is just behind you and you can't see yourself from this angle. Luckily for you, your redhead is one step ahead to make sure you can really see how slutty you look right now with those panties shoved in your mouth. Mark takes your hips, wordlessly guiding you to turn around onto your stomach and plant your feet back on the ground.

You are forced to look yourself in the eyes, to see the little tears pricking the corners of your eyes, look at your swollen lips and your panties, and to make it all the more humiliating, Mark is standing right behind you. He is staring right at you, making sure you know he is there and watching you, and if that doesn't make you nervous... you aren't sure what does.

A hand comes down to grip your chin, fixing your head to look straight at the mirror and more specifically yourself, "Don't look away from that mirror, understood?" His voice is at least two octaves lower than before, rumbling in the pit of his chest and vibrating against your back. It shakes your core, but in the best way possible, tingles running up your spine and back down.

It isn't long before the warmth and fullness of his cock is sinking back inside of your gummy walls, making itself comfortable deep inside of you to the point his tip kisses gently at your cervix, "It's all the way in, y/n..." He whispers into your ear, "You ready? You think you can take all of it?" The only right answer is to nod your head, humming desperately and letting him know you're ready, you want it. And who is he to deny that? His pretty girl wants her cunny stretched, why shouldn't he give in and let her have it just how she wants? 

Unlike before he doesn't let you prepare yourself, oh no, the pace went from zero all the way to one hundred in exactly one second. It was like being plowed into, the force of his hips bouncing you off and into the desk. And if you looked horrible and worn out before, you looked twice as bad now. Your sparkly eyes rolling back to make way for the oncoming flow of tears, your entire body trembling with his thrusts.

"Mmph~! Nngh-" Even through the panties he can hear you, muffled and incoherent but still like music to his ears. You take him so well, struggling maybe, but you don't complain for a second about him being too big... and it probably is because your panties are down your throat. But if you really did need him to stop, he is sure you would find another way.

"Feels good, right?" He can't tell if you're nodding or that's just your head moving in sync with his forceful jerks, "Having this little pussy nice and filled... bet you couldn't wait for this the entire match, right?" If you were able to answer, you would be screaming yes from the hills! But instead, you can only stare him in the eyes through the mirror, tears and all, and he can see just how drunk you are on his cock. A pretty whore for him to fuck.

If he had known you were such a perverted slut, so needy to have a dick train you, he would have grabbed you by your cheeky yoga leggings and made you ride his dick while he did bench presses. And seeing you like this? You would have done it without question.

"You're getting all tense, y/n..." His eyes trail down to watch himself disappearing inside of you, and the ripple of your ass smacking his hips, "You gonna cum? This pretty cunt gonna make a mess for me?" You're more than just close to cumming, it's like a fire in the pits of your core, and every pass of his member inside of you has your thighs jumping and twitching, "Yeah, that's it, babe."

Oh, you wish he wouldn't call you that, the things it does to you... and the overwhelming pleasure of his tip plunging into your poor cervix? You feel like you're on the verge of passing out, "Don't look away," He keeps your head straight and makes you look straight ahead at yourself, "Watch yourself cum." You aren't even sure if you have it in you to hold it in long enough to properly look at yourself, let alone the energy to keep your head up.

Your eyes are locked on the mirror, your breath fogging it up with the forceful pants your lungs push out. If you were wearing makeup, you're sure it would be leaving streaks down your cheeks from the tears. They aren't tears of pain, not even close, but rather ones of overstimulation. You aren't sure how much longer you can last, but you don't have time to dwell over it, not when you watch the hand not pinning your waist to the vanity snakes down between your legs.

If the panties weren't in your mouth, you would be protesting and begging him not to. You aren't sure you could handle it! His cock is already tearing your poor cunny in half, his fingers will surely break you. But you can only watch in fear, and anxiously wait for his fingers to meet your throbbing pearl between your legs.

"Mmph~! Mm-" Your nails dig into the desk and back arches to try and get away from his fingers, but Mark doesn't give up, "Mm! Mmm~!" He knows you're protesting, he knows it's too much for your sensitive little cunny. But he wants to see you come undone, to see more of your pretty tears and those sparkly eyes roll back in absolute bliss. And with the vicious pace his fingers inflict on your burning clit, you aren't far from that edge.

"That's it, babe... that's it, I wanna taste this pussy when finish. I bet you taste so sweet, just as sweet as you look right now..." And he isn't lying, you've never looked as stunning as you do right now. No angel could compare to you, nothing. The sweat coating your skin and your juices tainting the apex of your thighs, "I got you, baby-"

He doesn't have the chance to finish his pep talk before he feels you come undone beneath him, your squeals and whimpers completely muffled by your stuffed mouth. Your poor nerves going off of the wall, thighs jumping and nails digging at the wood of the vanity, and your pussy squirting all over his cock and onto your thighs. You're embarrassed by the mess, but to Mark? It is the biggest ego stroker he could have encountered... he got you to squirt.

"Fuck, good girl, good fucking girl..." Mark slows the thrusts, as much as he wants to cum he can see how worn out you are, "Take a deep breath, princess. Just like that," You try your best to do as he asks, but it's so difficult with how quick your climax comes and the panties being in your mouth. You put all of your weight on the vanity, fingers clawing at it as if it could help ease the electricity shooting through every inch of you.

Mark sees you and he thinks he may have been too rough, "Shh, c'mere." The panties are taken from your mouth, saliva soaked into the thin fabric and sticking to your chin, "You okay?" Fingers, although rough and calloused, gently brush over your cheek to gather your tears, he worries he may have forgotten himself somewhere and been too hard on you. 

And your expression, weak and twisted, for a moment makes him feel horrible. What had he done? This was his first time having sex with you, something he has wanted for so long, and he just screwed it up. His eyes watched your every move, lips opening to say something and hesitating for a minute, you were probably pissed at him.

"Y-You..." Little tears prick at your eyes and he panics, "You didn't even cum inside of me, was I not doing enough?" For a moment, silence befalls the both of you other than your pathetic little sniffles. Were you really... that worried over him finishing? Is that really what has you on the verge of crying? If he could, he would eat you up right where you stand in front of him, you're too cute.

Two hands cup your swollen cheeks and bring your face close, "You want me to cum inside of you? That's what you worked up?" You nod your head all while leaning into his hands, "You're so cute, but I think you need to take a break, babe. You're shaking." He can tell you're teetering right at the edge of too much, he fears if he does anymore he may actually hurt you.

"But I want..." He shakes his head and kisses the tip of your nose, "Then... Then I'll suck it off." You won't let up so easily, he just gave you the best climax of your life, and if he thinks you'll let him walk out of this room with blue balls he is more than just wrong. 

Mark wants to argue, he knows you should clean yourself up and you both should get out of here. He isn't even sure what time it is or how long it has been, the fights could very well be over and neither of you has any clue. But what harm can you getting on your knees do? Maybe give you a sore throat, but he is sure with how loud you were, muffled or not, you are already on the train to a strained voice.

"Make it quick, I still wanna take you to dinner." Even after all of this, somehow taking you to dinner may just be the highlight of the night. Sex is great, but for Mark Markit is the intimate, quiet moments that mean the world to him. All those times you would open early or stay late with him, he cherished those memories. Unlike him, you could not care less about dinner or memorable moments or anything, you're far more focused on what his cum might taste like. You've thought of it a million times, and finally, you will be able to know. 

You ease yourself onto your knees in front of him, Mark fixing his pants out of your way and leaning back against the desk as he watches you make yourself comfortable. If he thought you looked beautiful lying underneath him with your knees by your ears, he isn't sure what to call you on your knees. Your gorgeous eyes looking at him through those lashes of yours, tongue dragging out and over your lips.

"Don't hurt yourself, pretty girl... I saw you struggling before when I started picking up the pace." You don't like being talked down to, but you know that's just him trying to get you worked up and you won't let him have that satisfaction. 

All of your weight is put onto your knees as you lean forward, the tip of your warm tongue licking your own cum from his cock, "Be nice to me or I'll use my teeth." He can't argue with that, and he knows you will do it. Your tongue drags over the veins, tracing them carefully, breath hot and fanning over his ready-to-burst member. If he had it his way, he would grab your pretty face and fuck this squishy mouth of yours, but he already pushed it and he wants you to go at your pace now.

"Fuck, that's good... tap it on your tongue for me," You stick out your tongue and do as he says, "Shiiiit, you look so hot right now." You know you do, if anyone could see the hearts in Mark's eyes, it's you... and those hearts are practically jumping out while he watches you rubbing your tongue over his messy dick, doing everything but putting it in your mouth, "C'mon, y/n... please."

"You want me to put it in my mouth?" You feign innocence while looking up at him, giving him puppy eyes and suckling at his tip. Mark nods breathlessly, even so much as adding an extra, needy please to really show you how much he wants it. He was so kind to give you exactly what you want, it would mean not to do the same for him!

Making yourself comfortable, you open your mouth wide enough to fit his tip inside, tasting that sweetness of your juices on your tongue. Is this what heaven feels like? For him to be guiding your mouth on his dick, cooing words of praise every time you successfully ease the tip in your throat without hurting yourself or choking too much.

The two of you see, hear, and know nothing but each other at this moment. Eyes locked together and no sound other than him breathing shakily and the rare pass of your name on his tongue, mixed in with the disgusting wet sounds of your throat stretching over him. You two wouldn't have been able to pick up on the footsteps coming down the hall, or the call of two very familiar names who just so happen to be missing at the same time.

And neither of you would have been prepared for the door to open, let alone, for the one person both of you feared catching you to be standing in the doorway in shock, horror... and Mark locked eyes for just a second, a second that allowed to see the seven layers of hell in your father's eyes, before the door slammed shut and feet moved down the hall faster than you could pull off of Mark's cock. 

"I... I think we should get out of here before he comes back."

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

Oh god now that toh ends with luz being able to travel between worlds ppl are using that to dunk on amphibia. And now that belos died ppl are using that to dunk on su.

They are different shows people! They have different themes! Amphibia is a classic take on isekai as escapism! Marcy went to amphibia to avoid her real life and while she had fun she didnt mature until after she accepted she needed to embrace change in her life! Anne matured in amphibia bc she always recognized that she has her own life to get back to! Sasha matured after realizing that too! Leaving amphibia for good means to embrace the step out of childhood! Something thats inevitable for everyone!

The owl house is about finding a community in midst of ostracization! Luz stayed in the boiling isles because she found people who accepted her quirks! The boiling isles was in danger from a bigot and luz helps her new community defeat him! Its a very queer story! Community is the center of the story so it makes sense for luz to be able to go back to the boiling isles since shes maintaining her place in the community!

Steven universe is about choosing to be kind! Its that everyone has their own specific traumas that they can overcome with the right support! Its about surviving in a world of bigots at any cost, even if it you have to work with the bigots to carve out a space for the people you love! Because people like you exist and theres nothing anyone in power can do about it! Its also a very queer story! The diamonds can never stamp out the off colors because they will always be there! Steven works with the diamonds not because he likes them but because they can improve the world for his family if only he could get through to them! Hes rewarded for choosing to be kind with success because the theme of the show is hope! Hope that anyone can change! But even though the diamonds stop being fascist steven still doesnt like them because its not about forgiveness! Its about fixing things! Stevens just polite about it!

The owl house starts off with the assumption that everyone can change but its not about the potential its about the willingness to change! The focus is on belos, whos had every chance to turn his life around but will never admit that hes wrong! And the show posits that if someone isnt willing to change theyre not worth helping! Its not about whether or not the character is fascist its about if theyre willing to stop being fascist! Several characters stop being fascist and are welcomed by the characters with open arms belos just wasnt one of them! Several characters clean up their acts but dont adequately address the previous harm they did and are STILL fully forgiven eventually! For toh forgiveness is paired with fixing things you just need to give it time!

And theres an argument that some of these shows didnt do their themes well. If you wanted to portray amphibia as an escapism world that the girls need to leave behind to get to their richer futures then having them get such caring found families go against that by giving them a potential of a good life in the isekai world. Steven universe uses the diamonds as metaphors for mental illness and relationships but its hard to stick with that when you also need to consider the countless other gems they hurt. I think its also fair if people prefer one theme over another.

But a lot of stuff i see comparing these shows just go over surface similarities? Like oh shit! These two shows have the same character archetypes! They have the same inciting incident! This must mean that theyre exactly the same in everything but names and artstyle and are trying to say the exact same things! Like. No. Sometimes,,,,,two stories,,,,,,can talk about two different things,,,,,,,

[sophrosynesworld]

Just Friends?

actor!Katsuki x actress!Reader

The studio lights cast a warm glow over the set as the host welcomes everyone back from the commercial break. I stand in the wings, nervously fixing my hair. Katsuki stands beside me, unfazed by the upcoming interview. The audience buzzes with anticipation, eager to hear from us about our latest movie.

"Welcome back to the Midnight Mic, everyone!" Late-night talk show host Hizashi Yamada greets the crowd, his voice bouncing around the room, riling everyone up. "We have a great show lined up for you tonight, so don't leave your seats!" Hizashi walks from center stage over towards his desk, pulling out the chair before directing his attention towards the second camera.

"Tonight, we have some amazing guests. Please join me in welcoming two of the biggest stars on the silver screen, Katsuki Bakugo and his leading lady!"

The applause is deafening, and I can't help but smile. Katsuki gestures for me to walk out first, my heels clicking as I wave to the audience. It's instantly twenty degrees hotter as the stage lights beat down on me. I don’t have to look back to know when Bakugo follows; the crowd’s excitement peaks as he steps out, giving a casual nod, his usual confident demeanor softened by a playful smirk. He glances at me as we sit, leaning over to adjust my dress.

"It's great to have you both here," Hizashi begins, turning towards us. "You two have been the talk of the town with your new film. How's the stardom feel?"

Katsuki leans back in his chair, clearly relaxed. "It's been a wild ride," he admits, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Most of us have done fine with the publicity. My co-star, on the other hand," he jokes, nodding towards me, "couldn't handle the heat at first."

I laugh, covering my red cheeks before nudging him playfully. "Yeah, this is just my first major hit. I wasn't used to the more persistent fans. This has been a wonderful experience though. The entire crew has really bonded over the last twenty weeks.

Our host raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You seem to have a great dynamic, both on and off screen. What's it like working together?"

I glance at Katsuki, who gives me a look that says, "Go ahead." I smile and turn back towards Hizashi. "It's honestly been amazing. I don’t think Katsuki liked me very much in the beginning—"

“I didn’t.”

"—but I finally wore him down enough to tolerate me." I laugh, swatting his arm away while crossing my legs. "He’ll never admit it, but we clicked right away. It'll inflate his ego, but he's won three Oscars for a reason." I laugh lightly, smiling at the memories.

Katsuki grins, crossing his arms. "She’s being modest. I've won 4." The crowd laughs as he changes the conversation. "Honestly, she's the best costar I've had in a while. She's going to kill me during the nominations this year. I mean, there was this one scene where she just—"

"Oh, no, not this story," I interject, laughing.

He chuckles, ignoring my protests. "We're filming this one scene with all these seasoned professionals, folks who have been in this business for decades." He pauses, looking at me. "They had to rewrite the first version of the scene because her acting was so horrifyingly raw and realistic that it traumatized the crew. They thought she was actually dying."

Our host leans in, clearly shocked. "Are you going to tell us more? You can't leave us with crumbs!"

Katsuki shakes his head, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. "Definitely not. You'll have to see it in theaters to find out."

I shake my head sheepishly. "I don't even know if they left it in or not. They told me to act, so I did."

"This is why I love you guys. You're always so honest about your lives." Hizashi grins. Now, I hate to gossip, but there's been a lot of questions about your off-screen relationship. Care to clear up the rumors?"

Katsuki and I exchange a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between us. I decide to answer, leaning forward slightly. "We have a really close friendship. We're both super passionate about our work and love what we do, which makes working together even better. We definitely have a flirty friendship, but it's all in good fun."

Katsuki nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, she's great. We just get each other, you know? It's easy to be around her, whether we're on set or just hanging out."

Hizashi smiles, clearly enjoying our interview. "Well, it's clear that you two have a special connection. Before we go, is there anything you'd like to say to your fans?"

I turn to the camera, feeling a wave of gratitude. "Just a huge thank you to all the fans for their amazing support. This entire experience has been mind-blowing, and I can't wait for everyone to see it. We hope you love it as much as we do."

Katsuki chimes in with a grin. "Yeah, thanks for sticking with us, extras. Our new movie comes out in theaters September 22nd!"

The audience laughs and claps, clearly enjoying their money spent. Hizashi wraps up our segment, and as the band leads us to commercial, Katsuki leans over, nudging me gently. "You did great," he murmurs, a genuine smile on his face.

I grin back at him. "You weren't too bad yourself," I tease, standing up and heading back towards the green room, waving goodbye to some of our fans in the audience.

Katsuki is quick to follow, his steps only a few paces behind mine, practically pushing my bodyguard out of the way. I open the door and sit down on the oversized couch. Katsuki follows my lead, plopping himself close to me. His large hands almost instantly wrap around me, lifting me up and pulling me into his chest. I straddle him, our bodies dangerously close together.

"Just friends?" Suki whispers, his lips grazing mine as he looks at me.

"Just friends," I reply, the words soft and delicate as my freshly polished fingers wrap around the fabric of his shirt, closing the distance between us.

Authors Note: I'm obsessed with this idea and could probably write 200 of these little one shots.

[uhroras]

—  sentence starters  :  labyrinth,  1986.   content warnings : violence & death mention

"oh it's not fair!”

“well don't stand there in the rain, come on.”

“she treats me like a wicked stepmother in a fairy story no matter what i say.”

"there's nothing to talk about."

"someone save me, someone take me away from this awful place!"

"say your right words."

"goblin king, goblin king, wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me!!"

"what is all that rubbish, it doesn't even start with 'i wish' "

"i wish i did know what to say to make the goblins take you away"

"i wish the goblins would come and take you away. right now."

"what's said is said."

"please bring him back, please."

"it's a crystal, nothing more. but if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams."

"it isn't that i don't appreciate what you're trying to do for me but..."

"don't defy me."

"it's further than you think, time is short."

"excuse me, but i have to get through this labyrinth, can you help me?"

"well, what did you expect fairies to do?"

"do you know where the door to the labyrinth is?"

"how do i get into the labyrinth?"

"if that's all the help your gonna be, you can just leave."

"you know your problem? you take too many things for granted. take this labyrinth, even if you get to the center, you'll never get out again."

"you remind me of the babe."

"what kind of magic spell to use?"

"what a horrible place this is."

"she should not have gotten as far as the oubliette."

"she'll have to start all over again."

"i came to give you a hand."

"this is an oubliette, the labyrinth's full of them."

"oh don't sound so smart."

"if i thought for one second that you're betraying me, i'd be forced to suspend you head first in the bog of eternal stentch."

"how are you enjoying my labyrinth?"

"how about upping the stakes, hmm?"

"you say that so often, i wonder what your basis for comparison is?"

"how can i trust you?"

"well, let me put it this way, what choice have you got?"

"i said i didn't promise nothing, i said i would take you as far as i could go."

"please, can you tell......that is, i have to get to the castle at the center of the labyrinth, do you know the way?"

"the way forward, is sometimes the way back."

"you may not be much of a friend, but you're the only friend i got in this place."

"well i'm not afraid, things aren't always what they seem in this place."

"is that anyway to treat someone who is trying to help you?"

"which should we choose out of these two ugly characters?"

"i see...for one moment i thought you were running to help her, but, uh, no, not after my warnings, that would be stupid."

"i just noticed your lovely jewels are missing."

"oh, what did you have to go and do a thing like that for?"

"so much trouble over such a little thing."

"there's such a sad love, deep in your eyes."

"i'll place the sky within your eyes."

"as the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you. every thrill is gone, wasn't too much fun at all."

"i'll be there for you - as the world falls down."

"we're choosing the path between the stars."

"i'll leave my love between the stars."

"you can't look where you're going if you don't know where you're going."

"i shall fight you all to the death."

"i don't see why we have to be so quiet....it's only a goblin city."

"im not asking to be to forgiven, i ain't ashamed of nothing i did."

"they got through the gates, and they're on their way to the castle."

"i've had enough, i'm going to bed."

"how you turn my world you precious thing."

"you starve and near exhaust me."

"everything i've done, i've done for you."

"i move the stars for no one."

"your eyes can be so cruel."

"i have been generous up until now, but i can be cruel."

"let me rule you, and you can have everything you want."

"just fear me, love me, do as i say and i will be your slave."

"my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. you have no power over me."

[pascaloverx]

BABYBOY

Summary: You work as a caretaker for the home and dog of a famous individual in a luxurious apartment. On a fateful day, you find yourself in dire need of help when your boss’s dog gets locked inside the apartment. The newest neighbor, an incredibly handsome man, comes to your rescue. That man is none other than Nicholas Alexander Chavez.How will your relationship with him unfold?

Author's Note: This fanfic is for those who’d love to imagine themselves in a romance with Nicholas Chavez. I should warn you that there’s a possibility the reader might get involved with Nicholas while he’s still in a relationship with someone else, though nothing is set in stone yet. This fanfic will include explicit language and mature content. Consider yourselves warned. I hope you like it and interact with the story!

one

TWO

"Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths..." You repeat to yourself as you knock on Nicholas’s door—your hot neighbor’s door, to be precise. You give yourself two light pats on the face while clutching the bag of coffee in your hands. You wouldn’t be shameless enough to use his coffee machine and show up empty-handed.

You even brought some brownies you’d made earlier. Of course, it’s purely coincidental that you’ll get to demonstrate your brownie-baking skills. It would be ridiculous to think you could win him over with brownies.

Finally, the door opens, and there he is, wearing a shirt that perfectly outlines his biceps and shorts that highlight his muscular thighs. "You kept me waiting, neighbor," Nicholas murmurs, stepping aside to let you into his apartment.

"Technically, I’m the dog-sitter for one of your neighbors," you mumble, a little flustered as you step into his personal space, "but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, hence the delay."

"If you’d arrived earlier, you might’ve caught me without clothes," Nicholas says from behind you, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine.

"What a shame there’s no time machine between us," you reply, turning slowly to face him. His gaze practically undresses you, and the heat in the room seems to rise with every passing second.

"Darling, you were the one who requested I wear more clothing. I simply followed orders," he murmurs, stepping closer, nearly placing his hand on your waist to draw you closer to him.

"And you followed them so quickly. You’re better trained than Baby," you reply, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk, your tone tinged with defiance as the two of you remain standing in the center of his living room.

The space is adorned with framed photographs of him and what appears to be his family. One photo in particular catches your attention—him holding what seems to be a prestigious award. However, you’re just far enough away to be unable to discern which award it is.

"What a peculiar way to compare me to a dog. It’s nice to see we’re already so comfortable with each other," Nicholas chuckles, his laugh disarming you as a sudden wave of shyness washes over you.

"I’m sorry if I’m being... Feel free to kick me out if you’d prefer," you stammer, unable to meet his gaze directly.

Nicholas takes the coffee and brownies from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly. "You’re not going anywhere until we make this coffee together," he murmurs, a playful seriousness in his tone as he guides you toward his kitchen. The kitchen is spacious and well-equipped. It's amusing because you wouldn’t peg him as much of a cook, but sometimes people can surprise you.

"So, that over there is my coffee machine. Probably the most used appliance here. Usually, the one who uses the kitchen the most is..." he pauses, seemingly searching for the right words, but before he can finish, you interject.

"Your girlfriend!" you exclaim in a tone you thought would be low but comes out far louder than intended.

"I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this, but I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m casually seeing someone—it’s not the same thing," Nicholas replies, placing the coffee grounds and water into the machine.

"But she’s the one who uses the kitchen the most, as I suspected," you add pointedly, as if determined to prove your assumption correct.

"Yes, you’re correct. Ever since I moved in, the one who cooks the most is my not-girlfriend. Satisfied?" Nicholas asks, as though you’ve struck a nerve.

You laugh softly, finding his reaction mildly amusing. "Very satisfied, Mr. Chavez," you reply with a touch of sarcasm. "I see your patience is shorter than I expected," you murmur, leaning against the kitchen counter near the coffee machine as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, soothing your senses.

"One would think that, being an actor, I’d have more patience," Nicholas says, stepping closer to you, his voice taking on a teasingly soft tone.

"I’ve always been curious about how actors behave in their personal lives. It’s fascinating to realize that you’re human after all," you remark, watching as Nicholas inches closer to you with every word.

"I’m not sure I can speak for all actors, but in my personal life, I strive to be as human as possible," Nicholas says, his fingers gliding across the countertop until they stop dangerously close to your thighs. His arms are outstretched in front of you, effectively trapping you in place. There’s no way to leave without brushing past him. His body hovers just shy of pressing against yours, and you’re taken aback by how easily he noticed your internet sleuthing.

"Though you gave me a rundown of your acting résumé earlier, I couldn’t resist doing a bit of research to see if I’d watched you in anything before," you admit, your voice wavering slightly. "For the sake of curiosity, of course. And I have to say, while I haven’t watched General Hospital, the clips and gifs I found definitely showed you and your romantic co-star had great chemistry. And, well, your physique was... prominently featured. It must’ve been a lot of work to stay in shape. I mean—you’re very... defined," you stammer, feeling heat creep up your cheeks as your nerves betray you. What a brilliant way to compliment him, you think, cringing internally.

Nicholas chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your awkwardness. "Tabyana’s an incredible actress, no doubt about it. I’m glad my work piqued your interest enough to snoop," he teases, his tone warm and amused. "Perhaps next time, you’d like to watch an episode with me?"

Before you can further embarrass yourself, the coffee machine beeps, signaling the coffee is ready. A timely rescue. Nicholas steps back, moving swiftly as he grabs two cups and pours coffee for both of you. Every motion—the way he tilts the carafe, the precise grip of his fingers around the handle—etches itself into your mind as you watch him. It’s a mistake. Certainly. You repeat this to yourself, over and over. He already has someone he likes. You should be focusing on your professional life. You convince yourself to drink your coffee, say your goodbyes, and leave—without indulging in anything else with Nicholas, no matter how effortlessly he awakens something in you. Something undeniably provocative.

"You seem lost in thought. Is something wrong?" Nicholas asks, handing you a cup of coffee, followed by the sugar jar. Distracted, you add sugar and take a sip without thinking—an instant mistake. The steam scorches your tongue, and before you can react, the hot liquid spills onto your blouse. A sharp gasp escapes as the burning sensation sears your skin.

You set the cup down in a hurry, wincing. Nicholas immediately steps closer, concern etched on his face. "Take off your blouse," he says firmly. "You don’t want the burn to get worse."

Without a second thought, you do as he says. You pull off your blouse, standing before Nicholas in nothing but your bra—not that it matters. Your focus is on the angry red mark blooming on your stomach, the skin stinging from the burn.

"Damn it, I think I actually burned myself," you mutter, wincing at the sharp pain.

"Hey, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it," Nicholas reassures you. He sets his coffee down on the counter and heads toward the bathroom. "Just wait here—I’ll grab the first aid kit."

As he disappears, the realization finally hits—you’re standing in his kitchen, shirtless. Embarrassment creeps in, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. As soon as Nicholas helps you, you’ll head back to your boss’s apartment and pretend none of this ever happened.

When Nicholas finally returns with the first aid kit, he wastes no time, immediately reaching for an ointment or something of the sort. He is careful not to hurt you, his focus entirely on tending to your burn, almost as if he has slipped into doctor mode.

"You suit this attentive doctor persona, you know?" you murmur, trying not to let out an embarrassing sound from the pain.

"Funny you say that. There’s a chance I might play a doctor in the near future," Nicholas replies, still concentrated on bandaging your wound. But then, as if realizing he has said too much, he freezes, his expression momentarily alarmed.

"Don’t worry—your secret is safe with me," you reassure him, though your voice is slightly strained from the lingering sting of your burn. "Where did you learn to do this so well, by the way?" you ask, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"I have a younger brother. Once, he burned himself with hot chocolate, and I had to do something similar," Nicholas says as he carefully finishes the bandage, spending a few extra seconds making sure it’s secure.

Once he’s done, he looks at you as if trying to decipher what’s going through your mind. "It seems fate had other plans—no coffee for you," Nicholas murmurs, positioning himself in front of you. He maintains a safe distance, yet only a few inches separate your body from his.

"Perhaps that’s for the best," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, more of a private thought than a response.

"What do you mean by that?" Nicholas asks, his gaze fixed on you. You try to avoid his eyes, sensing that meeting them would be a mistake.

"Look, I understand that you consider yourself single, but it’s obvious that you’re involved with someone. And the truth is, I’m attracted to you. Which means this—" you gesture between the two of you, your voice steady despite the turmoil within you, "—isn’t going to work. We can’t be friends. I should be focused on my job, and you… on whatever it is you have with her."

You hold Nicholas’s gaze, trying to make it sound like a rational conclusion, but in reality, you’re convincing yourself more than him. "This," you repeat, voice quieter this time, "is a mistake."

"You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that, very well. But tell me honestly—do you truly believe that you and I would be a mistake?" Nicholas asks, stepping even closer. His lips are all your mind can focus on. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to find the strength to say yes.

Before you can respond, Nicholas's hands gently cradle your face. "If you're going to turn me down, at least do it while looking me in the eyes, Y/N," he murmurs, urging you to open them.

"Thank you for the coffee, Nicholas, but I think it's best if we say our goodbyes here," you say as you open your eyes. It’s not exactly what you want to say, but you know it’s what needs to be said.

You grab your coffee-stained blouse and slip it back on, straightening yourself as you prepare to leave, carrying with you both your desire for him and that damned coffee. But just as you turn to go, Nicholas gently takes your hand, his touch warm and deliberate, keeping you from walking away. Still holding your hand, he looks at you as if he hungers for you. You inhale deeply, exhaling slowly, thinking that at least you tried—you tried to avoid the mistake.

But without another word or hesitation, you surge toward Nicholas like a lioness upon her prey. Your lips meet his in a searing kiss, your hands gripping his neck to pull him closer as your tongue explores his mouth, tasting the lingering flavor of coffee.

Nicholas’s hands grip your waist with ferocious intensity as you lose yourselves in each other. Your nails graze his neck subtly, while the force of his hold adds a delicious dominance to your entangled embrace. For a moment, air was no longer necessary—you had each other.

Without hesitation, Nicholas lifted you as if it required no effort at all. His hands, nearly grasping your ass, placed you onto the counter. Unbothered, you parted your legs slightly, allowing him to settle between them and continue his kiss. His hands moved firmly along your thighs, his lips claiming yours again and again, pausing only to press soft kisses along your neck. You are interrupted before things can go any further when your phone vibrates with a message from Baby’s daycare, letting you know he’s ready to be picked up.

"Looks like I’ll have to go get Baby," you murmur, your face still close to Nicholas’s.

He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated. "Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see that message for the next…" He glances at his watch. "…half an hour?" His words trail off as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

"You think I wouldn’t love to ignore my responsibilities just to stay here with you?" you tease, brushing your nose against his. "But unfortunately, I have bills to pay."

"Can we see each other later? Maybe after Baby falls asleep?" Nicholas murmurs, trailing soft kisses along your face and neck.

You smile, debating whether that’s a good idea. "I’ll check my schedule and let you know," you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, finally set on changing your shirt and heading out to pick up Baby.

"I can go with you if you’d like," Nicholas offers, following closely behind.

You turn to face him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. "That won’t be necessary. You’re famous—if someone sees us together, it might not look good for you," you tease, though there’s a hint of truth in your words.

He smirks. "I’m flattered, but I really wouldn’t mind driving you—" You silence him with a kiss, stealing both his words and his breath.

You get carried away in the kiss, only realizing how lost in it you are when Nicholas’s hands start to lift your shirt. That’s when you pull back, heart pounding, putting some distance between you.

"I’ll see you later—and I hope you like the brownies," you say, practically fleeing from him. He’s a temptation you can’t afford to indulge right now. Hurriedly, you enter your boss’s apartment, change into something more appropriate, grab your car keys, and head out to pick up Baby. The trip goes smoothly—Baby is thrilled to see you, and the drive home is peaceful.

Once inside the building, you step into the elevator with Baby in his pet carrier. A strikingly beautiful woman is already inside and kindly holds the door for you, flashing a polite smile. "Thank you so much," you say, slightly out of breath.

"There’s no need to thank me—it’s the least I could do," she replies warmly, stroking Baby, who immediately takes a liking to her. Strange—he usually takes time to warm up to strangers.

"Could you press the top floor for me? If I set his carrier down, I doubt I’ll be able to pick it up again," you ask, forcing a lighthearted tone.

"Of course! I’m heading there too. My… well, my almost-boyfriend, or something like that, lives on that floor," she says, and suddenly, your stomach knots, nausea creeping in like a slow wave.

"Ah, relationships, right? Always complicated," you murmur, suddenly hyperaware of how suffocatingly small the elevator feels.

"Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to make things official—so wish me luck," she adds cheerfully, her excitement gnawing at you like a cruel joke.

She has to be talking about Nicholas. The same Nicholas who, just moments ago, had his hands all over you. When the elevator finally stops, relief floods you, but the dread lingers. You just want to lock yourself away and pretend this entire moment never happened.

"It was nice meeting you," you say, forcing a smile while fumbling for your keys.

"Likewise! And even though it’s not my place, if you ever need a cup of tea or anything, Nick would absolutely be happy to help," she offers kindly, ringing the doorbell as if it were her own home.

A second later, Nicholas opens the door, freezing as he takes in the sight of both of you standing there. Your pulse kicks up, but you refuse to let it show. "Thanks for your kindness, but I really need to get this little guy inside before he destroys his carrier bag," you say, directing your words to her while completely ignoring Nicholas. Then, before he can say a word, you slip inside your boss’s apartment, shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if to keep the world—and Nicholas—out.

[rubysgirl32]

Behind the Cameras

Ruby Cruz x Fem!reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers (kinda), VERY ANGSTY (reader and Ruby get to a fight), swearing, self hatred thoughts, and inner homophobia from reader

Summary: Reader gets paired with ruby for the press tour, which sucked because ruby seemed to constantly be dick around her.

Author's note: I just re edited this, so its more complete and its in second person pov rather than third, so yeah! enjoy 🤍

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Being casted for the second season of Willow was something you never really expected. The audition in itself felt like a fever dream, but actually getting the role felt like your entire life was falling into place, just as you would dream of as a kid. You grew up with Willow, your brother and you were obsessed with George Lucas, so it was a constant binge between Star Wars, Willow and Howard the Duck. It was truly a dream for you, to get to fly to Wales, to be invited into this magical world and meet everyone, especially Warwick. What wasn’t a dream come true, was her.

“And yeah, this is truly a gift being back to playing a fucking disney princess, its crazy to me” Ruby replies at the interviewer, her brushed hair perfectly in place, and her lips forming a stupid perfect smile in such an effortless way as answers the question.

“And with the new cast, how has it been adding new characters and extending the willow family?” The woman asks, shuffling in her seat as she leans in closer for the answer

Ruby’s smile turned plastic quickly. She looked down at her finger and fiddled with her rings.

“Yeah, it was… fun. I mean with these new characters, the stories go further and are truly more interesting. We truly did welcomed everybody with such open arms-”

You stopped the video and looked back at your brother who stood with his arms folded.

“That lying bitch” You gasp “Open arms? Open arms, seriously? She is one of the coldest people I know- she never even once during filming spoke to me, and then says she welcomed me with open arms?” you huff out pure anger as rolling your eyes passing the phone back to your brother. The rest of the cast did receive you with open arms. Everyone was really lovely, and you quickly became a part of the already tight knight family, but ever since the table reading back in October, Ruby has yet to speak or even present herself to you. She dodges you in corridors, leaves whenever you enter the room and once she even left early from training because of you. 

“Just wanted to show it to you before you heard from the rest,” Jack shrugged. He then sat next to you on the couch, turned off his phone and threw it softly til the last cushion.  You looked back at your brother with a soft smile. God, you were lucky enough to have him around. You truly didn’t know where you would be without him.

“Thanks” you says softly as you grabs the TV remote “Let’s watch something, i need to get that moment off my head”

“How about Star-” Jack begging to say

“I'm not watching Star Wars again” you cut off like always. 

He laughs, rolling his eyes and grabs his drink from the center table. The two of you spent the day watching an X-men marathon, eating whatever was left in the fridge and pantry, just like when you were kids. It was not until noon, on the third film, when the silence was broken. Jack looked over at you and smiled sadly.

“I’m worried,” he confesses “Press tour stars tomorrow, and it’s supposed to be this amazing thing where you guys have fun and get to introduce the world to this new season but… i'm scared its gonna get ruined by Ruby’s stupid comments and bullshit”

You sigh knowing very well what he ment. Last week you got informed that you were sadly paired with Ruby for the interviews. Since you were a brand new character and never actually done a press tour for anything, the producers had decided to pair you with someone who already has experience with interviews, and apparently the universe thought that you and Ruby would make a great pair.

“I’ll survive” you says blankly shoving a cockie into your mouth “Plus, we are spending the day talking with other people, so i hope it won't be that bad”

“If anything happens you call me, okay?” He raises his hand and points up his pinky. This is some stupid thing you use to do when you were kids, but every now and then he would bring it back

“Promise” you link your pinkie with his and tightly squeeze them.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

From the moment you woke up at 7 am, a heavy pressure chest seemed to be placed roughly. Started when you got out of bed and followed along to the moment you got into the tall building where the interviews were being made. Your very strict assistant, Lola, told you the plan for the day as they were shown the small break room, where you had to change and put on the interview outfit. It was a light blue and white dress that looked very 60s, some pearl earrings and a necklace that matched. Sometimes an outfit can change your entire mood, so once you were dressed up, you couldn’t help but feel just a bit better. Then the make up artist came in and started applying some soft natural makeup that consisted of blushy cheeks and a soft eyeliner. But even after that, there was still something tense and heavy on your chest that didn’t seem to want to leave you alone. You walked out of the break room, into the place where you would spend the next 7 hours answering questions. You wave hello to everyone on set as the man starts putting on the mic pack on you and checking if your makeup looks good under the lights. You then sat on the chair and took out your phone from the pocket on the dress to see a message from your brother, Jack.

Annoying older brother: Good luck!!

Annoying older brother: Remember our promise, call me if anything happens

You smile and just type back an eye rolling emoji as a response. You put down her phone  once you felt someone sitting next to you, and softly reminded yourself where you were and the way you were supposed to behave. The silence took over the room as you left your phone under your leg. You looked over to your right to see Ruby. She looked nice. She was wearing an oversized red blouse and a white jacket, and her hair was messy. 

“Hi” You greets softly with a small wave

Ruby looks at you, nods shortly and looks away. 

You tried to take the response in a less personal way, looking away and trying to swallow the anxiety away. But once the young interviewer arrives, and Ruby literally stands up to shake his hand and greet him, it becomes more than personal to you.  You stood up too, to shake his hands and greet him as he got ready for the interview. They haven’t even started and you were already fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously, like a child.

“Well Ruby, Y/n, I just want to thank you for giving us another season of Willow. We are truly excited to see not only the adventure you go on now, but the new characters as yourself y/n”

You just smiled and nodded in response.

“Now how does it feel to join such a magical and close family, how have they treated you?” The interviewer asked as he shuffled with his cards

What a perfect question.

“It's truly been a gift” you starts, your voice being slightly weak but you quickly clears your throat and begin again “I grew up huge George Lucas fan and honestly at first I was truly terrified of joining the cast and crew, but they really have received me with… open arms” Your words slightly bitter. You notice how Ruby looked at you from the side, clearly noticing your reference “It’s been such a dream come true, really”

The interviewer nodded and read the next card in hand “Now giving to much away, what can you tell us about this new season”

“Well” Ruby stars, with a hand on her jaw “There’s definitely a lot more action. Me and y/n actually have a lot of scenes together where we had so much fun! And the adventures this season are-”

You could hear Ruby speaking but it was like your mind just stopped listening

“...So much  fun!”

Her voice ringed in your head again, as your thoughts ran crazy. You couldn't remember a single time you had “fun” with Ruby on set. Actually, you can clearly remember that every fight scene you had together was actually hell, since Ruby had past training and it seemed so easy for her to just pick up on choreography. Every time you got a move wrong or stumbled on the fight, Ruby would roll her eyes and sigh frustrated. Every single scene together was hell for both of them, and Ruby just said they had “So much fun”? 

The anxiety in your chest started to slowly become fury, and the confusion of why would Ruby ever lie in an interview if not needed completely took over your thoughts. Your ears turned warm and you fisted her left hand, digging your white painted nail into your palm.

“Right Y/n?” Ruby looked at you and gave you a tight and clearly fake smile. It was obvious from  the stare that you were supposed to follow along with her lie

“Yeah” you nod, trying to smile at the interviewer “So much… fun!”

The guy bought it clearly as he continued with his vague and irrelevant questions. As Ruby answered most of them, you just sat back, thinking about Ruby’s words. Every now and then you would nod your head, agree, or even let out a fake laugh, but never really truly talk much. The interviewer didn’t seem to mind, and so you just stayed silent. 

“Maybe I wasn't gonna be as okay as I thought I was gonna be” You thought to herself as you fiddled with the ring on your finger. You wished you could be back in your apartment, with your brother, watching stupid movies and laughing like idiots at the simplest things.

“Last question before I leave,” the man announces as he looks at his watch, checking the time “Yesterday, we interviewed Tony and Erin and they told us of the wrapping party you guys had at your house, Ruby. Do you guys have any funny or just stupid memories of that night?”

You cluelessly, tilt your head and look at Ruby who laughs as she clearly knows what he’s talking about.

“Oh my god! The wrapping party was so much fun!” she claps her hands softly, as you stare completely clueless “So yeah, after almost a year of shooting the second season, I invited the cast and crew to the house i was renting, to have a kind of a goodbye party or something but…a funny memory? Oh yeah! We ordered pizza, but I'm talking about tons of pizza, and we made this… kind of tower? We stackled them up until we literally had to get on top of each other to put on the next, and that was honestly so much fun” she said “or when me, Dempsey, Amar and Tony did like a weird karaoke battle? That was fun too”

Something inside of you started to crack slowly. Your head spinning with bullet-like thoughts that seemed to kill every grasp from reality you held. A wrapping party? With cast and crew? With everybody? When was this? Why weren't you invited? Ruby said it was at the end of filming and that was 6 months ago, and you were finding about this now? And then it hit you like a truck. Of course you weren't invited. You were new. You barely knew the cast, got a year too late to the family, of course they were not gonna invite you. The anxiety inside your chest started to rise, stopping right at your throat. 

“Tony mentioned it yesterday!” The man laughs “And you y/n?” he then asks you “any favorite memories of that night?”

Ruby turned to look at you and it felt like her gaze left you under pure pressure. It felt like her blue eyes were burned into your head and made the anxiety get even worse. Your fisted hand grew sweaty as you swallowed roughly. 

“I-” the words wouldn’t come out but you just tried again doing your best to look as normal as possible “Yeah… The karaoke battle was crazy fun”

The man behind camera yelled cut, the interviewer then excused himself as in came the assessor to come touch up the makeup, outfits and mics. But before anyone could even get close to you, you marched quickly straight to the small break room where you got ready. You closed the door and ran to the desk filled with water bottles. You took one, twisted it open harshly and started chugging the cold water. You could feel it run down your body, but that didn’t seem to help. You took it off your mouth and breathed heavily and quickly, leaving the water bottle with the rest. The first thing that came into mind was texting your brother, so you looked around the room for your phone, moving the cushions and bags.

Three knocks came from the door and then someone just opened it. Ruby came in looking quite weirded out by the mess you were making. She closed the door, causing you to turn around to see Ruby staring at her.

“Ruby” you stammered “I- I thought you were-”

“The interviewer is late” she said coldly “They gave us a break”

“Yeah sorry, I was just looking for my pho-”

“I don’t care” she snapps back

You just nod and bite your lip harshly trying to push back any stupid emotions. You were an actress for god sake, why couldn’t you just fake your emotions. Why can’t you act as if Ruby’s word didn’t mean a single thing. It was so overwhelming that your face clearly started growing warm and Ruby clearly seemed to notice.

“What’s wrong?” She said as she left her purse on the couch, her voice sounded quite genuine instead of annoyed “why are you crying?”

You turns around towards the dresser with a mirror, to see the soft mascara running down your cheek

“Shit!” you swore under your breath, swiping the tear away leaving the black mascara smeared across your face “Shit! Lola gonna kill me” you then ran towards the small bathroom to grab some toilet paper and placed it under the water tab to start trying to clean it away. Your soft swipes turned harsh as the stain on her face didn’t want to leave. If Lola saw you like this, she would be pissed for screwing up her first ever interview “Fuck!”

“Heyheyhey'' Ruby said, grabbing your wrist and stopping the wet toilet paper from slapping your face. Her touch was probably meant to be sweet, but instead it came out quite harsh since her grip on your wrist was quite strong. "Water's not gonna work, it's probably waterproof, just…” Ruby let’s go of you to pushed her hair back with a sigh “Seat on the toilet, let me get some make up remover”

You let go of the wet toilet paper and left it on the sink. Then you sat down on the toilet seat, as tears started to fall down your face. You pushed your hands into your face, completely ashamed of yourself. Your first interview ever and you ended fucking crying in the bathroom

 Ruby walked back into the room with a bottle of make up remover and cottons on her hand. 

“Come on” she says coldly “We don’t know when the interviewer is arriving” She then kneels in front of you and starts to place some of the liquid on the cotton ball.

“Why did you say that?” You ask in between the tears. It was clear that Ruby was trying her hardest to look away, avoiding your gaze but before she even think of it, you spoke “Why did you say any of that when you know that shit isn’t fucking true” 

“I-” she began

“What did I ever do to you?” Your voice broke while speaking. It felt like the anxiety inside of  you gripped you tightly making it impossible to even let the words out

Ruby freezes and blinks a few times. She then leaves the bottle on the floor a bit too strongly as she looks back up at you with a frustrated sigh. Her frown is lowered and her looks became a deathly glare.

“Nothing” she says simply taking the cotton in her hand and move it close to your face

“Then why do you ignore me? Why do you always look at me like I'm a bother? Why didn’t you fucking invite me to the wrapping party?” You move your hand away from your face, trying to have a conversation

“Because…” she said before swallowing “Because i…” Her words never really leading anywhere

“Because what?! What Ruby?” The tears that once where on your cheeks where now running down your neck

Ruby shook her head and she stood up and dusted off her pants clearly bothered. She shook her head, her hair swishing perfectly. 

“I can’t do this right now” she says walking out the small bathroom with an tired huff “I’m gonna get some air”

You stood up and followed behind her, your slingback heels clacking against the floor

“Ruby!” you call out frustrated “Answer me, please”

Ruby turned and it was clear she was mad, and it was written all over her face. On the way she pursed lips in disgust, in the way her eyebrows met harshly on top of her eyes, on the way cheeks were red and her eyes dead serious. On the way her chest was out proudly and her hands were fisted in the same way your’s were a few moments ago.

“Because…” she says, completely stone cold, and her head tilted to the side “Because you’re… fuck!” her fist raised and shaking in rage as tried to find her words

You took a careful step back, lower lip slightly quivering. Ruby didn’t have to say a word, because you knew, you knew what she meant. You knew everything. You were annoying, you are not part of the cast.

Ruby groaned as she ran her hand through the hair. Then she walked toward you, her steps firm and commanding, intimidating every bone in your body, making you walk backwards completely scared of what might happen now. You walked back to the small bathroom, till you hit the wall. You tried to press yourself against the wall as much as possible, closing your eyes and raising both of her hands, in defense. 

Ruby was barely a few inches away, looking at you as you trembled nervously against the wall. Everything seems to be going from bad to worse, and it didn’t help the fact that you were shivering like a scared cat. The short haired girl sighed, placing both of her hands in her face, groaning loudly. You opened a single eye, to see your co-star. Ruby removed her hands from her face to look back at you, both of your eyes locked in. And it was then when you felt her warm lips on top of her. Ruby was grabbing your jaw as she pushed you back against the wall. You froze in place and did not reciprocate the kiss, even though something new inside you roared into life.

Ruby stopped and then separated your lip, to look up at you with your eyes wide open in fear. Ruby inhaled completely terrified as her face turned white.

“Oh my god” She whispered “I am so-”

Ruby interrupted when both of your arms wrapped around her, your chest and shaking lips against hers. At first it was really weird for you. Kissing a girl was different… new. Feeling something for a girl was… new. It took a few seconds for the two of you to melt into the kiss, softly placing your hands around each other, softly caressing and touching each other as much as they could. The kiss was salty with your tears, but sweet with Ruby’s cherry chapstick. 

“Guys! The interviewer is here!” Lola yelled as she knocked loudly on the break room door. Her voice quickly made you freeze, stopping the kiss, and turning your once melted warm body to stiff and cold. 

Ruby looked back at you, opening her eyes softly to find a single tear falling off of your face. It  was like looking at a wax figure. pale and completely frozen in place. The knocks kept pounding against the door so the short girl ran towards it and told Lola they are just talking some stuff and that they will be right back out. You, who snapped back from the pure fear of someone finding you with a girl,  reacted and quickly picked up the cotton with makeup remover and wiped it hard against your cheeks. 

You were just kissed. By Ruby. Ruby who ignored you for months, Ruby who can’t stand you. Ruby who is… a girl. A girl just kissed you. You kissed a girl. What’s that supposed to mean? Are you gay now? Did you like girls? What about boys? What if someone found out about this? What if her parents found out about her kissing a girl? What if they hated her?

What if Jack hated her?

Before your anxieties turned into catastrophic realities,  Ruby came back to the bathroom and stood closely to you. She softly placed her hands on your jaw and moved your face till you were facing her, and no longer the mirror. She took the cotton from your fingertips hand and started swiping it on your cheek and under eye softly, petting and cleaning the black ink from your face. To say you were confused, was to say the least. When you arrived at the building, you swore that Ruby hated you like no one else in the world, but now, she was treating you like one would treat their romantic partner. It didn’t make sense, the sudden change but neither did the strong beating of your heart. By having Ruby’s warm and gentle hand on your jaw, cupping your face carefully and tenderly, it made your heart naturally calm down and made you head grow fuzzy. The soft brush of the cotton in her only made you gaze into an even more peaceful state. 

“Done” Ruby said letting go of your face and throwing away the cotton ball “Let’s go”

You wake up from the cold air hitting your cheek and you quickly step back to create some distance between the two of you. You swiped your nose with the back of your hands and looked at the floor nervously. Ruby opened her voice to speak, but you quickly ran out the bathroom and the break room to where a young woman was sitting waiting for you guys. You go to sit on your chair, to find your phone, which you quickly grabbed and texted Jack

 Snarky little sister: Hey

 Snarky little sister: U were right

 Snarky little sister: Can you come pick me up? plz?

 Snarky little sister: I really don’t need a car ride back with her

 Snarky little sister: i finish a 6

You sent your location and turned off your phone and shoved it under your leg like before. At least you weren’t crying anymore, and with the bit of makeup the assessor just applied, made you now look decent.

The rest of the day was a blur. It was interviews after interview. The same questions being asked over and over. Eventually there was a lunch break where you decided to lock yourself in the bathroom and eat your lunch on your own to drown out the confusing feeling bubbling inside of you. Ruby knocked a few times and tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t even process her words. Every time she tried to talk to you, you would walk away or tried to mutter a “not now” under your breath. These new feelings and emotions felt like bricks under you. The possible reaction from your family made you tremble with pure fear.  And the questions the journalist asked her over and over again just made her look like a broken record, repeating over and over the same phrase.

After 6 hours in the same room, you were finally able to leave. Lola tried to talk to you, her tone scary and stern as she scolded you, but you just grabbed your bag and left for the elevator. Even though everything you were wearing wasn't technically yours, you couldn’t bother to change, you couldn’t bear another second in that room with Ruby and with all of those people with their eyes on you. So you just left.  Once in the lobby, you saw a text from jack.

Annoying older brother: I'm a few blocks away, wait for me inside

And so you did. You waited in the lobby, tapping your shows anxiously against the marble floor, making it echo around the room. There was a ding from behind you, and you see Ruby, in different clothes, walking quickly up to you. Your airways seemed to close as you turned around and started walking even faster away from her.

“Y/n!” Lola screamed “the car hasn't arrived yet, where are you going?” she looked up from her phone, shaking her disappointment “The chauffeur is 5 minutes away!”

You turned around, walking back carefully not to trip. You tried your best no to meet Ruby’s eye as you simply shook your head.

“Jack came to pick me up” you yell loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was clear that your voice was weak and on the edge of cracking “I’m leaving with him, i'll text you when i get home”

Then Ruby started walking faster and calling you names, to catch up with you, but you left the building and made yourself to the street. You then saw your brother's blue jeep and you quickly jumped in and left. On the rearview mirror you could see Ruby staring back at you, as the car took off quickly, her figure became smaller til she was barely visible.

Jack quickly placed his hand on your knee, and the touch on itself was enough to make you burst into tears once again. You cover your mouth in disappointment of your previous actions. Your sobs soon got louder than the radio, completely drowning all the noise around them. The fingertips on your mouth shaking as you could softly still taste Ruby’s stupid cherry chapstick.

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───