#like yeah I really want to work in design and you know the dream is character design and concept art but that's unrealistic

[featherymainffins]

Kinda fucked up how all the people I know are like "Yeah I know what I want in my life. I want to work in X field and I want/don't want a long-term partner who I'm going to marry, I want kids and-"

and I'm there just like 🧍

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.

[gothicfied]

a fic where Dae-Ho (or anyone) comforts a reader to bed because she/he is haunted by seeing people getting shot, blood and etc. Pretty please?🥺 He also is on watch during lights out and comforts them again while noticing them having reoccurring nightmares and mumbling in their sleep. You could also turn this the other way around because my boy Dae-Ho needs some comfort too! 😖

love your fics and past work btw!! ^^

Sleepless Nights - Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / Player 388 x Reader

Summary: After past trauma from being a marine, Dae-ho isn't handling the circumstances of the games well. Thankfully, you're there when he needed you the most.

Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, gunshots, PTSD (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's fluff/comfort, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Word count: 812 Words

A/N: hii and thank you sm! I loved this idea actually🙏🙏

Your eyes hurt from staying up so long, counting down the seconds until it was Dae-ho's turn to be on watch. The night was grueling and long — all you could do was stare ahead and think about all the past decisions that led you here. I shouldn't have done this, I could've done that.. you were just breaking your mind like that. After you almost nodded to sleep *again*, you decided this was the best time to wake your friend up and get some well deserved rest.

Quietly, you shuffled to the mattresses Gi-hun had your group set up, searching for Dae-ho in the dark. When you spotted his jacket from behind, the number '388' still readable with little to no light, you went to tap him on the shoulder. That was before you noticed him jolting and breathing quite heavily in his sleep, his face contorted with something like fear. Oh, he was having a nightmare. What are you supposed to do now? Wake him up to free him from his dream? Or should you just leave him be? Would that be bad?

While you were slightly panicking, Dae-ho woke up himself from feeling someone looming over him. His eyes immediately darted to you and he quickly sat up, like he was ready to fight you. "Hey.. hey, it's okay! It's me." you whispered, backing up a bit to give him some space. Dae-ho blinked a couple of times, his mind still reeling with the thoughts of his nightmare. The one that was reoccurring ever since he got here. The man took a deep breath and dropped his head down for a moment, just staring at his lap. "Are.. you okay? Did you have a nightmare?"

Dae-ho simply nodded and smiled, trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. "Yeah, don't worry about me. This happens.. all the time." The shakiness of his voice suggested otherwise. "Is it my time to be on watch?" With a confused, and slightly concerned, look you slowly nodded shifting a bit. Dae-ho slowly stood up, as not to disturb Jun-hee who was sleeping right beside him, and took another deep breath. "Are you actually okay? You seem really shaken up. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Dae-ho smiled again, this time genuinely, silently appreciating your concern. "No.. no, I don't want to bother you. You need to sleep, come on." He pointed down at the mattress, signaling for you to just lay down and let him handle his own business. That's how he always did it anyway, he didn't like to feel like his problems were burdening others, especially in here. "No, don't be ridiculous. I'll sit down with you for a second." So, you just took Dae-ho's hand and led him to the designated spot a bit further away from your sleeping space. The blue 'O' and the red 'X' on the floor illuminated the whole area, the light of both reflecting on his face.

"I've had this nightmare since I got here." Dae-ho started the conversation again, his eyes glued to the big metal door, where the pink guards would always emerge from. "This whole thing.. people getting shot, people dying all because they're in debt," his voice was barely above a whisper, "it's so messed up. I'm a marine.. I should be- Oh, I don't know. It reminds me of all the things I had to facd while serving this country." You nodded along, letting out a 'mhm' to show him you were listening. You didn't really think about it that way at all — Of course this would affect him so much, he probably had PTSD.

"I can't say that I know what that feels like, but I definitely understand." you whispered back, slowly turning your head to look at him. You felt really bad, but you also didn't know how to better the situation. All you could do is wish that this nightmare would soon end with everyone finally coming to their senses and voting 'X'. Dae-ho scrunched his nose, now burying his face in his hands. You couldn't tell if he was crying or was still shaken up, but you put your arm around him nonetheless. Like he always did with you when you were scared or stressed.

Feeling your arm around him, Dae-ho took this as an invitation and immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you for being here with me." he mumbled into your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. Your expression softened, hugging him back after a few moments. His skin felt hot against yours and it kind of felt like he was suffocating you with his arms, but you couldn't be happier when Dae-ho expressed his gratitude.

"Of course. I'll stay up with you for a little bit longer, okay?"

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter 4: New and Old Problems Alike

Retired!Ghoap x Fem!Fat!Reader

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

MDNI | cw: fainting, some medical inaccuracies

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

You haven’t texted them, even three days later. That little sticky note haunts the surface of your kitchen counter. It taunts you - tells you that you should text them and at least give them your number. That you’re being a terrible neighbor. They might need you too, after all. Even though you can’t figure out why they might for the life of you. On the other hand, you can’t help but feel wary about it. Men don’t take an interest in you - people in general rarely take interest. It’s hard not to feel suspicious, as pure as you’re sure their intentions probably are.

More so than any of that, you don’t know what to say. If it had been day one you could have just put your name, but now you feel like you need to explain. Or at least be funny or something. Tossing and turning on your designated rest day about what the hell you should do.

You’re overthinking it. You know that. You can’t stop, either.

They just seem so cool - so put together. So unlike you. You want to impress them. You don’t want to ruin the first possibility of friends in this new life you’re building for yourself.

Eventually you work up the courage to send off an initial text to each of them. Just to give them your name to save if they so choose - plus an extra thank you to Simon for giving you their numbers in the first place. Something simple and borderline cold. Too cold, maybe? Maybe you sound irritated. You hope not. You just want them to like you. Friends in new places are hard and to have someone around you who gets how it feels to need accommodations would just feel so… lovely. Your phone may or may not go flying onto your bed while you bury your face in your hands out of sheer nervousness.

You don’t expect it to chime about a minute later. Right as you’re staring to calm down, of course. It sends your heart violently pounding all over again.

J >> Bonnie lass!

J >> So glad u texted!!

>> Sorry it took so long lol

Oh, you could just slap yourself. You don’t have anything better than that? At all? Christ.

J >> Nah Nah

J >> No worries

J >> Actually I was wondering if u would mind if I came by tomorrow

J >> Just to chat

J >> need an excuse to get out of the house

“How the hell does he type that fast?” You scoff to yourself.

>> Yeah, come by anytime.

>> totally

>> yea sounds cool

>> rad, man

A message from Simon pops up mid your internal battle with how to respond, replying with a simple thumbs up. Very in character, you think. He knows how to be nonchalant. What would Simon say? Something casual, maybe a little formal.

>> If you like. You’re always welcome.

Okay maybe that was too much like Simon. You sigh heavily m before adding,

>> I’m trying out a new blueberry loaf

>> If you want to test for me :)

Better. That’s a little better. With another heavy sigh you decide to drop your phone into your nightstand for the rest of the day. Your heart really cannot handle this much emotional pressure.

~~~

You sort of end up just forgetting about the texts. With your phone out of sight and out of mind upstairs in your apartment it almost catches you off guard when Johnny comes striding through the door just before close. He’s dressed more casually than the last couple of times you saw him - having broken out the summer shorts and a graphic tee for some band you don’t recognize. It suits him, though.

“Hey, bon.” He grins.

“Hey.” You smile back, finishing with putting up your stocking baskets before dusting off your hands and turning around. “Simon closing up?”

“Aye.”

You hum. “Come on back, I’ll get you a slice of that loaf I mentioned.”

Johnny follows you quietly. Uncharacteristically quietly. That’s okay - you don’t have a problem with hanging out in silence. It doesn’t feel tense, surprisingly enough. He leaves Riley out front again. Should you get her a dog bed? Maybe if he comes by consistently. That would be nice. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“It’s sort of a pound cake but fluffier. I might make an icing for it but I don’t know if that would be too sweet…” You trail off, focusing on plating up the piece. You’re not sure what compels you to try and make it pretty for him. Probably something you could blame on your grandmother. She did have an obsession with presentation.

Johnny hums loudly after taking a bite, talking around the mouthful. “Y’should totally make an icing.” He swallows roughly. “Si would go crazy fer this.”

“Oh?” You smile. “I’ll send some home with you.”

There’s a lapse of silence while Johnny chews on his slice of bread and you pack up some in a paper bag for him to take home. The only sounds in the room comprised of your cutting and folding and the hum of the cooling oven.

“You’re being weirdly quiet.” You blurt, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. “I, uh, I mean that isn’t a bad thing! I don’t mind… I just, uh, was… sorry, never mind…”

“Well I did come wit’ a bit of an ulterior motive…” Johnny admits, glancing off to the side shyly. It’s a show, you think. Johnny doesn’t seem the type of man to have felt shy a day in his life.

You tilt your head. “Oh?”

He dusts off his hands and grins. “Let us take ye out! In celebration of yer first full month.”

Has it been a month already? “Oh - no, no you don’t have to-“

“C’mon! It’s a big accomplishment.” His smile is so bright that you almost believe his idea that you’ve done something great.

“…alright.” You give a tentative smile. It’s hard to believe they like you enough to want to hang out casually in the evening. Hard to imagine anyone liking you that much but you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s a pub down the street - the one on the corner. Want tae meet us there around six?” Johnny gives you that lovely smile. How could you ever say no to a smile like that?

“Okay.”

You spend far too long changing in and out of clothes and fussing with your hair. Up-do’s and buns and braids. A tank top then a sweater then a t-shirt. There’s no reason to feel this stressed over it. It’s not a date or anything. Besides, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Either way you look like a frumpy dumpling. Eventually you land on jeans and one of your designated ‘going out tops.’ At least it’s a good excuse to wear something other than work clothes or loungewear.

Excitement and anxiety thrum under your skin like electricity as you make your way down the street. You feel painfully nauseous - stopping once or twice just to make sure you aren’t about to throw up for real.

The pub is surprisingly quiet when you enter. Obviously somewhere only real locals hang out - there’s no theme or really any decor in general. Just a bar, some booths and a couple pool tables. You scan the floor a few times, not seeing either Johnny or Simon (not that they would be hard to miss). Eventually you just grab a soda from the bar and slide into one of the booths closer to the back. A quiet spot facing the door where you can easily watch for them.

As time ticks on you begin to grow increasingly nervous. Did you get the time wrong? No, no you triple checked. You even wrote it down in your planner. Your leg begins to bounce furiously, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Did they decide to ditch? You wouldn’t really blame them. They’re way out of your league when it comes to friends. Maybe Johnny had an emergency? Should you call Simon? If he had an emergency it would make sense that they would forget to notice you. What if something really bad happened? What if-

The front door opens and Simon’s wide frame strides through, holding the door for Johnny and Riley to come in behind him. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, willing your leg to stop bouncing with a pinch to your thigh. Why are you always so damn dramatic?

Johnny lights up with an ear to ear grin when he spots you, bee-lining for the booth while Simon casually walks up to the bar. It’s almost comedic, the way he dwarfs the counter. Johnny leans on the side of the booth, waiting for Simon, you think.

“Glad ye could come out.” He looks you over, eyes flicking from your plain top to the very practical, not at all stylish up do that you landed on for the evening.

You do your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Me too…”

Simon comes back with two beers in hand and slides them onto the table. He scoots into the inner booth to give Johnny the outer edge. Riley happily sits beside his leg and practically grins at you in a near mirror image of Johnny’s. You’d never do it while she’s on the job, of course, but part of you wants to give her a pat on the head and coo at her for being so polite.

Johnny gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry we were a bit late-”

“Johnny redid his hair about five times.” Simon butts in, not reacting at all to Johnny’s sputtering protest. He glances at your half-drunk soda. “Want me t’ grab you a beer?”

“Oh, no, I’ll just stick to coke.”

They blink at you. Simon cocks his head slightly. “You sure?”

You chew your lip. “Uh, alcohol tends to aggravate my symptoms is all...”

“Then why’d ye agree to drinks? We coulda gone somewhere else.” Johnny frowns.

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I… maybe this is over sharing but I’d rather go out and be kind of normal than just… not ever. Y’know?”

His expression softens. For having such icy blue eyes they are so, so warm. “I get it.”

“How’d you two meet anyway?” You blurt, taking a left turn to get the conversation off of you. It’s the first question that comes to mind. Maybe it’s rude - maybe you’re prying too much already.

“Military.” Simon grunts. “SAS.”

“Si retired wit’ me after I was discharged.” Johnny points to his scar the same way he did when you first met. “Russians scrambled my egg a bit.”

“Couldn’t do the time apart…” Simon murmurs, eyes locked on Johnny’s face. It’s vulnerable. More than he’s used to - you can see it in the way he tenses after saying it.

Something passes between them that a deep, wounded part of you desperately wishes to understand.

You can’t help but start giggling to yourself. They both give you an incredulous look. “Sorry, sorry - it’s just, that’s like… totally a romance book premise. It’s sweet. Really.”

“Och, aye. Wouldn’t know it t’ look at him but Si’s a real romantic.” Johnny bats his eyes at the other man, who just rolls his in response. The corner of his scarred mouth quirks up subtly.

“SAS…” You repeat, staring at your drink. “That’s like Navy Seal shit, right?”

“We worked with them a few times, yes.” Simon nods. There’s an air of ‘do not ask anything more specific’ in his voice.

“Huh.” You take that for what it is and sit back, squinting at them. “You don’t look it, honestly.”

Johnny laughs. “Tha’s just cause ye havennae seen Simon with his gear on. The Ghost.” He wiggles his fingers along as he makes a stupid, spooky sound effect. “I domesticated him.”

Simon scoffs but doesn’t deny it, just takes a quiet sip of his beer.

“Riley’s a vet, too.” Johnny pats her head. “Got too skittish around loud noises but she transitioned into a service dog nicely.”

“Now she’s just spoiled.” Simon rolls his eyes in faux annoyance. You get the strong feeling that he’s the one doing the spoiling.

You find yourself relaxing as the night goes on. Slouching in your seat rather than sitting ramrod straight and nervously twiddling your thumbs. They never press you to drink, never insist that you’ll be fine with just one. They take your statement as fact and it isn’t brought up again. That shouldn’t be as significant as it is, now that you think about it.

Johnny’s words begin to slur a little bit on his fourth, no maybe fifth, beer. You aren’t sure. It’s very cute, the little blush that forms across his cheeks. Simon loosens up, too. He slings an arm around the back of the booth and Johnny readily tucks himself into the open spot. You find yourself wondering about their military career again. You can’t picture either of them committing violence - especially Simon. Sure, he’s big and gruff but he looks at Johnny so, so softly.

Simon is the one to call it a night - though you have a feeling its because you nodded off a couple times. Not out of boredom, you try really, really hard to pay attention to Johnny rambling about the chemistry of different explosives. He makes it interesting, somehow. Really it’s just that you’ve been awake for… holy shit almost twenty hours!

“D’you need a ride?” Simon asks as you exit the pub, hands firmly shoved into his pockets.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know how to interpret the look he’s giving you. It’s intense, but not annoyed or displeased. He has such a weird knack for unreadable but distinct expressions. You wonder if you’ll ever get close enough to get good at deciphering them.

You jump when Johnny takes both your hands in, kissing the backs of them with a sloppy, drunk smile. “Thank ye fer comin’ out. “

Somehow your face feels hotter than a damn oven. You tuck your hands to your chest, kicking shyly at the sidewalk. “Th-thanks for the invite. We, uh, we could do it again sometime?”

You glance up hopefully, praying that you didn’t misread the situation. You’ve done that before - thought people liked you more than they did. Johnny just grins wider somehow and nods excitedly.

You watch them walk off in the other direction, hand in hand. Johnny giggles about something loudly and you can see Simon’s shoulders shake with a far more silent laugh. All the way until they disappear down the street.

The sheer amount that the image hurts your heart makes you feel evil.

~~~

The pub changed something. What, you don’t know. Either way, you fall into an easy pattern with Johnny and Simon over the next couple weeks. Exchanges of food, leftovers or morsels about to turn, little visits back and forth between your shops. Johnny continues to stop by after close, just hanging around with you while Simon closes up shop.

You can’t deny how much you look forward to hearing that door chime followed by a too-loud greeting from Johnny. How your heart flips in your chest when those bright blue eyes peek around the corner into the back room or light up while trying a new recipes you’ve been testing. You’re still a bit awkward - unsure how to react when he throws an arm around your shoulders or listens oh so intently while you talk about nothing important.

Things can’t ever be all sunshine and rainbows, though. Not for you. A new problem has arisen as summer truly sets in - the comfortable spring breezes giving way to nothing but bright, unfiltered sun. One you didn’t expect to impact you this much living this far north.

Heat.

It’s hard to breathe in the back room while you’re baking. Hard to keep your water and salt intake high enough to compensate for how fast you lose them. You might as well get a permanent saline drip attached to you at this point. You definitely didn’t google if that was physically possible. Your budget for liquid IVs and other supplements nearly doubles. Standing over the massive oven in the back room has your head swimming a few times. You end up resting longer on your weekends, unable to keep up like you could in cooler weather.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, the summer here isn’t like back home. It will pass quicker. Plus, you at least have methods of dealing with it now other than crossing your fingers and praying.

“Bonnie!” Johnny suddenly appears in your doorway - that charming smile splitting his face from ear to ear. “Ye made it up Main Street yet?”

“No?” You tilt your head and try to ignore the way your vision spots momentarily at the motion. “Why?”

“Ye dinnae hear about the summer festival?” He leans on your counter. You shake your head. “It’s a yearly thing. Not that big a deal but they have some fun games an’ it’s nice tae see everyone out an’ about. Si an’ I are about tae head down. Come wit’?”

You hesitate. The exhaustion in your body tugs at your spine. Your limbs feel heavy. This morning really got to you - out of towners who must have come for the festival flooded your shop the moment it opened on top of your Saturday regulars. Not that you’re complaining, really. It’s easily your best day so far. You want to go with them, though, despite the ache in your back and the sting in your joints. It sounds so fun and it’s never a bad idea to take part in your new community’s festivities.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You smile. You can tough it out for an hour, then come back home. Yeah, just an hour. You’ll be fine.

You hadn’t noticed Simon leaned up at the entrance to your shop. Your eyes lock on his arms. This is the first time you’ve actually seen him in short sleeves. You can’t help but stare at his half-sleeve tattoo - all skulls and bombs and other military motifs. Faded and sun worn. Yeah, if you’d seen that sooner you definitely would have picked up on the whole military thing. You bite your lip to keep from snickering about it.

You can hear the music drifting from the speakers down the street. A few kids run by with balloons and cheap carnival prizes. It almost reminds you of the Spring Fling back home, just missing the extreme American flag theming across every booth and vendor front. Now that you’re looking around, you can actually see several booths that have been sponsored by various businesses in the area. Even the post office has a snow cone stand. The deeper you get into the event, the more flamboyant the decor becomes. Multicolored streamers and pennet flags connect stands, creating an almost canopy effect.

Simon stops rather abruptly at a booth, waiting behind a few teenagers tossing rings onto bottles. You stop with Johnny about two feet away. What’s he thinking? Simon doesn’t seem like the type who would be too entertained by basic carnival games. Even so, he steps forward and passes over a couple bills to the vendor as soon as the teenagers leave.

“Si’s really good at these. Watch.” Johnny grins beside you.

“Aren’t they rigged?” You raise an eyebrow.

Johnny doesn’t answer, eyes locked on his husband as he lines up one of the rings. You have to lean slightly to see around the breadth of the man - the multicolor rings almost cartoonishly small in his hands. Cute. Your eyes get impossibly wide with each toss, every single one landing comfortably on the bottle necks as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if this isn’t one of the most commonly rigged carnival games.

“Holy shit…” You mutter, still staring.

“Aye, tha’s a SAS sniper for ye.” Johnny laughs. “Glad tae see it still comes in handy.”

Simon huffs out a quiet laugh at that. Almost more of a sigh if it weren’t for the shaking of his shoulders. You love it - their little dynamic. The bond between them that’s so strong it’s almost visible.

“‘ere.” Simon turns to you suddenly, holding out a cheap little carnival prize. You can’t even begin to decipher what it’s supposed to be - some sort of furry puff ball with big, embroidered anime eyes and two felt antennae sticking up out of it’s purple head… body… thing…

Your face heats. “F-, uh, me?”

He shrugs. “Suits you. Riley will just chew it up if we take it home.”

“Aye. She’s so good with everythin’ but cheap plushies.” Johnny snickers.

You glance down at the dog in question - her dark eyes glued to the toy in Simon’s hand. Her tail thumps against the ground where she sists dutifully, but you can see the desire to snatch the thing away in her twitchy ears and pleading eyes. You snort, taking the stupid thing and tucking it under your arm with the prayer that they don’t notice the heat now spreading from your cheeks to your ears.

“Thanks…” you murmur, already mentally deciding where to add it to the mess of stuffies covering your bed already.

Somehow you end up walking between them down the street - Simon on your left and Johnny on your right with Riley in tow. You stop at a few other games here and there. All pretty basic. Johnny absolutely kills at the dunk booth.

Simon tires his hardest to help you with your terrible aim, “Just visualize it. Y’have t’ account for the arc.”

You get to the point of sticking your tongue out in concentration. Even so you only manage to knock down a couple of the wooden ducks at the ‘Dunk-A-Duck’ stand. You do, however, win one of those rock candy sticks at the guessing booth. You just hand it off to Johnny. It’s probably not best to load up on sugar in your current state.

Johnny excitedly points to different buildings giving you a rundown of the history of his hometown as you walk. Simon seems to barely be listening. He’s probably heard this a thousand times. Prattling on about the old town square, the church bell that a bunch of teenagers spray painted one time (Johnny was not involved, how could you accuse him of that?)

You find yourself focusing on your feet - keeping each step even and fast enough to remain on pace with them. One, two, one, two, one, two. The air begins to thicken. Muggy and heavy on your skin. Your breaths become shallow and fast. You can’t catch it, the air seeming to get stuck in your throat rather than reaching your lungs. Spots begin to dance across your vision. You stumble over nothing.

Not now! Come on! You’ve been doing so well!

Riley presses against your leg acting as a counter weight. Your body moves on instinct to grab whatever you can - hands wrapping around something strong and covered with cloth. An arm solid as rebar. Hopefully it’s someone you know. All you can see are colorless shapes.

“Gonna pass out - don’t freak!” You gasp before your legs give out.

It’s not that you go entirely out - it’s rare that you fully black out. It’s more like being stuck. Limp and fuzzy and confused. Almost like sleep paralysis. There’s voices and people moving around you. Someone has picked you up, you think, based on the swaying motion and the passing shapes around you. Maybe that’s just vertigo. A door bell chimes.

You finally begin to really come to when something icy is pressed to your forehead. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that you were gone, but it takes much longer for the world around you to come back into focus.

“I’m sorry…” You murmur, eyes stinging. Even after all these years it’s so damn embarrassing. You blink, the distinct mural that decorates the ceiling of the post office slowly coming into view. Johnny said a big time traveling artist painted it back in the nineties.

“Ye alright?” Johnny murmurs, crouched down beside you. Riley sniffs at your hand, seeming satisfied when you finally move it on your own.

You nod slowly. “Overheated…”

“Give her this.” Someone says. An event medic, you think. The boys must have flagged them down. Fingers press to your pulse point, a light shines in your eyes and you follow it. A quick check of vitals. Johnny shoves a water bottle in your hand as soon as the medic decides you’re fine to move - the contents distinctly murky from some sort of electrolyte pack that’s been shaken into it.

“Up y’get. Slowly does it.” Simon helps you sit up with a hand on your back. It’s so gentle. You don’t miss how he cages in your body the way only someone intimately familiar with caretaking might. Fully ready to catch you if you go limp again.

You sip slow, eyes glued to the ground. You feel so fucking stupid. Can’t even walk down a street without creating some sort of scene. They’re never going to want to hang out with you again, are they? You can’t go out drinking, can’t walk around a festival for longer than a couple hours. You distracted Riley. What if something happened to Johnny while you were having your spell? She might not have alerted correctly because of you. She might have gotten confused and then he could have gotten hurt. He might have-

“Ye really should drink tha’ instead of glarin’ at it.” Johnny pulls you from your thoughts. He’s now sat with his legs crossed beside you. Riley’s head rests in his lap. She seems calm. Content now that the emergency is over and happily lying on a cool floor.

You hum, chugging the last bit of it quickly. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Simon says curtly. “Does this ‘appen often?”

You shrug. “Not as much anymore… usually my medication keeps me stable.”

“Do ye need a doctor?” Johnny tilts his head slightly. There’s no judgment in his tone - in either of their tones. Just calm concern. It probably shouldn’t make you want to cry as much as it does.

You shake your head. “I’ve got liquid IV at home. Just need to sleep it off.”

Hopefully. In reality, a pain flare up is inevitable now. You just won’t know how bad until you’re fully in it.

“Let’s get ye home.” Johnny says, knees popping as he stands.

“I-I’m fine!” You insist, mentally preparing to get yourself up off the floor. “I can get home on my own - I don’t want to ruin your time.”

Johnny levels his gaze onto you, so serious it almost looks angry. It doesn’t match his face. “We’re not leavin’ ye tae get home alone like this.”

You’re caught off guard when an arm slides under your back and another under knees - lifting you like you weigh half of what you do in reality. Like you’re a paperweight instead of a boulder. You blink up at Simon, far too surprised to be embarrassed. At least at first. You splutter out a poor attempt at convincing him to put you down. Excuse and reason after reason and excuse. They roll off him like water off a ducks back. Your face burns as he steps out of the post office with you neatly tucked against his chest - Johnny and Riley in tow.

If you allow yourself to be honest, to give into that weaker part of you (or, at least, the part you consider to be weak) you could possibly admit that this feels nice. Being cared for feels nice. Having your body up against someone else feels nice. It’s been a long time since anyone touched you outside of a polite handshake or accidental bump. You sink into it despite yourself - relaxing against Simon’s chest. They were right, you wouldn’t have made it back. Your head is too fuzzy and there’s that telltale pain in your shoulders radiating up to your neck that signifies an oncoming Bed Day.

It doesn’t take long with Simon’s lengthy strides to get back to your building. You probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up to that running. Well, you can’t really run much at all so you definitely wouldn’t. A stupid, muddled train of thought that melts into the hazy bog of your current mental state. Even Johnny trails a few feet behind. Neither of them speak, marching in determined silence. You attempt to subtly check their faces for any anger. You’d understand if they were angry. Most people would get angry. You interrupted their day out with your useless drama. All you get is a wide, bright grin from Johnny when your eyes eventually meet his.

Simon puts you down with all the care in the world. As if you’re made of fine china. His hand stays on your upper back - planted firmly between your shoulder blades and ready to catch you if need be. Your vision swims a bit, your joints feel like jelly but you manage to dig your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door.

“Here.” Johnny plops the puff ball back into your hands just as you turn to say goodbye. To say thank you - to apologize profusely.

Your brows raise. You completely forgot about it while swimming around in a sea of embarrassment - he must have picked it up for you. You hug it to your chest with a quiet, “Thanks.”

You shift your weight side to side, psyching yourself up for the crawl up the stairs. Probably literally. You don’t think you could stay upright if you tried to walk them like a regular day, or even with an aid. Like a regular or semi-regular person. Fuck.

Johnny follows your eyes up at the staircase. He must sense some hesitation in you. “Do ye need help up?”

You bite your lip, staring at the ground. Standing in one place seems alright, but the thought of climbing is so daunting, even with the cane you have stationed at the bottom of the steps for that exact purpose. It’s embarrassing. You’re young, you should be able to walk up some damn stairs. It isn’t even that many. It’s barely a full flight. Just one story of stairs for fuck’s sake.

“Hey.” Simon touches your cheek, the action snapping your eyes to his in surprise. “It’s okay. C’mere.”

He picks you up again in the same fashion with barely a grunt, taking his time up the steps so as not to jostle you. How many times has he done this with Johnny? you wonder. That’s the only explanation for how good he is at keeping your equilibrium so even. You wonder if he practiced - if he took caretaking classes. He probably did. Does he keep up at the gym just so he can take care of his husband? Simon might be quiet and a little formal, but he exudes dedication.

“Sorry it’s messy…” You murmur when they reach the top of the steps. Glancing behind you, you see Riley sitting patiently at the bottom. Johnny must have told her to stay. “Haven’t gotten to fully unpack…”

You’ve been spending too much time in bed on the weekends. Fucking lazy.

Johnny just laughs. “Ye shoulda seen the first place Simon an’ I had.”

“Wasn’t that bad.” Simon argues, carefully setting you down on the couch. His hands hold your waist to steady you. They’re so warm… It feels wrong to be disappointed when he lets go.

“We hadnae figured out a system yet.” Johnny huffs, hands on his hips. “We ended up hirin’ a specialized maid service the dishes got so backed up.”

You scoff, laying back against the couch with that stupid carnival prize still in your arms. Like it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. The tears that have been stinging your eyes this entire time continue to threaten to spill - a myriad of blinks and careful breaths the only thing keeping them back.

Johnny sits beside you slowly. You can’t meet his eyes. “Do… do ye want tae tell us what it is? Ye donnae have tae - it’s up tae ye. Just if somethin’ happens again…”

“We’d like to be prepared.” Simon jumps in where Johnny trails off.

You chew your lip, still staring up at the ceiling. It splits and that coppery taste coats your tongue for a moment. “I, uh, it’s called POTS. There’s different types but basically my body can’t regulate blood flow and pressure right…” You shrug. “Like I said my medication usually keeps me mostly okay.”

It’s the pain that really gets to you usually, but you don’t need to start dumping on them about that. There’s no reason to spill your guts about things they can’t fix.

“Thanks fer tellin’ us.” Johnny smiles. You stiffen slightly when he reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear. You tilt your head, still resting on the back of the couch, to meet his eye. “Get some rest, yeah? We’ll lock the knob behind us. Call if ye need anythin’.”

“Okay.” You nod, keeping your eyes down and picking at your nails. “Sorry… about all this… I didn’t - I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Donnae apologize.” He says softly as he stands. “Never apologize. We’re your friends, aye? Friends help friends. Tha’s all there is to it.”

Simon gives you a discerning nod behind him, expression both soft and deeply serious.

Friends? They consider you real life proper friends? Really? You can’t help but beam up at him. “Yeah.”

A/N: I’ve re-read this chapter so many times that it’s total mush in my brain which tells me it’s time to be done with it.

Bonus: I made a Pinterest board for this fic

[growthhyp]

The Transforming Cum V

Vincent’s eyes lit up as he measured Jonathan’s massive frame, his hands trembling with excitement. The tailor had always dreamed of working on a canvas like this—muscles so defined they seemed sculpted out of marble. “You’re going to need custom everything,” Vincent said, running a tape measure across Jonathan’s chest. The fabric I have here won’t even begin to contain you.

Jonathan chuckled, flexing his biceps unconsciously. “That’s why I came to you. Zayne and Chris will be next. They’ll need your expertise too.”

Vincent nodded, already sketching designs in his mind. “Consider it done. But first—” He paused, glancing at Jonathan with a sly smile. “Let’s make sure you’re comfortable. I might need you to try on a few prototypes before we settle on the final design.”

By the time Jonathan left Vincent’s shop, he felt like a new man. Not just physically, but mentally too. His confidence was soaring, and he couldn’t wait to tell Zayne about their new personal tailor.

Later that evening, Jonathan sat down with Zayne over coffee. “Vincent’s incredible,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s even willing to work on clothes for you and Chris. We’ve got style covered now.”

Zayne grinned, clearly impressed. “Good thinking. Now, what about maintaining all that muscle? You can’t slack off, you know.”

Jonathan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. The school gym isn’t cutting it anymore. I need something bigger, better. But…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the table. “I’m broke. College student problems.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “There’s gotta be something nearby. What about that place 15 minutes from your apartment?”

Jonathan shrugged. “The reviews are terrible. People say the trainer doesn’t set a good example. Apparently, he’s the opposite of what you’d expect in a fitness coach.”

Curiosity piqued, Jonathan decided to check it out for himself. The gym wasn’t far, and with a month’s worth of savings tucked away, he figured he could at least give it a shot.

When Jonathan walked into the dimly lit gym, he was struck by how empty it felt. A few scattered patrons lifted weights in silence, and behind the counter stood a man who looked anything but a trainer. Jim was tall but painfully thin, his wiry frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie. His face was gaunt, his eyes tired, but there was a spark of determination in them that intrigued Jonathan.

“Hey,” Jonathan greeted, stepping up to the counter. “I’m interested in signing up.”

Jim’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? You… want to join my gym?”

Jonathan nodded, offering a friendly smile. “Yeah. I’ve been looking for a place to train. What’s the deal here?”

Jim sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Honestly? It’s not great. I inherited this place from my dad. It was his passion, but after he passed, I’ve struggled to keep it going. And—” He hesitated, lowering his voice. “I have a rare muscle atrophy disorder. No matter how much I train, I can’t build muscle. People see me and think, ‘Why would I take advice from him?’”

Jonathan’s heart went out to the guy. There was something heartbreakingly earnest about Jim, and suddenly, Jonathan had an idea.

“What if I could help you?” Jonathan said, leaning in closer. “What if I told you I have a way to transform your body—permanently?”

Jim blinked, confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean? How?”

Jonathan smirked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a special gift I have. All you have to do is trust me.”

Jim’s cheeks flushed, and he glanced around nervously. “I don’t know… What exactly are you proposing?”

Jonathan leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Here’s the deal. In exchange for a lifetime membership, I’ll give you the body of your dreams. Think about it. You’ll be the perfect advertisement for this gym. People will flock to you.”

Jim bit his lip, considering. “And this… gift. What does it involve?”

Jonathan’s smile turned mischievous. “It involves me. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.”

Jim’s breath hitched, and he nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Jonathan led Jim to a private corner of the gym, away from prying eyes. As they stood close, Jonathan’s hands found Jim’s waist, pulling him in. Jim trembled under his touch, his body tense with anticipation.

“Relax,” Jonathan murmured, his lips brushing against Jim’s ear. “Just let me take care of you.”

Jim shivered, his hands gripping Jonathan’s arms for support. “I’ve never… I mean, I’m… a virgin,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan’s eyes softened. “Then I’ll make this special for you.”

Slowly, Jonathan guided Jim to the floor, laying him down gently. He peeled off his own shirt, revealing his chiseled torso, and watched as Jim’s eyes widened in awe.

“You’re beautiful,” Jim breathed, reaching up to touch Jonathan’s abs.

Jonathan chuckled, lowering himself until their bodies were pressed together. “You’re about to feel even better.”

As Jonathan prepared Jim, he noticed how tight the man was, untouched and virginal. It only made him more determined to make this unforgettable.

“Ready?” Jonathan asked, his voice husky with desire.

Jim nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yes. Please.”

The moment Jonathan entered him, Jim gasped, his body arching off the ground. It was overwhelming, the sensation both foreign and exhilarating. Jonathan moved slowly at first, giving Jim time to adjust, but soon the rhythm picked up, their bodies moving in sync.

Jonathan could feel the heat building inside him, and when he finally came, it was with a force that left them both breathless.

But something unexpected happened. As Jonathan pulled out, Jim’s body began to change. Muscles swelled beneath his skin, his frame growing larger and more defined with every passing second.

“Oh God,” Jim moaned, clutching at his chest as the transformation took hold. “What’s happening to me?”

Jonathan watched in awe as Jim’s once frail body morphed into that of a cocky bodybuilder. Every inch of him radiated power and confidence, and the look on Jim’s face was pure ecstasy.

“You’re beautiful,” Jonathan whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

Jim lay there, panting, his new muscles glistening with sweat. “I feel… amazing,” he said, his voice deeper, richer.

And then, as if the pleasure was too much to bear, Jim came, his own transformation complete. The two men collapsed side by side, their bodies still humming with raw energy.

Jim turned to Jonathan, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “So, about that lifetime membership…”

[marshvlovestv]

Oh oh oh, so I've talked before about how incredible it is to see how Double Fine matured in its handling of neurodivergence in the fifteen years between Psychonauts 1 and 2, but you know what else is addressed more sensitively in Psychonauts 2?

War.

The first game talks about war a weird amount, for it not really being the thing that the game is about, and it's all through the lens of insecure dudes in military cosplay (Fred I still love you the most but it had to be said). Oleander got rejected from every branch and now he's made this military fantasyland his whole personality, acting like a drill sergeant around the kids and dreaming up horrible superweapons, and all the while his construct in Lungfishopolis proves he doesn't really understand how the Navy works or how a revolution against the military complex would actually look. (Aside, I still find it very funny that Psychonauts 2 establishes that designing superweapons is just something he does all the time, even when he's good, and Hollis's austerity is the only thing getting in his way.) Waterloo World, meanwhile, has its roots in a real world conflict, but the real world conflict is not Fred's issue; the things casting a shadow over Fred are the mythologized legacy of Napoleon and a board game which is an abstracted mockery of real military strategy.

And all of this, treating the war and military as some abstract fantasy, is just for giggles and goofs. Which is totally fine by the way! Psychonauts is a comedy game and a dark one at that. I don't have a problem with a comedy deriving some harmless laughs from a dark topic. I'm just pointing out that the first game had an odd and irreverent fascination with war so I can say that the contrast between it and Psychonauts 2 is kind of mind-boggling.

In Psychonauts 2, war is no longer some heady hypothetical thing. This game puts an actual, in-universe war at the center of its backstory. This war had real casualties. It tore apart families, displaced people from their homes, left so much pain in its wake that even mentioning the name Maligula is said to cause a massive psychic outcry. Of course, every character in the game who was touched by this war has trauma coming out of their ears. And the villain of the piece is Gristol, the one person who (despite, yes, having associated traumas of his own) doesn't take what happened seriously, the person who wants the war machine that was Maligula to come back.

Anyway so yeah I played Psychonauts for one (1) hour yesterday and the Video Game Thoughts are alllllll coming back.

[captain-sodapop]

I’m bored, so I am going to add to this spn class discourse with the following:

It is absolutely true that the Winchesters grew up poor. Nobody is disputing that. We don’t see a lot of them struggling with it in the show - throwaway lines about having to hustle to eat, occasionally sleeping in the Impala (though we do most often see them in motels before the bunker), etc. - but as someone pointed out, as a struggle, it’s not a primary focus.

I know people are pointing out that Kripke said that the brothers are blue collar and hunting is their “job”, but really, that’s not exactly correct if we want to be accurate here. For starters, they don’t get paid, so it’s not a job. It’s vigilante shit. They’re self-appointed (or Chuck-appointed, if you want to get into the whole, Chuck-was-writing-a-story-the-whole-time bit, which I’d say Is worthwhile to point out) supernatural law enforcers, essentially. But they’re not actual, paid law enforcement. So it’s not actually a job. Also, Kripke can be wrong. He was certainly wrong about male sexual assault being funny, so.

“Black collar” does seem to be a term, though it appears to be more colloquial in nature and doesn’t have as many references as white or blue collar. It seems to refer to “unreported employment”, or illegal work done without reporting to the government for tax payment. And Sam and Dean definitely aren’t paying taxes.

However, as we learn at the end of the show, Charlie gave them some hacked credit card that always works. It’s always good. They don’t have to hustle anymore, they can just use the card and they have unlimited cash. So they aren’t paying taxes, their pockets are bottomless…it’s a billionaire’s wet dream. Until their luck gets fucked up, they are doing just fine financially. More than fine. Someone did point out that having a blue collar job does not equal poor, same as a white collar job does not equal rich; it’s the nature of the work that gets the designation. Secretarial work is white collar work. That doesn’t mean the secretary is loaded. A lot goes into a person’s financial situation in relation to so many things. So, to the person who said they’re an economist and pronounced Sam and Dean as blue collar: it sounds a lot like you’re equating being blue collar with being poor, buddy.

So, I mean…if Sam and Dean aren’t getting paid, and they aren’t paying taxes, and they don’t report any earnings to the government because they don’t have any, and the job they have isn’t actual law enforcement, and the way they get money by the end of the show isn’t by hustling, card games, or odd jobs but instead by a hacked credit card with unlimited money…it really isn’t wholly accurate to call them blue collar. It’s obviously not some huge crime to call them blue collar offhandedly, but I do think the black collar moniker fits much better. They are making money through illicit means, and are performing a job that doesn’t exist as a paid position, and are doing it under the cloak of darkness because as we know from the show, when what they do is discovered by the general population, they get arrested…for crimes. Including credit card fraud, which is - you guessed it - generally considered a white collar crime.

Also, because this came up for some reason: sure, I bet Dean has eaten women out. I don’t see what that has to do with money, but I will say that eating a woman out doesn’t make someone a feminist, either. So. Yeah.

[ay4tou]

a recipe for disaster | gun park x reader

summary: in compensation for gun spoiling you left and right, you decide to bake for him but instead of making a cake, you make a mess.

author's note: yall this has been in my notes for so long i can finally post it 💔 | masterlist

As much as you loved Gun's thoughtful gestures, it was starting to make you feel a little guilty.

“Why do you always do this?” you’d asked the night before as he handed you a new set of earrings, delicate and shining.

“Because I want to,” he'd reply simply, brushing off your protests with that effortlessly charming grin. “You deserve it.”

Gun had always had a habit of going overboard when it came to spoiling you. It started with small, thoughtful gifts, like your favorite coffee or a pretty bracelet you said you wanted.

But recently, his gestures had become almost overwhelming. Last week, he surprised you with a designer handbag that you’d only admired through a store window. Then came the limited-edition perfume you’d mentioned briefly, followed by a necklace with your initials engraved in gold.

How could you ever match the effort he put into making you feel special?

It wasn’t that you didn’t love the gifts. It was just that you wanted to give something back. Something special. Something that showed how much you appreciated him.

And that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen the next morning, armed with a cookbook, a bag of flour, and sheer determination.

“I guess I’ll bake him a cake,” you muttered to yourself, flipping through the pages. “How hard can it be?”

The answer, you discovered, was very hard.

First, you spilled flour on the counter. Then you realized you forgot to preheat the oven. The eggshells ended up in the batter, and somehow, the color of the icing turned out to be way worse that you thought.

But still, you were determined to finish. After all, it was the thought that counted... right?

By the time the cake was in the oven, you were exhausted, but you smiled, imagining his reaction to seeing the cake.

That smile quickly faltered when the timer went off and you pulled the cake out of the oven.

It was lopsided. It was slightly burnt. And it looks a bit ugly. Just a tiny bit though.

While you were staring at it, defeated, contemplating if you should do another one, discard it, or just stick with it until you heard beeping from the entrance of your apartment and the front door was open.

You scrambled to hide the cake, but it was too late. Gun appeared in the doorway, taking in the sight of you covered in flour, the chaotic state of the kitchen, and that... thing on the counter.

"The fuck?" He squinted his eyes, making sure he wasn't dreaming. "Did a robbery take place here?"

His brows lifted in surprise, but seeing your reaction, he thought you were a bit offended so he tried to lighten up the mood.

“Were you… were you trying to cook?" He gestured to the cake.

"Wow, it's, um, really... something.”

You crossed your arms, pouting. “I was trying to do something nice for you, okay? But it didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Gun walked over, his blank face remaining but inside he was really trying not to laugh.

He brushes a bit of flour off your cheek. “Why would you do something like this? Why risk yourself trying to bake when we all know you can't bake for the life of it?”

You rolled your eyes, annoyed at his remarks on your attempt to be a loving partner and seeming to completely ignore your efforts. “Yeah, well, I wanted to try. But I’m never baking again. Ever.”

“I feel bad." He chuckles. "Why don’t we clean this up together, and then I’ll take you out for dessert? My treat.”

You smiled up at him, your earlier frustration melting away. “Sure. But only if you promise not to laugh about this again.”

“No promises,” he said with a teasing grin, already grabbing a dishcloth.

As the two of you worked side by side to clean up the mess, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for him, gifts or no gifts. Because at the end of the day, it was the moments like these that mattered most.

And maybe next time, you should probably just buy a cake.

[wonryllis]

somewhere in northern italy | 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇.

synopsis. park sunghoon hates oranges, he always has. the tangy citrusy tingles he's so not fond of it. he also hates you, the living embodiment of an orange: cheery, full of life, and well, round. why should he be bothered by it though? all he has to do is work hard to get into his dream university. but the thing is, he really needs a specific recommendation letter for it. something which he can only get from your father. and hypothetically speaking, he can't just ask for it, so he does you 'a favor for a favor'; he fake dates you on your trip home for summer break and surprise surprise your family owns the biggest orange farm in the country.

or where, sunghoon falls for the one thing he has hated all his life.

word count. 1.6k (teaser) full fic: est 10k-15k? maybe more?

meet the cast. park sunghoon who has an obsession of taking photos with fem!reader who loves being photographed.

genre. fake dating AUUUU!!!! ANDDD enemies to lovers!!!(for hoon), frenemies to lovers(for you), fluff, crackkkk, nsfw, suggestive, sunghoon getting cockblocked all the damn time, set in lombardy, northern italy. popular x unpopular but it's mildly mentioned. sunghoon thinks you are a spoiled brat, a very very studious and upright sunghoon. oh and did you know? orange, orange and orange (sunghoons nightmare) rich girlie and old money reader, sunghoon is gobsmacked at reader's house, parents..(do i really need to add?) and the orange farm.

warnings. allusions as to reader being daddy's princess and being sheltered and hoon struggling every day with oranges and painting a good image of himself to get that letter. nsfw warnings will be added in the full fic. (also no it's not a chubby reader)

RELEASE DATE. TBD

author's note﹙ ⌕. ﹚ had this random ass idea while having orange juice yesterday ksjksj. taglist is open for this as well as the permanent one, just let me know and i'll add you asap! not sure if this' good enough kindly bear with me. PLS DONT LET THIS FLOP I REALLY LOVE THIS BABY ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

꒰⠀ N O W P L A Y I N G. ⠀꒱ cruel summer by taylor swift, one kiss by calvin harris & dua lipa, karma by taylor swift, me by taylor swift, call it what you want by taylor swift, blinding lights by the weekend, fireworks by katy perry

"you wanna go down to the lake?" sunghoon looks up to find you at the door, more like peeping in from outside. his hands stopping mid-air with his spongebob boxers in hand, in the middle of unpacking what was left of his luggage. he moves at the speed of light, shoving them back in before you can notice the print. but too late you already saw it well, "you wear spongebob?" your laugh tickles his insides and it feels weird how he seems to like it.

no, he did not want to go out right now. after that stressful breakfast in the garden he just wants to fall face first into your fluffy mattress and sleep it out under your silk comforter. but something about your laugh makes him intrigued, would going down to the lake with you show him more of this side of yours? now this would probably be the seventh time he has wondered of how prettily you laugh. the curve of your eyes and the faint dimples on your cheeks his favourite things. oh? he picked favourites already it's weird, he thinks.

"yeah, let's go. just lemme change my shirt real quick," disappearing into the bathroom before you have the chance to speak. though when he steps back into the room,"your taste is funny," his spongebob boxers hang at the tip of your index finger as you look closely at the design. "put that back!" he scolds, choking on his spit while he rushing over.

"why? don't tell me you haven't washed it? now that's really bad hoonie," the tone of your voice teases his nerves but honestly he's used to it, more precisely he doesn't hate it as much as he thought he did.

"y/n," he warns, albeit not seriously and you can see it.

"baby," in a sweet little smile, (one that has sunghoon's hate for you faltering in the slightest each time you put it on) you correct him,"remember?" my fake boyfriend, mouthing out through a sly grin.

it's like an immediate que for him to give it up, he's not gonna win against you. when he used to see you around the university, mingling amidst a crowd of people every single time, he always thought you'd hold nothing against him. in his eyes you were a hollow image, nothing worth it. perhaps he was wrong, for so far you have him tight in a grip, he can't seem to find something to properly hate. that is if he takes the oranges out the picture.

he sighs in resignation,"come on, let's go, baby." happy? his brows rising in a question, softening up at your smile getting wider with a swift nod.

he relaxed too soon.

"was this really necessary?" the palm of his hand slides around your wrist as you walk down the steps of your italian chateau. supporting your heel clad feet and gesturing at the big beige floppy beach hat sitting atop your head. "absolutely! it's my fa- dad!" sunghoon's head snaps at that, immediately turning to look at the pitch of your voice going higher. the real deal, your father still seated in the garden with a newspaper in his hands and dear lord, a glass of orange juice.

it's embarrassing to be seen with you like that, he was gonna say. but oh well, nevermind.

"i see you have your favorite hat on, going somewhere with sunghoon?" your dad asks smiling warmly at your pair. it makes sunghoon scared, aren't dads supposed to hate boyfriends? is he being bamboozled by your family? will he be preyed upon later when you are not there to see? as if it was possible, your entire family though really welcoming of him are a bunch of weirdos, who the fuck let's their precious daughter share her room with her boyfriend they've met for the first time?

when he agreed to fake date you he didn't know he'd have to put on such a detailed act. there's literally no restrictions for you in the house. you do whatever you want, when ever you want. and that includes taking him everywhere you go, because apparently your parents know him as the boyfriend who loves you so much that he can't let you be alone at any time. shouldn't that be a red flag though? he can't with this anymore, just over a day in and he's convinced he can't make it make sense anymore, it's a white towel, he can only go with the flow.

"yes he really wanted to go down to the lake," what me? when? sunghoon's eyes wander in a panic while you smile as if you weren't just lying through your teeth. smile sunghoon smile, just fucking smile, he reminds himself wondering if he should maybe say something, maybe not?,"didn't you, baby?" the little nudge of your elbow against him tells him that he should, oh god its difficult to learn when to do what.

"yeah the weather seems really good," he says, a slight tremor in his voice, internally facepalming himself. he has one job, and he's failing even that.

"hm, true," the acknowledgement from your father helps calm his nerves a bit but it runs on high again at his next words,"be back before lunch though, your brother and sister in law will be home soon. it's been so long since we last ate together," you have a brother? why wasn't he informed about this? is the universe playing a game with him? as if your parents weren't enough, now he has to impress more people. he can do this, for the sake of his recommendation letter he has to do it.

"yes dad! love you," sunghoon waits like a lone statue as you leave his side to press a kiss to your father's cheek. grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away the moment he opens his mouth to bid your father. at this rate you'll ruin it for him before he can ruin it himself. "slowdown, fluffy. i'll fall at this speed," he tries but it's to no avail, he should have known by now, no one can control you.

the walk down to the lake is quieter than he expected, no bickering or fighting. you show him around the small streets and shops on the way, telling him little stories back from your childhood. sometimes stopping at a spot,"so pretty, can you take a picture of me here?" and it's already the fourth time. he doesn't mind though, on the contrary he finds himself enjoying it. it's not everyday he gets to roam around the streets of italy with the perfect weather.

it doesn't take long for you both to reach the deck on the far left. following your lead, he sits down on the edge beside you, legs hanging low over the cold water and your shoes placed on one side. you sit close, arms brushing each other, little finger atop one another. your hair flowing with the wind swipes against his face when you turn the other way, a subtle hint of sweet (you guessed it) orange tingling his smell buds. instead of grimacing his life off, he leans closer for another whiff of it. "sunghoon!" retracting immediately when you turn back to him.

"hm?" a feeling so out of this world, a haze lost in his mind. your words sound blurry and your extravagant hat looks so pretty on you. he almost feels like he has to capture this. "i asked how you like it? weren't you listening? what're you thinking?" and he does, taking out his phone and clicking a candid. he can't believe he now has a photo of you in his gallery that he's taken on his own accord. he's been doing many weird things lately,"it's really pretty," so so many weird things.

"hey fluffy i've been wondering about something," he speaks again, looking away to try to ignore tiny little fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

"what is it?"

"haven't you ever dated before, why do your parents seem so excited to see you have a boyfriend?" there he asked it, the biggest mystery he can't stop thinking about from the moment he set foot in your palace of a house. if it's your first then maybe that would somewhat explain their behaviour, not that it would become normal altogether, just kind of justifiable that he won't be put on the rack. that he's truly welcomed and he's safe.

"not really, no one ever met my standards," your answer throws him off. what?

"does that mean i do?" he tests the water, cautious above all yet his tone still comes off as one of tease.

"yes, except one," he eyes turn to you at that, pupils dilated with curiosity for the one thing stopping him from the title of 'perfect for you' as your parents claimed. meeting his eyes in a lock of contact, you give him a small smile. hands moving over to his white button up, fingers tracing his collar and undone buttons watching his adam's apple bob in a hard gulp as his brown orbs follow your movements, sweat building up at the close proximity when you both lock eyes again,"you don't really like me," sunghoon immediately looks away, a stab of reality, he was actually anticipating something he could change. really park sunghoon? remember you don't like her?

"am i wrong?" you laugh leaning forward to have a look at his face.

"i never said that," sunghoon clears his throat, turning back, suddenly gaining a surge of confidence. park sunghoon what???

TAGLIST ( open. ) @s00buwu @luvyev @deobitifull @nottkwiwin @enhyven @crysieberry @eneiyri @sovlidago @fertiliezedtoesw @laylasmother @pockyyasii @ladyartemesia @kaispulshies @nctislifue @capri-cuntz @sweetjaemss @parksunghoonsgf @ariadores @asteria-wood @laurradoesloveu @en-dream @304files

[hyunverse]

welcome home ★ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x gn!reader. fluff, drabble. no warnings.

wc: 600 words.

Hyunjin renovates your new home for you, ensuring each detail is tailored to your liking.

"Watch your steps."

Carefully, Hyunjin guides you around the house, one hand clasped against your eyes, the other resting on your waist.  You could feel the cold tiles beneath your feet, and how it is slightly dusty from the month-long renovations. 

"Careful, don't want you to stub your toe," Hyunjin says, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

Hyunjin walks you through the house, until at one point (you couldn't tell where in the house), he stops. 

"One, two..." he whispers, and you can feel the smile on his face, "...Three. Surprise!"

Hyunjin drops his hand, watching as you take in the sight before you. You're standing in front of the newly renovated kitchen, its appearance far different than the last time you saw it. 

"Oh my god," you breathe out, "What the hell, Hyunjin?"

The walls of the kitchen had been renovated to your liking, the boring brick walls transformed into green marble tiles. The countertop looks like one from your dreams — straight from the house of Monet. All you could do is gasp.

"You like it?" Hyunjin questions, placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Sweetheart, I love it," you whisper. He smiles, content with the perplexed look on your face. 

"I love it," you repeat, roaming around the kitchen with Hyunjin following you like a lost puppy. "I really love it, Hyune."

“I’m happy you do, baby.”

You rummage through the drawers, trailing your pointer against every surface you could touch. All the furniture, even the kitchen cookware sets, was designed according to your preferences — as though Hyunjin had the same mind as yours. Frankly, it’s like your Pinterest board has come to life. 

What you’re unaware of is that indeed, Hyunjin had spent weeks stalking you on Pinterest. His urges of “pleeaaaaseee update your Pinterest boards,” weren’t for nothing. 

"Wait, need to show you this," your fiancee interrupts, taking your hand to lead you to a cabinet. 

He gently opens the cabinet, revealing a spice rack. The spice rack you've always wanted — he knows because he remembers the few times you've mentioned it — is sitting right inside the cabinet. 

“Holy fuck, Hyune,” you mutter, turning your head to him with your mouth agape, “It’s the fucking Lenox Spice Village that I wanted!”

“Yeah,” he giggles, a sense of pride bubbling in him. He lets out a small “oof,” when you throw yourself onto him, engulfing him into a tight hug.

“I love it so much, baby. I really love it.”

“Really?” he giggles, holding you tightly, “You haven’t even seen the bedroom.” 

Hyunjin leads you to the bedroom, then the bathroom, the living room — and lastly, an office. The space in the office had been divided into two, one-half works as his art corner, and the other serves as a study for you. The desk is exactly to your liking, a space designated for you to indulge in your hobbies.

There’s a peg board above your desk — with magnets from the cities you’ve travelled to, and polaroids from your dates with Hyunjin. A memento for all the memories you’ve made with him. 

It all feels like home. 

“It’s really perfect,” you exhale, standing by the desk with an awestruck face. “You know me so well, Hyune.”

“I do?” he mutters, a small smile gracing his face. He inches closer to you, his breath fanning against your neck. A kiss is cheekily placed on your cheek. “I just wanted you to feel at home.”

“And I do,” you whisper, looking up at him. “I feel at home. When you said to move in with you, I didn’t expect for all of this, you know?”

Hyunjin smiles, cupping your face with a tenderness you never thought you would deserve. Soft, akin to the breeze that graces your face every midnight. 

A contrast to his touch, his next words kicks the air out of you.

“Welcome home.”

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[kingconia]

HOW TWISTED WONDERLAND'S HOUSEWARDENS ACT WHEN YOU ARE THEIR FAVOURITE CELEBRITY

— ; gender-neutral ; might as well do the second and the third part with vices and first years if you want ;

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— You are his favourite fashion designer. It might sound ridiculous on some extent, but he fell in love with your collections of clothes in his early childhood;

— Not only you made an exquisite pieces on your own, but also, as a former student of NRC—most likely, from Pomefiore—you often create collections inspired by each of houses;

— Riddle's mother strongly shares his strange obsession over you, so she bought him a lot of your clothes;

— When he becomes a student, he indulges himself by ordering a special lining of clothes that will be made only for him.

•

”I see,” you nod, gripping a pencil harder as you frantically draw something on the paper. ”That wouldn't be a problem at all. In fact, I actually enjoy your ideas.”

”Really?” Riddle blushes traitorously, almost knocking the tea cup of the table. Gladly, you don't notice due to being too involved in sketching. ”I, I mean, it is pleasant to know.”

Just as rumours told, you were a very interesting, though, extravagant creature. Not in the rude way. But it seemed like an outside world hardly existed for you. All your attention was centred on your works.

”Give me two weeks, and I will finish everything,” you finally look at him, eyes sprinkling with a pure inspiration. ”Will it be fine for you, mister Rosehearts?”

”Of course,” he offers you a nervous smile. ”Take all the time in the world, please”

”Good,” you hum, standing up from your chair. ”It is pleasant to work with you.”

He nods, being completely at loss of his words. You are his idol, his legend... He doesn't know how to talk with you.

”Oh, and... Thank you for this short opportunity to visit the walls of my old school once again. It is interesting experience,” you wink at him, before disappearing in the depth of his garden.

Riddle gasps.

That is so much better than his dreams!

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Might be a controversial opinion, but you are his favourite political figure in the Afterglow Savannah;

— Perhaps, it is because you are not dazzled by his brother, always keeping your coolheaded and calculated attitude. Or maybe it is because you actually tried to help him to get involved in the country's council. Nevertheless, he strangely adores you;

— As a kid he dreamt a lot of becoming a king, and making you his consort. But, of course, his dreams were useless and quite embarrassing;

— Yet, even after all these years, are the only person, who makes him stutter. Ruggie honestly loves it;

•

”It is pleasure you meet you again, prince Leona.”

As soon as Leona makes an eye contact with you, he gets absolutely lost. It takes almost a minute from him, to bow his head before you respectfully, and to answer.

”...Farena never mentioned you coming,” he tries to sound cool as usual, but his tail is swaying nervously, betraying him. ”But, of course, you are very welcomed here.”

You nod, but stay very oblivious to his excitement. You never actually notice his adore towards you, always too focused on your work, rather than paying attention on people around.

”I had a meeting with this head of the school of yours,” you frown a little at these words, and he assumes you didn't really like Crowley. ”And his Majesty decided to bring Cheka along. Since he insisted, I couldn't deny the wish of little prince.”

”Yeah... Thank you very much for taking care of this little cub.” He mutters, tugging his own braids nervously. ”May I ask what could possibly be required from Crowley?”

Your ears perk up a little; a good sign of you being interested in the topic. Leona instantly feels smug that he was able to raise a right topic to drag you in conversation.

”If prince Leona doesn't mind, we could discuss it while walking around your school,” you suggest, now with your tail swaying enthusiastically. ”I also think, you will be interested in my proposition."

As if he isn't interested in everything you do...

”I wouldn't dream of anything better,” he answers honestly. ”Ruggie will take care of Cheka then.”

Ruggie, whose present was forgotten easily, rolls his eyes. As two of you leave, speaking in the hushed tones, he couldn't help but cuss at Leona. What an annoying brat he is.

Azul Ashengrotto. 🩵

— Quite predicable. You are his favourite lawyer in the whole world, much to his stepfather's displeasure;

— He is actually the one, who told stories about you—since you are working in the same area—but he couldn't imagine that his son will be so invested in your figure;

— Azul has a whole wall with cutouts from news about your wins in the court. He stares at it every morning, for—as he says—a manifestation a luck and success;

— He is buzzing with excitement, when Crowley invites you on the orientation day to inspire his students.

•

You let out a tired groan.

It is not the first time you are invited on lections for kids, but it was definitely the hardest one. Mostly, because there was this very enthusiastic boy, who asked you a million questions about everything. Your work, your ideals, your previous cases.

And while you could feel a great potential in him, you also was drained. That is why when you hear his voice again, you are thinking about running away.

”Excuse me, Y/n Y/s? I... I apologise for the interruping your rest time, but I simply wanted to say how impressive you are, and—”

You raise your hand, gesturing him to stop. He does so, a little bit ashamed.

”What is your name?” You ask him instead.

”I... My name is Azul Ashengrotto,” he pauses, glancing at the floor, probably, assuming you will scold him.

”Oh,” you blink in late realisation. ”I know your father. He is the lawyer, too, isn't he?”

He nods, and you finally realise where he got this persistence from.

”Well, Azul...” You shuffle in your pocket, finding one of many visit cards you carry with you, handing it to him. ”You are truly quite smart kid. And if you will still be sure in becoming a lawyer later, after your school ends, you can always contact me. I think, I could become your mentor.”

He stares at your visit cards so shocked, that you wonder if he is okay. Nevertheless, as he is speechless, you are quickly attempting to leave the corridor, before he starts asking more.

”T... Thank you very much! I will.” You hear him saying, when you are already at doors.

It is a shame you miss his screeching sounds of happiness as you left, though. People will kill to see Azul Ashengrotto acting like this.

Kalim Al-Asim. 🧡

— Another predictable answer. You are his favourite dancer;

— You dance in some different styles at the same time, and he honestly adores the way you switch so easily between them;

— ...He is crying from the pure excitement, once you try east style of dances, and Jamil listens him sobbing for an hour, while he spams your Magicam with millions of complements;

— Of course, Kalim shoves a sack of money in Crowley's face, so he could invite you on some ball in the school to perform, lmao.

•

”I am honestly flattered,” you admit shyly, while Kalim kisses your hands adoringly. ”And surprised! We, dancers, rarely appreciated as much as actors or singers... But, uh, thank you very much!”

Kalim jumps on his feet, smiling even wider with each word. Not only you danced gracefully, but also spoke this way! He is so amazed by you!

”No, no, thank you! You can't explain how much joy you bring in my life!” He practically screams, making others to glance in your direction suspiciously. ”I actually wanted to show my gratitude! So, maybe you want to have dinner with me and Jamil! Jamil's cooking is just amazing! You will love it!”

You raise your brows in surprise, but laugh quietly. This boy is very, very funny.

”Oh, that sounds nice, but... I have a special diet, so I assume I cannot...”

Before your finish your sentence, a lean and dark figure of the boy around Kalim's age appears behind you. With a slight nudge to your shoulders, he whispers, almost pleadingly.

”Please, agree to this offer. He is literally will cry for hours if you don't.”

Ah, that is supposedly Jamil...

You return your gaze on Kalim, who is watching you with big, watery eyes. You really can't say no...

”I assume... If only for an hour or, so...”

"Yay!”

Idia Shroud. 💙

— You are his favourite cosplayer, because of course you are;

— A love from the first sight, some can call it. But he is obsessed with each character you do! You nail it!

— He is not social enough to actually write comments on your photos, or even appear on the same Cons as you, so instead, he keeps his love anonymous;

— And by that I mean sending you a lot of donations, and buying all your Wishlist for new cosplays, lmao.

•

You stare at the big amount of money that came to your account this morning. The sender stays the same throughout this year; an anonymous fan named as a Hounddog666. No matter how concerning it is, you are actually flattered. Someone really loves you this much!

So, as usual, you message to him to thank for it.

His account—the only one you has—is private and closed, no photos, no names, no followers. You assume it is fake.

You:

Hello, hello! :) I just received your new gift, and I wanted to say how much I am grateful for your support. I wish I could do something for you as well, though.

Answers comes immediately.

Hounddog666:

Greetings. Please, continue to make all of us happy with your art. It means a lot for me. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. How sweet.

You:

Thanks, really. Maybe we should meet sometime, if you are such a fan of mine, haha.

Perhaps, it is slightly stupid and naive decision. This person could be a possible stalker or maniac, but... Well, you couldn't help but be curious of how exactly looks a person that adores you like this.

Hounddog666:

Perhaps.

You hum as he vanishes from online.

At the meantime, Idia Shroud falls from his chair after recieving your message, making other students in the History of Magic class glare at him with disapproval. But what would they know? He is just became closer to his idol!

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Surprisingly... You are his favourite writer;

— The connection between actors and writers is always a strong one. Writers and books are a constant tools for actors that help them understand characters and their inner thoughts;

— Vil isn't an expectation! He loves your books for many years, and his only dream was to play some of your characters;

— That is why he immediately suggested his candidature on the main lead in the film adaptation of your book that was announced recently.

•

Vil huffs, staring at his reflection absent-mindedly. A closed scenario in front of him ache his eyes, making his chest to tighten nervously.

This character, whose role he got, is his favourite actually. As a teenager, he found this boy with a complicated writing, a very relatable one. And he thought, it would be easy to play him as they share the same issues and pain. Bur instead, he finds himself... Feeling worse as he does so.

Each conversation with your about this character makes him feel nauseous. It is as if he is playing himself! And for some reason that he can't understand, it is not pleasant at all!

”Here you are,” he hears your warm voice, and before he realises you are close, you already put a cup of green tea in front of him. ”Are you okay, Vil?”

He nods thankfully, accepting the drink.

He should be happy now. He met his favourite person in the world, he has a possibility to speak with you so casually. Then why, he feels so shattered?

”I am,” Vil answers. ”It is just... A hard role.”

You nod, and he catch the glimpse of understanding in your eyes.

”Trust me, I know. Writing him wasn't easy, too. Do you know why?” He shakes his head. "Because I put a lot of myself in him. And it felt... Awful. As if I was peeling my own skin from myself, layer by layer, until I was left naked in front of thousands... No, millions people. It is never easy to be sincere, I am afraid.”

Vil blinkes.

This! This is why he loves your books. It is the way how beautiful you yield your thoughts, putting them in gentle, yet piercing, words. It is about you understanding him, despite never knowing before.

He finds himself smiling widely.

”This makes me even more glad that I am playing him,” he says, more collected than before.

You laugh, patting his shoulder slightly.

”I feel the same way about you playing him, Vil. Believe me or not, you look and act exactly as I pictured him to be.”

He gasps happily.

You are satisfied with him. That's absolutely beautiful!

”I will try not to disappoint, then.”

Malleus Draconia. 💚

— You are his favourite artist whose works were introduced him by Lilia;

— He fell in love with your drawings first, but as soon as he realised that you not only draw, but also make sculptures, he fell in love even more;

— Buys and adores everything you do, but especially likes it, when you give interviews, explaining all little details and historical context behind your works. You are smart. He likes it about others;

— No surprise he commissions a gargoyle statue from you, eventually.

•

”You speak so beautiful, young prince,” you murmur, astonished by the fae in front of you. ”I... I can't explain how charmingly inspiring your stories are!”

Malleus feels unexplainable amount of joy, when he sees you pacing from one side room to another, inspired by his words. His stories.

No one ever shared his interest in gargoyles, and this kind of reaction feels... Strangely rewarding.

”It is only small part of what I have to say about gargoyles,” he assures you quietly. ”But I am glad that you find it as curious as I do.”

”Curious?” You echo his words, stopping in front of him. ”That is not curious, young prince, that is ethereal. Ephemeral. It feels like chasing a dream.”

He smiles at your excitement, baring his fangs out. He feels the same way about it. For once, Malleus's assumptions were right; you are exactly who he searched for all these years.

”Young prince,” you take his hands in yours, making his breath hitch, ”please, if you enjoy my result on your commission later, I am begging you to work with me on my next project about gargoyles. I feel like it will be my magnus opium. I—”

You continue to chatter actively, voice becoming higher with each sentence, but Malleus only can stare at you and at your linked arms. The tip of his ears are reddening. Is it even real?

Not only he will have new works from you, but also... He will be able to spend time with you?

Does you expect him to refuse?

”It will be a pleasure of mine,” he tells you, with a genuine adore in his eyes.

”My prince,” you squeak,” I already love you. Thank you, thank you!”

And at this point, others can't say for sure, who is whose fan here...

[umathurwin]

get what i want ’cause i ask for it (not because i’m really that deserving of it)

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is so close to receiving the CEO title of his father’s company, he can taste it. But before he can have his dream job, he has to complete the most grueling task he’s ever been given: watch over the bratty heiress of their partner company, who’s decided to make his life hell.

He’s persistent. But so is she.

A/N: tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

“So,” Rafe started, striding into his father’s office and getting way too comfortable in the chair. Ward’s clients would expect nothing less than Memory Foam under their pompous asses, of course– how could you not sink down and kick your feet on the desk? “What’s next for me? Corner office with big windows? Company Lexus? A solid-gold bathroom?”

“I’ll be frank. What the hell are you talking about?”

“When I’m CEO of Cameron Development. Duh. I’ve been hearing the rumors about Maurice retiring, and you’re gonna need someone to fill his role…”

“Easy . You haven’t even been working here a whole year,” Ward reminded him, smacking the peppermint gum Rafe hated. “And your office has big windows!”

“I’m just being cliche. It’s the title that I really want, Dad.”

“Why should I give it to you, though? You’re barely even old enough to be out of college, if you’d gone.”

It stung, when his father reminded him that he hadn’t gone to school. He swallowed anyway. “Don’t need to, not with my work ethic. I take the job you gave me really seriously. All the departments love me, we’ve had great numbers the last three quarters, I’ve secured five deals that we’ve missed out on in the past,” he ticked off. “Tell me why you shouldn’t give it to me.”

Ward leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk rapidly. “Okay, you’re right. I agree. And I actually think I have something in mind that’ll really prove to me you’re worthy of totally running this company with the CEO title.”

Rafe all but purred. “Name it.”

“I should warn you, this is… probably gonna be the ultimate test of how loyal you are to Cameron Development.”

“Jesus, am I gonna have to fight a Jedi, or something?”

“Remember when I ran errands when you were younger, and you acted like it was inhumane torture to watch Sarah for 45 minutes?”

He sulked, already rubbing at the space between his eyebrows. “Oh God. You hired her, too, didn’t you? And here I thought my job was a special offer. Are you giving one to my cousin Tristan, too? Y’know he sits down when he pees?”

“I’m not hiring your sister. Or… your cousin,” Ward sighed. “We have a huge offer coming up soon. We’re teaming up with Kerrington Design to build on the northern side of the island, meaning we’d have properties in every zone. I cannot stress enough how important this bid is, Rafe. Josephine Kerrington will be working with us for the next month or so while we iron out details.”

“This all sounds great so far,” Rafe said. “Where do I come in?”

“Josephine mentioned that she was bringing her young daughter, and that she doesn’t feel comfortable with her being alone. I offered for you to watch over her while she’s here.”

“What?!”

“Look, I know you—”

“Hate dealing with kids? Yeah, I do,” he groaned. “Dad, you realize I have actual work to do around here? I have that O’Brien meeting coming up! How am I supposed to get stuff done with someone playing Webkinz in my office?”

“You love Webkinz.”

“Good Lord. Sure, when I was six!”

“Like I said before,” Ward started, tone carrying a warning out to his son that matched his tilted head, “this is an ultimate test. I’m counting on you to be a good babysitter.” Ward’s phone trilled, forcing a wince onto Rafe’s face, and the older man leaned forward to glance at the screen. “Ah. That’s her now. They’ll be arriving today, so be on the lookout for them, eh?”

Rafe stood up, smoothing out his pants. “Yeah, well, if there’s gonna be a child on the premises, I’m getting a cup of coffee right now.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ward conceded lowly, waving his son out of his office. “Mrs. Kerrington, good morning, it’s so great to hear from you…”

Rafe stepped out and went to the floor’s coffee station, noting an unfamiliar young woman getting herself a cup from the stack of thick cardboard. The company rarely hired people under the age of 25, so he was pleasantly surprised to see someone his own age.

“Morning,” he greeted to get her to turn around, and fuck, she was cute. “I don’t recognize you. New here?”

“You could say that,” the girl cocked her head a little. “Do you know every person who works here?”

He smiled. “Oh, I do a lot of paperwork on all levels. Surely I would’ve remembered you.”

She returned his grin. “You’re sweet. I’m Y/N.”

“My name’s Rafe. Your morning been good so far?”

“So far,” she repeated him in response, returning to her empty cup. “How about yourself?”

“Fine. Just dreading later,” he sighed, reaching behind the supplies in the cabinet to find the mug he’d hidden back there.

She made a little humming noise. “Why? What’s later?”

“Ah, nothing, I just have to babysit some CEO’s daughter for a few weeks. I hope to God I’ll be able to get any work done with a kid running around here, but I’ve got a little sister. I think I’ll be fine.”

The girl nodded, a little slowly to be seen as normal, but she was cute enough that he brushed it off. His eyes trailed down to where she was about to pour the coffee into her cup and he reached out to hold her wrist and stop her actions. “Wait, whoa!”

She gasped, jumping back. “Hey, watch it!” she shook her head, pouring her cup while still a few feet away from him. “It’s hot coffee, dude. What’s your deal?”

“If you pour the powder creamer first, it dissolves when you pour the coffee in,” he explained, shaking his head. “Too late now. You shoulda listened to me.”

“Well, it really doesn’t matter when y’all have thousands of these,” she reached for a coffee stirrer. “You micromanage a lot of shit around here, or am I special?”

He scoffed. “I practically run this place, sweetheart. You should be thanking me for bestowing my wisdom on you. Now, don’t you have something, I dunno, administrative to do?”

“Administrative?” the girl parroted, setting down the stirrer. Her tone was amused, but her eyebrows were still in her hairline. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk to women like that?”

“My step-mother,” he corrected, “is a useless witch. So, no.”

Her mouth fell open. “I guess this company is run by an absolute pig.”

He clenched his jaw. Who is this girl, and how dare she speak to him like that? “You better watch how you talk to me before I–”

“Rafe!” Ward called, interrupting his son’s threat and joining the two young adults at the coffee bar. “I see you’ve already met your partner for the next few weeks. How are you, Miss Kerrington?” he turned to warmly address her, reaching out to take her hand politely and shake it. He either didn’t notice the horrific tension between them or was desperately trying to cut it.

The girl smiled. “I’m doing just fine, Mr. Cameron.”

“Please, call me Ward,” he insisted, stepping aside to grab a cardboard cup.

Rafe finally found his voice. “So, Josephine Kerrington…” he started, anxiously looking between her and his father.

“Is my mother,” Y/N finished, tilting her head smugly. “Rafe, was it? Why don’t you show me to your office?”

***

He tried to keep his back straight as he showed her where he worked, and she looked around nosily the second she was inside. While she snooped around his belongings and photos, he took another look at her.

She was wearing a lavender floral dress that was just too short to be considered professional, though those rules clearly didn’t apply to her. When she spun back around to look at him, he had to snap his gaze back up quickly to not reveal he’d been staring at her ass.

“So, Y/N,” he started sheepishly. She set her coffee on the table and he ran over to put a coaster under it. “I think we got off on the wrong foot—“

“Water under the bridge,” she interrupted. “Could you Airdrop the Wifi?”

Rafe stared at her face, expecting her to burst out laughing at him. “I understand all of those words, separately.”

She sighed. “You have wireless internet here, no?”

“We do.”

“And I assume it’s password protected?”

“That’d be a correct assumption.”

“And I also bet it’s harder to type than ‘cameronwifi’?”

He scrunched his face. “It’s some combination of letters and numbers, so yeah.”

She pressed her lips together. “Figured. Open up contacts on your phone.”

Rafe obeyed, though he didn’t know why. Curiosity, maybe? She put in her number then guided him to the Wifi tab and held her phone up. The password to the internet auto-filled on her device and she was already skipping away to use it.

“What? I don’t get a ‘thank you’?” he snorted, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Why? You didn’t even do anything!” She flopped on the couch. “Feel free to text me, now that you’ve got my number.”

He scoffed. “Are you hitting on me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, nerd. If I did hit on you, I’d probably comment on your Marlon Brando slicked hair. Heavy gel, in this decade, it’s a sexy and modern choice.”

There was no holding back now. “You’re a brat.”

“Get used to it.”

“Why should I? It’s not like you do anything.”

“You say that like I’m not important.”

“Of course you’re not important here. You—You don’t even have a title!”

“Ah, that’s just not true,” she corrected. “I’m a CTA. Chief Tactics Associate.”

Rafe rubbed at his forehead. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I say, goes.”

He snickered. “Is that so?”

“Glad you find it funny. Why do you think I’m even here? My opinion means a lot to my mother, and if I run to her and tell her I don’t like how things are run at your company, she’ll pick up her business and run to the next development firm that’s eagerly waiting to spring properties up on the island.”

Rafe’s stomach turned. With how important this deal was to Ward, she really had the upper hand on him. “Fine. Just stay out of my way while I work, and we should get along alright.”

A smile curled up on her face. “I’ll try my best, sir.”

***

She did not.

When confronted by his son, Ward was not sympathetic. He eventually gave a half-hearted apology but not before bursting out laughing in Rafe’s face. His only defense was something like, “Josephine’s exact words were ‘young daughter’. How was I supposed to know she’s able to vote?”

“I sure love finding you in my office all the time,” Rafe announced sardonically to the girl lying on his comfy leather couch watching loud Tik Toks.

He knew why she hovered, of course. Even if his father hadn’t twisted his arm into watching her, he was one of the few people in the building within ten years of her age. It made sense that she’d linger around him, even if she was a nuisance most of the time.

She didn’t look up from her phone. “It has the best view. Big windows.” She reached into her shirt, dipped into her bra and pulled out what looked like a USB until she brought it to her mouth and sucked.

Rafe reached down to snatch it from her hand and stuck it in his lapel pocket. “Not in my office.”

She waved her hand around annoyedly, letting the tiny wisps of smoke escape from her lips. “Vibe killer. I’ve got another one at home.”

“I’m sure you do,” he muttered, sniffing the air. “Wait. Is this mint? They don’t make JUUL pods in that flavor anymore.”

“I get ‘em from Europe,” she explained impatiently.

He huffed. “How stupid of me,” he noted before stalking over to his computer. He looked around his desk and noticed things were not as he left them. “Goddamnit, quit messing around with my stuff! I’ve told you before, I care ab–” he stopped himself, and the pause actually garnered her attention.

Rafe picked up a stack of documents and inspected them carefully. “Wait. These are the quarterly verification logs?”

“I know what they are. Title at the top and everything.”

“Y/N, I’ve been trying to get these back from credentialing for months. I email them twice a day, they don’t even blink at me. Is this what you did during my meeting?”

“Yeah. I saw you typing one up earlier, so I paid their department a little visit when I was bored. Can I have my JUUL back as a prize?”

Rafe laughed. “I thought you had another one at home.”

“You called my bluff.”

He rolled his eyes, but still reached into his jacket and tossed her the stick. She caught it and took another rip, looking behind him and shaking her head wistfully. “Just imagine what else you could get done if you had a pair of tits to weaponize with every half-witted employee you have crawling around here.”

Hmm. Maybe he didn’t have to imagine.

***

His least favorite part of what he did was dealing with the shareholders, by far.

He gets it. A critical part of the job was kissing rich ass despite them knowing the least about what’s best for the company, because money makes the world go round. But the meetings he was forced to sit in on were like pulling teeth, and every minute he sat in those rooms was a performance. He nodded along, looked over papers and presentations, pretended not to notice the older men had no idea where they were, and shook hands until they slapped their thighs and announced it was time to head out.

Today, the meeting ran over, because none of those antiquated bastards have any concept of time. His skin itched, watching the clock tick minute after minute when he should already be getting back to work. When they finally noticed, Rafe pretended to receive a critical phone call to escape without dealing with their falsely pleasant goodbyes.

Rafe rested his forehead on his office door before going inside. For a moment, he forgot everything that was going on in his life, and prepared himself to enjoy the rest of the day in peace and quiet.

Except, he couldn’t, because Y/N was sitting in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk, with one of his lollipops in her mouth. He deflated, walking over to see what she was doing. Rafe groaned when his eyes landed on a coloring book and some crayons in her lap, and was especially peeved that she was too focused on Aurora’s hair to look up at him.

“What are you, five?” he sneered, picking up a completed Ursula and Ariel sheet off his desktop. “That’s you,” he said, pointing to the villainous witch.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up annoyedly and she took the sucker out, letting it clack on her teeth. “Yeah, and you’re so mature.” Without breaking eye contact, she placed the glistening lollipop right on his desk.

“Damnit, you–,” he sputtered, picking up the candy and remorsefully throwing it away. He swiped at the wet spot that remained and brought his fingers to his lips without thinking. It looked like the wood was too dark to show a stain anyways. “You win. Just, please get up.”

She waved around to the many empty chairs in his office. “Sit somewhere else.”

“It’s my office,” he scoffed. “Get up. Or you can sit in my lap, if you want,” Rafe added with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced. “Do I need to go to HR?”

“Best of luck with that, doll. The Lead HR lady is my godmother.”

She paused her coloring to look up at him. “Tell me, is there anyone in this building you don’t have a familial relation to?”

“Our CTA.”

“You’re funny.”

“I know. That’s why I thought you’d jump on the offer to sit on my lap.” She ignored him again, returning to coloring the pink dress. Rafe glanced at the stack of manila envelopes on his desk and an idea popped into his head. “Say, has my father shown you the mail room here?”

She lifted an eyebrow–he almost laughed at how easy she was to entertain. “Mail room?”

He nodded. “Yeah, real shiny place. There’s tubes all over the building that we shoot letters into that all lead to the mail room downstairs. It’s a really cool set-up, and I think you’d like it.” He looked at his desk again, feigning surprise. “Oh, hey! And these need to be sent out anyways. They don’t fit in the chutes, so you have an excuse to snoop around there.” He picked up the stack and held them out to her, fully expecting her to snort and tell him to shove them up his ass. It’s what his sister would do.

But to his complete surprise, she nodded wordlessly and set her colors down. She took the envelopes and skipped out of the office on a mission.

Shit. Maybe he could make this work.

***

Two hours later, Rafe burst out of his own office, crashing right into his father.

“Hey, I was just coming to check on you,” he greeted before noticing Rafe’s sour expression. “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Ward asked, holding out a hand to his son’s chest to slow him down.

“Oh, nothing. Just that Y/N painted her nails in my room earlier,” he huffed. Likely because she wanted to cover up the scent of her dab pen, he really wanted to add on. “I made her count reams of paper to make her leave, but the room still smells like chemicals. Getting a migraine.”

“Did you open a window?”

“No, Dad, and I also didn’t try spraying Febreze, so don’t ask,” he snapped.

Ward pressed his lips together, eyebrows lifting softly. “Come sit in my office for a little?” he offered.

Rafe nodded, pressing the up button himself. His phone in his pocket chirped to indicate a text message, but he didn’t move. The phone buzzed over and over, beeping so many times that they were cutting themselves off.

Ward blinked. “Gonna check that?”

“Nope. I know it’s just Y/N.”

“Why is she sending you so many texts?”

“I made the mistake of giving her my number in case she needed anything. Now, she sends me fifty iMessage games if I’m not paying attention to her.” The elevator doors opened again to the top floor. “Dad, you don’t realize. She’s the most annoying pest I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“Worse than your sister?”

Rafe hesitated. “She gives her a run for her money.”

***

Y/N bounded up to Rafe the following day, looking from the phone nestled in the crook of his neck to where the cord led back to the desk. She brought a freshly pink-tipped finger to the hook switch and pressed it, ending his call.

“I got the signatures from the guys in accounting,” she announced, pulling the papers out to show him. “Have you actually seen them? They are literally the palest people I’ve ever met.”

Rafe sputtered with anger, slamming the phone back in the cradle. “You didn’t have to do that! I was on hold with a stupid robot.”

“I wanted your undivided attention,” she shrugged.

He massaged at his temples. “Whatever. Thank you for the signatures, I suppose. Say, are you having any trouble with the Wifi?”

To his dismay, her face brightened. “Oh, right! I wanted to ask IT if you can change the password for only the router in your office, and the answer is yes,” she giddily explained, pointing to the white box pinned to the ceiling above her.

“Um, okay. What’s the new password?”

“It’s ‘misskerringtonlovesanal420’, no caps, no spaces.”

He sighed. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I’ve never actually tried doing it. But I wanted to see if I could make the IT guy squirm and he totally–”

“I meant, is it seriously the password?” he stopped her, tired of being reminded that every touch-starved man on the premises was at the sheer whim of this girl.

“See for yourself.”

Click click click. “Ugh, really?”

“Tell me you wouldn’t do this shit if you had the freedom to.”

He didn’t respond to that. It seemed he’d have to try a little harder to keep the girl busy and out of trouble. Rafe slipped a hand into his lapel pocket and pulled out a folded $20, extending it out for her. “If I give you this, will you go to the cafeteria downstairs and get us both turkey sandwiches?”

She took the money and slipped it in her bra, already on her way out. “Yes, but we’re getting rotisserie chicken. They’re so much better.”

“Wait, I want turkey!” he called after her.

“Too bad!”

***

Rafe woke up late.

He’d spent the last week working double time to make sure Y/N stayed out of trouble and his normal tasks were fulfilled. It was no wonder that at some point he’d break and the back-up Pinball alarm would fail him. Why the fuck this had to happen the morning of his O’Brien meeting, he’ll never know.

He ran into his building in such a hurry he felt the soles of his shoes wearing down. He didn’t stop for the doorman, the HR intern, and sure as shit not for his father, who all tried to strike up a conversation.

“Dad, please, I can’t talk right now,” Rafe huffed out to the last one, clicking the elevator button over and over. “I’m super late to a meeting with–”

“This is slightly more important,” Ward insisted. “There was a cyber attack. IT is taking care of it, but something got in through our Wifi, and our emails have been a mess all d–”

“Wait,” Rafe interrupted, ignoring the car arriving at the ground floor. “You said the Wifi?”

“Well, yeah. They said there was a leak at our security company, and any routers with passwords that haven’t been reset in the last month were affected. They’re routinely reset four times a year, so we just got unlucky.”

Rafe was so stunned he had to be pulled onto the elevator by his father. “Is everything alright?”

He tossed around what to do here. If he admitted Y/N dicking around had accidentally protected his router, he’d run the risk of exposing not only how he’d been getting her to do his work but also how he really hadn’t been monitoring her too strictly. Hell, she could’ve done the opposite and totally fucked over their security if she wasn’t careful.

“Yes, actually, I was having trouble and changed my own router last week,” he lied, words fumbling out in a jittery string. “Guess I just got lucky. God, how is this elevator so slow?”

Ward raised his eyebrow at his bouncy son. “Is everything alright?”

“O’Brien meeting in negative two minutes,” he shouted, looking at his watch and slipping through the crack between the barely-open doors. “Damn Irish.”

“It’s funny because we’re actually Scottish!” his father called after him, but Rafe really didn’t care.

He threw open the doors to his own office and waved off a dazed Y/N to run behind his desk. “Hey, Bossman,” she greeted him, clearly oblivious to the rush he was in. “I had a great idea for us to do.”

Rafe dug through his desk drawers, sorting through Sharpies and Post-Its looking for the USB drive holding the O’Brien floor plans. “Lemme get back to you on that.”

“Are you sure? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Y/N, I can’t right now. I’ve got a meeting that I’m already late for, and it’s really important that I–”

“Oh, that? I moved it.”

He halted in his tracks, blood colder than ice. “You moved my meeting with the O’Briens?!” he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Yeah,” she answered bubbly. “I wanted to get a chocolate croissant at that bakery down the street but they close early in the day, so I called and asked those guys if they’d be okay with the same time tomorrow. All I had to do was say it conflicted with Kerrington business, and they were cool with it. Ready to go?”

Rafe was… fucking flabbergasted. Not only did she take it upon herself to move a career-altering meeting without his permission over a fucking baked good, but she’d used her name to persuade the O’Briens into compliance. He thought back to the wifi– she’d just unintentionally saved his ass, twice, in the same fucking day.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I looked at your calendar first. You’re not busy.”

He couldn’t help himself. Rafe lunged forward, taking her face into his hands and planting a big kiss on her lips. She made a surprised squeak before relaxing into his touch and returning the favor.

When he pulled away, her eyes were still shut for two seconds too long. “Yeah, I could go for a Kouign-amann. After you,” he said, waving his hand out to the door.

***

Rafe had just finished the yellow cross on his Rubik’s cube when his father knocked on the door of his office. He waved him in with two fingers but went right back to diligently solving his puzzle.

“Where is Y/N?” Ward asked, taking a seat in front of his son’s desk.

“Out to lunch with her mother.”

“And you didn’t go with her?” he teased.

This got Rafe to look up from the cube, but he still shot his father an exasperated glare. Not only did that sound like a nightmare and a half, he was a little uneasy about being around her.

He’d acted a little rash yesterday when he was pumped full of adrenaline and stress, he’ll admit it– though, if he had made her uncomfortable with the kiss, she didn’t act like it. She went right back to the hellion force of nature she was before (like forcing him to play 20 Questions with her, and when the person was revealed to be Ghandi, going on a long rant about his problematic behavior as if she hadn’t chosen the man herself). Kinda why he was enjoying the rare peace and quiet he just lost.

“Why’d you stop by?” A much more pleasant way of saying why oh why are you in my office and what’s the quickest way I can get you out.

“At some point I want you to complete the follow-up for the Carroll’s. I know they’re a-holes, so feel free to not put this high on your priority list. I could care less if it gets done by the end of the week, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been honest before?” Rafe snapped, getting too frustrated and slamming the Rubik’s cube back down on the desk. “And you mean you couldn’t care less,” he tacked on.

Ward pursed his lips together and tried to hold back a snort. “Okay, let’s make a deal. I won’t use either of those phrases anymore, and you quit taking out your annoyance with Y/N on me.”

“Not really fair, since her antagonism in my life is very much your fault.”

“C’mon, you’ve been doing a great job so far! Is she that hard to get along with?” Ward sighed. “She’s a cute girl who could charm birds out of trees and y’know, she reminds me a lot of you.”

Rafe winced. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, hush. You’re both hardworking, loyal, and heirs, obviously.”

“How is she hardworking? All she does is traipse around the office and make messes for me to clean up.”

“Really? Because, from what I’ve heard around the office, you’ve turned her into your little administrative assistant. Are you sure that’s what Mrs. Kerrington wants?”

“I don’t know what Mrs. Kerrington wants!” he groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “If you didn’t notice, she kind of dropped a teenager off at my doorstep and made me figure out how to balance watching her and work.”

“She’s an adult,” Ward muttered, sinking down in the chair.

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” Rafe snapped back, then shook his head. He leaned forward and started working on the Rubik’s cube again. “Whatever. I’m over it. Not really, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” His eyes darted up to the clock on his wall. “You’ve got a Zoom call with the West Coast in ten minutes, anyways.”

Ward checked his watch and jumped up when he realized his son was correct.

***

“How did you even manage to get into my computer?!” Rafe shouted, slamming his hands on his desk and standing up.

“Your password was literally your last name and birth year, doll,” she explained, far too casual for someone who hadn’t just turned his entire desktop set-up to various shades of pink and purple. He didn’t fail to notice how she was picking up on his mannerisms these last few weeks. “And the password hint was ‘name and year’. Have you ever taken a computer safety class in your life?”

“Stop talking to me like I deserve to have you snooping around my stuff! Change it back!”

“Absolutely not. How could you work with it before? It was so dull and… default settings.”

Rafe scrubbed his face with his hands, realizing it didn't relax him at all. “I am genuinely so tired of your presence,” he admitted, waving a hand and trying not to clench it in a fist when she giggled at him. “I’m serious! You constantly get in the way. I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“Because my say is the last stop in this agreement, and you’re in charge of keeping me happy.”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Right. You’re the gleaming epitome of nepotism. I get it.”

She all but gasped. “Are you joking? And just what does that make you?”

“Hey, I actually work here. I’ve put in effort to get where I am.”

She barked out a laugh. “Yeah. And I’m sure daddy had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m on the Board of Directors here!”

“Which your father also assembled!” she shouted, then shook her head with a smile. “Actually, y’know what? I get it now. You hate me because I’m you.”

He spat at the assumption. “We are completely different.”

“No, we’re not. We’re both spoiled nepotism babies who overvalue our importance. I just don’t give enough of a fuck to lie about it. Tell me, do you hate seeing yourself when you look at me? Is that it?”

Rafe exhaled heavily through his nose, trying to refrain from storming out and knocking over a vase on his way out. “Is there any particular reason you’re always such a pain to me and an angel around everyone else?”

Y/N raised herself up on her tiptoes to (unsuccessfully) get closer to his height. “Because I like making mean guys suffer. And because you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“And you’re just cute enough to get my shit done for me.”

Yeah, that was fucking dumb to say. Her jaw dropped the moment the words regretfully tumbled off his tongue and not even slapping his hand over his mouth could save him.

“Wait, that’s what you’ve been doing? You were using me to get your fucking work done?”

“Y/N, no, I–”

“And just when I thought we were kind of getting along for a minute. Do you think I’m just a tool for you to use?”

Kind of. His mouth hung open dumbly for too many moments, because she scoffed in disgust and pushed past him.

He called at her and tried to grab her arm, but she yanked away again. “If you follow me, I’m telling my mom what a chauvinistic louse you are.”

Rafe waited for the mischievous grin to creep on her face, but it didn’t. She was cold. He’d fucked up.

In immaculate timing, a new secretary hire knocked on the barely open door of his office. “Mr. Cameron? Miss Kerrington? The board meeting starts in four minutes,” the intern informed the two, just poking his head in enough to get the words out before disappearing.

She huffed one more time, spinning around and marching out of the room. He was conflicted, since he was mandated to be at the meeting but was terrified of pissing her off. He chased her down the halls, wanting to at least be present for his own damnation.

He only caught up to her just as she joined the groups of execs, far too late for him to attempt to stop her again. He held his breath as he watched her take her seat next to her mother. His face was hot, waiting for her to spill the beans and get his ass in immense trouble.

She… didn’t, though. She just sat down, looked at her phone under the desk, and shifted in the chair to get comfortable.

“Rafe? You alright?” he heard, and he looked down to see his dad waving him towards the table. “Let’s get this started.”

***

“And to recap, these are the outsourcing companies we plan to use. Contracts are already underway…” Mr. Henthorn droned. Or… Hawthorn. Who gives a crap.

“Why isn’t Upwards Lumber on this list anymore?” Josephine asked. “I thought we agreed on them in our earlier phases.”

Ward hesitated, looking around to his team before answering. “Well, last week we were informed Upwards wasn’t able to handle projects of this size anymore.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “I thought they worked with the Ambetter building downtown?”

“They did. But apparently a year and a half ago, they were heavily audited and half their workers were laid off due to failed drug screenings. Upwards is really only able to handle small commercial projects until they rebuild their crew.”

Drug screens are just elitist, targeting bullshit, Rafe thought, and Ward looked over with a stern blink as though he could read his son’s mind. Probably not the time to be making any kind of statement anyways.

Josephine stiffened. “Well. Bullet dodged, I suppose. Kerrington doesn’t tolerate drug use of any kind, at any level.”

Ward agreed with her imperative demand, but Rafe had to hide a smirk behind his fist. It was one thing for Y/N to obnoxiously hit her JUUL in his office, but if mommy saw the dab cart that sometimes stuck out of her bag, it’d be a little harder to explain.

He looked up to Y/N. Sure, she was fuming and likely going to snitch on him any minute now, but she still had a sense of humor, so he expected to share at least a moment of amused, knowing eye contact. To his surprise, though, she was completely slumped down in the chair. Her gaze was down on the table and she picked at her fingernails, hiding from everyone else in the room. Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked over to Josephine, who was shooting her daughter a fiery glare.

The daughter who was a bratty, uncontrollable mess. The one who had pretty condemnatory dirt on Rafe and, knowing her character, was being oddly silent about it. The one who’d been dropped off for him to essentially babysit for the last few excruciating weeks.

Babysit.

The pieces assembled themselves in his brain so quickly he nearly got vertigo in the swivel chair. That’s why he’s had to fucking watch her this whole time– because she needed watching. No wonder she didn’t snitch on Rafe for whoring her out for paperwork. She was never there for him to entertain and keep happy; he just had to make sure she wasn’t sneaking off to do drugs. And really, he hadn’t done a great job at it.

He didn’t bother beating himself up, since his directions were incredibly unclear and he’d been expecting to watch a fourth grader to begin with. Regardless, the tension in the room was palpable and the respective girl’s face had already turned a burning pink.

The moment the meeting was over, Y/N did the least annoying thing she’d done since the first day she stepped into the building. She stood up, stormed out of the meeting room, and disappeared for the rest of the day.

***

Showing up to the office in the dark had a much different energy than during the daytime. The area was quite nice, so it wasn’t like she felt particularly unsafe going in, but without the doorman greeting her and pulling open the massive front door, something felt off.

Although, it was nice that no one was there to watch her vomit in the receptionist’s trash can. Helena would be pissed come Monday morning, but Y/N was currently more concerned with how much better she felt after getting that out of her system.

Muscle memory is the only thing that got her in the elevator and pushing the right button. When she reached the desired floor, a wave of his aftershave and cigarette smoke hit her nose. She floated on the scent, lost in the way it wrapped around her, until it carried her right into the office of the man she was looking for.

Of course, she didn’t barge in. Rafe didn’t notice her arrival right away so she remained in the shadows to watch him work. It was outlandish, how attractive he was—he was focused hard on some stack of papers with one hand scrubbing at his temple and the other occasionally taking the cigarette that rested between his lips and ashing it. The smoke escaped his mouth in aggravated sighs, curling around his head before disappearing into the room. He’d cracked open a window in some attempt to hide the smell, but it only breezed its way into the hall. This close, it wasn’t even nauseating, but more like a cologne.

From her spot, she could see that he’d unbuttoned some of his shirt to reveal his lean chest. It was strange, seeing some indicator that he was capable of relaxing. He’d had a stick up his ass since the day she met him, so imagining him exhausted and popping the top few buttons on his shirt was almost… endearing.

Her balance was, as expected, not up to par. She leaned a little too far one way, and before she knew it, she stumbled right into the light as well as Rafe’s eyeline. He called her name confusedly, and when her head snapped up, she caught him stubbing out the cig as he stood.

“It’s cute,” she noted, nodding at the ashtray and trying not to trip over her own feet as she got back up. “You, putting out the cigarette. Like I don’t smoke in your office when you’re not here.”

Rafe waved his hands around and tossed the window open even further. “Lighting a cigarette is more serious than hitting your stupid Brass Knuckles pen. What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I work here,” he bit back. His gaze trailed down her body, taking in her immodest party dress and heels. “I see when you go out, you wear even less than you do at work. Astonishing.”

“I can wear even less, if you’d like.”

His eyes narrowed, and he ignored her flirting. She was speaking far too quickly and clearly to be just drunk. Rafe took a step forward and inspected her eyes. Sure enough, her pupils were blown wide to accompany her pink cheeks. “You didn’t only drink, did you?”

Y/N’s lips curled up gently. “Would you be mad if I didn’t?”

“Of course not, sweetheart, but…” he straightened her clothes and made sure she was okay otherwise, “were you planning on going home like this?”

She shook her head. “I was out with my friend Mona and figured I’d crash at her place. Which I was going to do, until I noticed I was near your office and decided to pay a visit.”

He sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get you home safely.”

Her eyes flew to the back of her head. “What’re you, my dad?”

Rafe bristled. “No, but mine is in the building, and so is your ball-gripping mother. We kinda need to get you the fuck out of here.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, they’re not on this floor, though. That’s why you felt comfortable doing this.” Y/N reached into his lapel pocket and pulled out a solid red Bic lighter. She brought her thumb up and spun the dial, sparking it just a little too close to their faces.

He annoyedly snatched the lighter out of her hands. “Why did you come here?”

She bounced up on the tips of her toes and pulled at the back of his neck for a kiss. It felt good, charged, but his rational brain pushed her away immediately. She pouted.

“Y/N, stop. We absolutely cannot do that.” He wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence, but a Rolodex of options cycled through his mind. Because you’re barely 18 and I’m about to be 22. Because I’m basically your babysitter. Because our parents would kill us. Because you look like you’ve taken both cocaine and molly and it seems you’ve forgotten you were quite mad at me eight hours ago. Because the charge I would catch would be astronomical. Take your pick.

“Why not? We’ve kissed before. I thought it was a good kiss. I think about it a lot. Don’t you?” She still had a firm grip on the nape of his neck, so she toyed with the hair that brushed against her fingers.

Rafe weighed his options, quickly doing the math of when she’d probably started partying to when it should wear off and she’d crash. “Of course I do,” he admitted, honestly, because there’s a chance she’d forget half of this night anyways. “But not here. Is it alright if we go to my place?”

She smiled, letting her hand fall around his shoulder and down his chest. “You don’t still live with daddy, huh?”

He let out a soft laugh, reaching behind himself to grab his wallet and keys. “Nope. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

***

By Rafe’s estimation, she only had about five more minutes of hyperactivity before she crashes and the alcohol takes over her system. She’ll lose interest in trying to get in his pants, and want nothing more than a warm bed, which Rafe conveniently had to spare. His apartment was seven minutes away, so the timing should work out perfectly.

But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

She was relentless. Playing with his tie in the office elevator, winking at him when he opened the car door for her, reaching to rub his thigh while he pulled out of the garage onto the streets. He couldn’t very well stop her without revealing his plans to dump her off and go right back to work, but holy fuck she was making it really hard to focus on driving.

Getting her inside his apartment was easy enough, like she was trying to remain casual in public. As soon as they were inside, all bets were off and she was back to being the horny brat she was in the car.

He got her in one of the guest rooms, and she seemed oblivious to his attempts to get her asleep. Y/N tried pawing at his clothes, but he stopped her, taking her wrists with a tight grip. “Ah-ah. Listen to me,” he ordered, and she obeyed with an impatient sulk. “I have some questions. Can you answer me, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded impatiently, and he smiled when she held a long blink. A good sign.

Rafe guided her backwards, switching her wrists into only one of his hands. “Which of your friends does your mom like the best?”

She froze. “I– what?”

His now-free hand came up to stroke her cheek, gently moving back to card through her hair. “Just answer me, pretty girl.”

“Her name is Samantha.”

Rafe nodded, pushing once more until the back of her knees hit the bed. “Good girl. Does she live in town?”

Y/N nodded, eyes big and innocent. “Yeah, uh, she does.”

He finally led her down until she sat on the mattress, and she took the initiative to climb in herself. He carefully joined her, not lying down with her but remaining close to keep her on the line. “Have you seen her in the last month?”

“Yes… why are you aski–?”

He shushed her, having her get comfortable and continuing to pet her hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m trying to help you.”

Fortunately, she was already shutting her eyes and wiggling down further into the bed. He placed a kiss on her forehead and brought the throw blanket from the foot of the bed to her body. It probably wasn’t comfortable to sleep in that dress, but it did not feel right to undress her in this state.

And now, it was back to the office.

***

The elevator stopped at the third floor, which confused Rafe, since most everyone on that level should be home. His back stiffened when the doors opened to reveal Josephine Kerrington. She looked exactly the same as she did during the day, not a pin out of place. It almost amazed Rafe, how kempt she looked even this late at night.

“Oh, hello, Rafe,” she greeted, a warm yet hollow smile on her lips. “You’re here quite late.”

He hummed, watching the doors shut and ignoring the air between them warming up. “As are you.”

“Well, your father is a busy man. He loses track of time so often you’d think he doesn’t know what it is. I had to use a bathroom on another floor or he’d try to pitch ideas while I pissed.”

His eyes widened, and he didn’t try hiding the chuckle. Damn, Y/N’s mom was pretty funny. “Yeah, working with Y/N has been the least intense job I’ve gotten from him since I was fifteen.”

She looked at him. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Rafe inhaled, thinking back to the last couple of weeks, and to the last hour and a half he’s had. “Y/N… is a delight. She’s fun to be around, but sometimes distracting because of her charm.” Okay, okay, dial it back. “Fortunately, she’s out of my hair for the night so I can get some work done. Said she was at a friend’s house, a… Sarah? Savannah? Samanth–?”

“Samantha?” Josephine asked, turning back with a pleasant nod. “Good to hear. She’s got some terrible influences, like that friend Mina.” Damn, can’t even get the name right, Rafe thought. “You’re a lovely young man, and I hope you’re rubbing off on her.”

He winced at the innuendo, but smiled politely. “Thank you Mrs. Kerrington.”

When the doors shut, he all but clicked his heels together in glee. “Rafe Cameron, CEO. Good ring to it.” The elevator beeped in agreement.

***

Y/N wasn’t in much after that. Josephine made semi-regular appearances, but the deal seemed to be coming to a close and there was little reason for them to be around anymore. He would rather rake hot coals over his body than admit this, but he really missed the chaotic energy she brought. Things almost felt dull without needing to chase her around the building making sure she behaved.

And, y’know, without his unpaid intern.

It was Ward’s idea to have a celebratory closing banquet in the office building, but Rafe was almost certain that it was Y/N’s idea to make it casino night-themed.

Some poor team of interns had been tasked with turning the office into a Vegas-adjacent venue and knocked their job out of the park. Employees were given chips and sent out among the poker, craps, and roulette tables stationed with stiff-standing dealers clad in maroon bow ties. Cocktail waitresses went around taking drink orders and accepting chips as a tip (playing along pointlessly, as the chips were clearly from a children’s game).

He heard her before he saw her– a fake laugh laced with discomfort only he could detect in her voice. His head whipped over to see Y/N, clad in a ridiculously fitted red dress, clutching her clear plastic cup tight enough to force the color out of her knuckles while she spoke with her mother and others.

He grabbed his drink and abandoned the Texas Hold ‘Em table to pull her into the shadows. Josephine was so wrapped in her conversation he didn’t even need to request he borrow her daughter– no wonder she was so out of control.

If she didn’t want to be alone with him, she didn’t make a point of it. She was quiet in the elevator as he observed her and sipped his drink, leaning against the railing in the car, nervously bouncing her toe in her heel. When they arrived at the floor, she skipped out in front of him and beat him to the unlocked door.

Rafe drained the rest of his vodka soda and tossed the cup into his trash, pushing his hands into his coat pockets. “You lied to me,” he started, and she lifted her shoulders. “About why you were here.”

She didn’t waste a moment denying this. “And? You would, too.”

“No, I would not!”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow. “If you were in my shoes, you’d run right to your caregiver and tell him how your mother won’t allow you to be alone for literally five minutes? That she’d requested a watchful eye on you? Or would you find a way to get them to tolerate your every whim without pushback? Frankly, the idea kinda handed itself to me when you were a misogynistic dick to me the first time we met. That was just dumb luck.”

“Dumb luck, huh?” he asked, stepping towards her. “What would you call having a coked-out teenager stumble into your office and beg you to fuck her? Is that just luck?”

She didn’t respond. He could see in her eyes she was trying not to look away, to show any apprehension, but he’d spent just too much time around her to not notice.

“Had anything to drink tonight?” he asked, taking one more step towards her until they were less than a foot apart.

Her attitude was back in a flash. “With my mom around? Yeah, a Coke Zero.”

He smiled even though he’d just been snapped at. “Good. You don’t need to be using that kind of stuff anyways.”

“Okay, Father Holy,” she rolled her eyes, and he had just about had enough of her shit.

Rafe grabbed her shoulders and pinned her between his body and the wall forcing a gasp from her. “I try to help you, over and over,” he sighed, almost disheartened. “And you’re still a little brat.”

His hands were all over her and she whined, arching into his touch and trying to get a feel of her own. He held her wrists tight and shook his head. “Yeah, right. Try behaving for once in your life and maybe you can touch me.”

Her hands fell down to her sides without fighting, and he ran his hands along her nearly-bare chest. His fingertips slipped under the straps and hem of the fabric as he savored the feeling of her skin under his palms, and he watched as goosebumps erupted over her collarbones. “You want this?” he checked, another chance for her to back out before he began to ruin her.

She nodded fervently, but when he just raised an eyebrow, pleading affirmations spilled out of her lips like a stream.

With the green light, Rafe tugged down the top part of her dress until her breasts were exposed in the cool office air. He played with her tits, switching between sucking on one nipple and using his fingers to toy with the other.

This wasn’t enough for either of them, so his attention and desperate hands went downwards. He got sick of trying to pull down the panties without undressing her fully, and ripped them right off her legs. He stuffed the torn fabric into his coat pocket and she gaped. “You owe me a new pair,” she breathed, moving her legs apart for him anyways.

“If only I could afford it,” he muttered, bringing his fingers to her now-exposed clit. “Do you know why I put up with your shit?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?” she smiled, but it quickly dissolved when his movements sped up.

“Oh, yeah. But also, I got a little promotion this morning,” Rafe said, leaving a fat wet kiss anywhere his lips could reach on the exposed skin of her collarbone. “You inadvertently made me CEO. Everything in this building is mine.”

Rafe used his legs to push hers even further apart, open her up for him even more.

“And in this moment,” he smacked her clit, and she cried out. “That includes you.”

He expected a snarky comment at this point, but he seemed to subdue her enough to continue rambling.

“I’ve dreamed of how I’d handle your ass for weeks,” Rafe admitted. “I think the only solution is to keep you under my desk with my cock down your throat. Put that smart mouth to some good for once, mm?”

She whined, pushing back against him for more friction.

“Fuck, you like that?” he asked incredulously. “It’s one thing for you to let me tame you, but you’re taking enjoyment in this? Kinda makin’ it hard for me. Never would’ve guessed you like being used like a doll so badly.”

“You’re mean,” she pouted, actually pouted at him and he grinned wolfishly.

Rafe shook his head. “No, baby, being mean would be binding your hands together with my tie and forcing you to cum until you cry.” She had no counter to that.

The fingers on his other hand pushed into her mouth, past her teeth, and she involuntarily sucked. “Good girl,” he cooed, not letting up on the strokes to her clit. “That mouth has done nothing but cause me trouble the last few weeks. Show me what good it can do, hmm?”

She nodded softly, obediently, and flicked her tongue over the digits, allowing him to pet at the inside of her cheek. She whimpered when he dipped his other fingers into her cunt, bringing them right back to her clit to keep her on the edge.

He thrusted against her thigh and gave her another little slap right where she was most sensitive. Rafe toyed with her swollen, glistening clit until she was breathing heavily and her legs were losing their stability. Had he not pinned her body tight against the wall, she’d collapse into a shaky pile of pleasure. He noticed her eyes rolling back into her head and pulled his fingers away, watching her gasp and whine at the loss of contact.

“What?”

“Need more,” she sniffled.

Rafe shook his head, almost chastising. “I know what you need.”

He was going to return to what he was doing, he wasn’t that mean. But he must’ve had her closer to orgasm than he’d anticipated because she got shameless.

“Please, please, Rafe, oh my God,” she whined, squirming under him. Her hips bucked up to try and get traction against his hands but he pulled away just in time. “Touch me again, please, I’ll do anything. I need it, please.”

His eyebrows had never been higher. He pushed his tongue along his bottom teeth amusedly. “Sweetheart, I didn’t even have to ask you to beg,” he pointed out, voice light and adoring. “But since you did anyways, I’ll help my girl out.”

She preened again, this time allowed to make contact with him. He placed a hand on her hip and pulled his cock out, already flushed and leaking and really fucking hard. Rafe dragged the precum on the tip along the entire head before bringing it to her cunt, dragging them together slowly. She cried out again at the new contact.

“Doesn’t this feel good, pretty girl?” he asked, angling just right to apply pressure on her clit. Judging by the full-body shudder he got out of her, the answer was yes.

“I want– oh fuck– more, please,” she said. He laughed a little. She knows what she likes.

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do, baby.”

“I want your cock inside me,” she begged, blinking up at him with long, fluttering lashes. “Wanna feel you stretch me open. Don’t you wanna use my cunt however you like? That’s all I want.”

Good fuck, who could resist that? He buried himself to the hilt, sending his brain to a skittering halt and hers into a frenzy. She grabbed at his back, whimpering with every inch, every drag that he stretched her open. He didn’t even register that he was getting scratched by the same nails she’d obnoxiously painted in his office just a couple weeks ago.

“Oh, wow,” he finally groaned, withdrawing and thrusting back in, letting his brain adjust to the feeling of holyfuckI’minsideherwereallyshouldn’tdothis. “I could fuck you forever. You sure you don’t want an administrative job around here?”

Her fingers made their way back up to his shoulder, head thumping against the wall. “Bite me.”

“If you insist.” He leaned in and gently sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, kissing the skin right after. He led all the way up to her ear until she was shivering and his strokes didn’t miss a beat.

Y/N’s cunt clenched around him, and he saw white. “Goddamn, sweetheart, if we’d been doing this sooner, I would’ve let you do whatever the hell you want,” Rafe groaned, moving her hair out of her face.

She can’t let anything nice stay nice, though. “Slut,” she teased, smirk disappearing with a deep stroke.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m the slut?” he asked, pulling out and forcing a whine from her.

He moved her over to his desk, shoving her over the edge and pinning her there. Rafe pushed her head against the solid wood by the nape of her neck. “I’ve wanted to bend you over like this since I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, removing his hand and sliding it down her back.

She turned back, batting her lashes at him as he lined up his ruddy tip at her core. “Mm, you should’ve. So forbidden, would’ve been so hot.”

Rafe didn’t answer, just pushed his cock into her and a soft cry escaped from her lips. She tried to bite down on them but he laughed and sank all the way in until his hips were flush with hers. “We’re over three floors away from the rest of the office. Be as loud as you want, princess.”

And she did. Honestly, it wasn’t the best advice, because hearing her cries and whimpers for his cock further in her was only making him lose his rhythm and chance of lasting more than five minutes. He felt her reach down and play with her clit, and normally he’d reprimand her for doing this without permission, but it seemed like torture with how close she already was.

Feeling her cum around his cock was un-fucking-real. He finished shortly after, pulling out to paint her inner thigh with his own spend. He amusedly watched it drip down her skin, down the legs she could barely even stand on.

“Job’s still on the table, baby,” he reminded her, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Anything to keep you here and doing that more. Blackjack next?”

[brailsthesmolgurl]

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION!

A smol bird requested for this to be written and so here I am, playing fairy godmother! If any of you have any sort of requests, just drop me a dm as I am revived from my death and ready to write more delulus as your solulus!

Context: What happens when your outfit decides NOT to cooperate with you? What will the boys do for you?

Disclaimer: This one-shot is created with me studying their lore on various websites and social media so that I could get a better idea on what colours they like/represent and what style they lean towards. Some of you may disagree but its okay! You can read it as it is and add in your own imagery of a suitable outfit by your hubbies! Warnings: Fluff that might rot your brains.

RAFAYEL

"I am almost done with this piece," Rafayel spoke, eyes still glued to his canvas, one hand holding up his messily stained colour palette, while the other held the brush as he drew strokes across the canvas. "Why don't you go and get changed as you wait for me to finish off this bit, yeah?"

"Yes sir." You quirkily replied and you stood up, spotting him sending you a teasing look given the way you addressed him. Earlier on, some strangers had came by Rafayel's mansion with Thomas to deliver some clothes. Apparently, these clothes are custom made by those luxurious brands specifically for Rafayel. Thomas addressed it as this was one of the ways the luxury brands show their support towards Rafayel's works. ONE OF THE WAYS... At this point, you are convinced that Rafayel is a huge deal and having luxurious brands begging on their knees to work with him sounded like a dream that would never come true to you.

The dress that sat on the bed was delivered for you as well, as per Rafayel's request. There was objection amongst the team that were handling the sponsorship and ambassador deals for the brand. But Rafayel spoke through the phone like he owns the company. "If she does not get a gown, then our business ends. Right now." He hung up abruptly, and the next thing he knew, the dress showed up at his door in less than 30 minutes.

Any brands, regardless luxurious or not, knows the right way and only way to please Rafayel. One wrong move and you are off the chart and some other brand may easily replace you. Hence, nobody dares to mess with Rafayel. Except for you. "The dress on the bed is yours!" He shouted from the living room and you picked up the dress.

The chiffon textured dress is of a forest green colour, going all the way down to your ankles. The strapless design made you gulped as you are not used to outfits of this measure, given the nature of your work, whereas your attire has to be 'appropriate for work in times of need'. Touching the inner material, you sighed in relief as you realised that there was bra padding for you hence you do not have to go all the way out to get a new bra just for this event.

Putting on the dress and zipping it up was easy, and you fit almost perfectly into the dress. The keyword being ALMOST. As you lifted your hands up, the dress started sliding down like it is a floatie on a wet water slide and woop, off it went and onto the ground. You panicked, bending down in one fell swoop and trying to gather the dress so that you can pull it up to your chest again.

But it does not let you go past the waist area unless you unzip it. Groaning, you struggled to find the zip as the dress is really puffy and you did not want to ruin the designer dress. "Is everything okay?" Rafayel stood at the doorway, leaning against the side of his door, as he watched you with amusement written all over his face. He has been standing there for quite a while hasn't he?

You gasped, pulling whatever that is on the floor to cover your chest area and he walked over, analysing the dress and scowling when he found out the reason. "I should have gotten them to measure you instead of just bringing you a standard fit." He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen a couple of times. His eyes looked back at you and you bit your lip in embarassment. "Your curves are way too beautiful to be hidden amongst this pile of leaves."

His comment made you giggled. Guess he has the same thought as you. "Toss the dress aside darling, I will get you a new one." Another few taps of the finger, he shows you the dress he has in mind. A purple dress with extravagant sleeves, puffing out like how a jellyfish would and you instantaneously knew why he opted for this dress. "I like purple better anyways."

"But wait Rafayel... this dress is not entirely scrap, maybe I can sew a temporary knot on it to tighten the top so it won't fall off. And there is really no need for you to get another custom one for me as we are running out of time." Your suggestion made him stare at you, purple-blue pupils blown wide as if he has really just witnessed a shark eating grass. iykyk.

He walked over and grabbed you by your waist and pulled you close to him, so close that you could hear the sound of his heart against yours. But at this moment, maybe he could hear yours louder than his. "Nobody can put a price on your love for me. EVER. But, I can sure as hell throw out any price on anyone, regardless the amount, as a representation of how much you worth to me." You looked away immediately, eyes stared at the arms that were holding you in place. He kissed your forehead, chuckling, before he pressed his phone against his ear. "Now, let's see who can make this dress for the price I am willing to pay in 30 minutes time." he makes me feel something

ZAYNE

You waited on a bench in front of Akso Hospital. You figured it would be a great idea to wait for Zayne as he finishes work early today and you might be able to grab dinner with him. You were mindlessly scrolling through your phone, looking through your daily for-you-page before a shadow loomed over you. You looked up and no doubt, it is Zayne aka the great and almightly Elsa.

"How long have you been sitting here?" He asked you, before handing you a candy that he had fished out from the pocket of his trench coat. "I was planning to meet you slightly later at your condo." The thought of him initially wanting to surprise you made your heart fluttered. You see, Zayne is a more upfront guy so having him to plan surprises are one of the uncalled scenarios.

"I had only been here for a couple of minutes." You lied, taking the candy out of his palm and unwrapped it before you tossed it into your mouth. The raise of his eyebrow towards you made your breath hitched as he knew you too well that you could not lie to him in his face. "Fine, I had waited here since 5pm." This made Zayne looked down at his wrist watch.

"So it's been an hour and 15 minutes?" He side eyed you and you admitted it by nodding your head. "Next time, it would be better if you were to just wait for me at home. If it wasn't for a full deck today at the hospital, I might just be covering shifts for other people and that might be inconvenient for you." But, he himself actually noticed you exactly an hour and 15 minutes, from his office's window, before his upcoming surgery. He had another three surgeries lined up for the night, but fearing that you may end up waiting the whole night for him, he decided to cancel his schedule for the night and transfer the case to other doctors. Even workaholics take a break. iykyk

"But I just wanted to come over to check up on you. I even chose to sit outside so that you would not be distracted as you are working." You pouted, hands picking at the hem of your shirt. You felt Zayne's hand landed on the top of your head, a gesture of love and comfort. He patted and smoothed your brunette strands back and you stared up at him. "I shall wait for you at home next time okay?"

"Now that's a good girl." killmeplease Zayne smiled warmly. "Now, lets get you back alright? My car is parked right by the road side. Come on." Hands around your waist, he slowly walked you over to his car. The smell of his cologne lingered on your nose, the smell of mint and dashes of cinnamon. Just like his personality, icy as mint but warm and welcoming as cinnamon once you get to know him.

He opened the car door for you and as you walked over to get into the car, your shirt got hooked against one of the metal wires that went astray from the metal fencing and the next thing you heard was the sound of a ripping cloth. You yelped as you stumbled and Zayne slotted himself right in front of you, shocked as well and using his body to block you from falling further. "Oh my..." Your cursed under your breath as your hands were against his washboard abs, steadying yourself. doublekill

He guided you into the car slowly before getting into the driver side himself. When he had started the car and turned on the air conditioning, he turned to look at you. "How bad is the rip?" He asked and you lifted the hem of your shirt, showing the rip that is around 4cm long.

"Why does this have to happen to one of my favourite shirt?" You frowned, fingers won't stop touching and fidgeting with the ripped edge.

"Do they still sell this shirt?" Zayne asked, hands reaching over to tug against the shirt, as if to examine the material of the outfit. The shake of your head made him sigh and he gestured to the glovebox. "Open the glovebox and take out the black pouch please."

You did as you were told and you watched in confusion as he took off his trench coat and placed it onto your lap. The coat still radiating warmth that was collected off of his body heat. He opened the black pouch and laid it flat on the arm rest of his car, and inside of the pouch was an array of threads and needles. "Are these suture needles?"

"Yes." His response was prompt. "Take off your shirt and hand it to me please." He requested and you gulped. Using the trench coat to block his view, you slowly took off your shirt and then wrapped his trench coat around your whole front. You knew that he had probably seen many naked bodies given his line of work but something about this scenario, with you being with him only in a car, felt very intimate and it made you very anxious. "You know how to sew?"

"I am a doctor, I know how to suture. And it is the same concept as sewing, but only with different kinds of needles and threads." He then started sewing, his concentration a trait you find admirable. It did not took him long when he finished sewing your shirt and he handed it back to you, the thread sewed on has gaps of equal length and was tied off neatly. As expected of one of the top doctors from Akso Hospital. As he started driving, he added. "Although I had managed to sew the shirt for you, I believe with my connections, I would be just as capable to find you the same shirt. Then, you would never have to complain about this being your only favourite shirt."

XAVIER

You were going about your day in your own house before you heard your doorbell ringing. You placed your bowl of cereal down and took a glance on the clock on your phone. Who dares to threaten your peaceful weekend? You went over to the door and you opened it to reveal your blond hair lover. "Xavier?" You asked, eyebrows furrowed when he smiled at you.

"Good morning, I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He teased and stepped in, holding out a parcel for your. "I believe this belongs to you?" The small rip at the top side of your parcel indicated that he probably took a peek on what's inside. Acknowledging the parcel, you took it off of his hands and you blushed, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear.

"Good morning to you too. I guess I might have accidentally wrote your level instead of mine." You bit your bottom lip and you heard him chuckle in return. "But thanks for coming down to deliver this to me when you could have just asked me to get it from you." "But I wanted to see you personally. And seeing the clothes that are in the parcel, I thought I could get to watch you try them on too." His blunt answer made you stare at him like a mad man. His blue eyes however, glinted with nothing but honesty. This guy may be mysterious but he sure is straightforward in stating what he has on his mind. He probably noticed the way you reacted and he took a step back, retracing his words and slightly coughing to ease the awkwardness. "I mean, I would like to see you trying out these new outfits that you had gotten for yourself. It would be a good past time for me."

You chuckled at how goofy this guy is and gestured towards him to go and sit at the couch. You went into the room to get yourself changed and it was as if today is your fashion show day. You strutted out in different outfits, layered against one another and watched the way Xavier would react to you, either fascinated, or straight down confused. There was even this one time, he would just have a blank expression where you wore an oversized shirt under your tshirt. Clothing trends on the streets nowadays baffles him and he wondered if he was the one that was left out from the fashion ring.

Your last outfit featured you in a semi see through tank top and a pair of cargo pants. Not to mention, the tank top seemed to be too small for you as the way the blond boy sees it, it was holding onto your figure for dear life and barely leaving anything more to one's imagination. And the thought itself ticked him off. When you looked over towards Xavier, he does not look surprised nor confused, but rather bland. "What do you think?" Your tone came off to be amused and you did a twirl in front of him before you took a seat right next to him.

Xavier anxiously gulped and looked away from you, his voice low as he muttered. "I don't think this outfit looks nice on you, girlfriend." The way he shifted in his seat made you cornered him against the couch even more, wanting a better explanation. "The top you are wearing. I don't like it."

"And why so?" You asked, looking down at your top and adjusting it. "This is the trend nowadays, they call it the Y2K trend I think. And this tank top was on sale, so I just got it."

"I can buy you some other clothes. Even the ones that are not going to be on sale." He retorted, eyeing the tank top you were wearing with an underlying anger. "I just don't think I would like to see you wearing this in public. It is too revealing, and I guess tight on your body."

His answer painted your cheeks red and you gasped. What were you thinking? Of course you had forgotten about his possesive nature. He does not show it much and having such a pretty boy face like him further disconnects the word 'possessive' from his character. He reached into his hoodie's front pocket and pulled out his phone, opening up an app and handed the phone to you. When you refused to take it, he lifted his torso off of the couch to 'force' you to take his phone. Just like how you had previously pressed your body against him, this is his turn to take his small and sweet revenge. You panicked as he closed the gap between you two and within the next minute, he was pressed against you, one of his hand at the side of your head and another still holding his phone up to you, his gaze intense. "Just choose whatever you want from my phone, my card information is all in there. And perhaps before you check out, you can let me double check on the outfits you are getting." He low-key demanded before he explained himself for such a decision. "I just don't like nor want people staring wrongfully at what I treasure the most."

Another fluff for another day. I already did my best in having to think of different wardrobe malfunctions as I did not want one theme of wardrobe malfunction to be stagnant across the whole story for all three of the boys. SO I hope you would understand my lovelies. :,) I am very very free so I will be posting more regularly for these few weeks. SO please do show me more love and support as that would aid me in my motivation in writing!

Do check out my other works as well!

HOW WOULD THE BOYS REACT TO YOU FORGETTING ABOUT YOUR DATE?

DAMNATION

Hope your Delulu is satisfied my lovelies <3

[togrowoldinv]

Pour Me

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You meet an intriguing woman while you’re bartending

Note: This is a quick little fic about milf Wanda because I love her lol. Enjoy it!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You never expected to meet the love of your life this way. You never thought that the woman of your dreams would walk through the door as you poured drinks behind the bar.

But there she was. She had a quiet reserve about her. The friends that were with her were the ones who spoke to you first.

“This one here,” a redheaded woman said, “just got a divorce. We’re pouring them out for her.”

“Yeah, so pour them strong!” a blonde woman added.

“Can do, ladies,” you said.

You poured their drinks, and they tipped you. It pays when pretty girls come to the bar almost as much as it does when men do. But you much prefer when women come in. The other women walked away and left you alone with the woman at the bar.

“I’m sorry about your divorce,” you told her.

“It’s okay,” she said. You thought you picked up on a slight accent. It’s intriguing. “I’m better off.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am. I didn’t get your drink order. What would you like?”

“Oh, um- what do you suggest?” She asked.

“I’ve got just the thing,” you said.

She watched as you got to work behind the bar fixing her a drink. It was what you always made when someone didn’t know what they wanted. Nothing special, but she sipped it like it was heaven in a glass.

When you asked her if she wanted another one, she said no. Her friends had convinced her to go out, and she didn’t really like to drink all that much.

“Your friends might end up shutting this place down,” you said to her.

The beautiful woman looked around and back at you. She smiled shyly.

“I’ll tell them we need to go,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Oh, no you can stay,” you said. “I just need to start cleaning the bar up and I didn’t want you to wonder why.”

“Well, what if I help you?” She asked.

“I couldn’t allow you to help, ma’am. It’s my job,” you said.

“Oh, please it’s nothing. I’ve got two boys at home, so cleaning is my forte.”

“Come on over then,” you said, a smile on your face.

You walked to the open slot in the bar where you let the woman inside. She smiled as she took a rag and wiped the counter with you. She helped you clean for almost an hour before you asked her to help you restock the bar.

“It’s nice back here,” she said, admiring the office you built.

“I designed it myself,” you told her.

“I’m impressed.”

You picked up some crates filled with bottles and the woman watched the way your arms flexed under the weight of them. Really, she had been watching you all night.

“So, how old are your boys?” You asked her, trying to make small talk as she watched you move crates from the office to the bar.

“Ten,” she said. “They’re twins.”

“That’s so cool!” You said.

She grinned and showed you a few pictures of the boys. They looked like her and you couldn’t help but feel like you knew her already.

After you finished with the crates, you leaned against your desk. The woman looked at you intently.

“I should probably get back out there and close the bar,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Oh right,” she said.

You stood up and walked past the woman, but she grabbed your hand. You looked back at her and she looked like she could cry.

“Are you okay?” You asked her.

“Could you- would you- forget it,” she said, pulling her hand away.

“Hey, what is it?” You asked. You have gotten some odd requests working at a bar, but nothing this woman could say to you would be the craziest.

“Would you kiss me?” She asked.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should,” you said.

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry,” she tried to leave the room, but you grabbed her hand this time and pulled her back into your arms.

You looked into each other’s eyes before you leaned in and kissed the woman. The bar noise faded out and the only thing you could feel was her lips against yours. Her sweet, soft lips. You wondered how anyone could ever lose her, and when was the last time she was kissed like this. She was perfect.

The kiss ended when the woman’s friends knocked on the door to your office.

“I should drive them home,” the woman said.

“Ah, you’re right. It was nice to meet you,” you waited for her to fill in her name.

“Wanda,” the woman said. “I’m Wanda.”

“Y/n,” you supplied.

“Y/n,” she tried it out her tongue. Her friends called for her again. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

“Sure,” you said. You opened the door for her, and her friends pulled her into their arms.  “Hey Wanda, come back sometime?”

“I will,” she promised, a glint in her eye.

And she did come back. She came back every weekend for three months before you asked her out.

And she stands across from you now three years later ready to become your wife. You thank goodness she walked into the bar that night.

[starsainzjr]

Muse

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fashion designer!reader Faceclaim: Rachel Zegler

A/N: Hi! This is my first SMAU so I really hope everyone likes it!! I hope to do more in the future!

✷✷✷✷✷

yourusername

Liked by the.peterdo, zendaya, lewishamilton, and 62,019 others

yourusername Back to the drawing board

View all 8,715 comments

ylnschooloffashion The master is back!!

zendaya Physically unable to contain my excitement

yourusername Studio is always open to you my darling!

l.h.eight This has to be the new designer Lewis was raving about in media the other day

formulafashion 👀 Do I smell a new designer coming to the paddock???

l.h.eight Girl we can hope!

lewishamilton

Liked by mercedesamgf1, yourusername, and 582,766 others

lewishamilton Always a fun time at New York Fashion Week 🔥 See you next year!

View all 2,718 comments

l.h.eight For the record, I called it

formulafashion I'm so happy Lewis is looking at a new designer! Yn's work is always stunning

georgerussell63 We're all gonna look like garden trolls next to him now

alex_albon Now? He already makes you look like a garden troll

georgerussell63 Hey!

yourusername My favorite guest of the day! Thank you for coming! Liked by lewishamilton

l.h.eight 👀 Y'all are seeing what I'm seeing right?

lewishamilton

Liked by mercedesamgf1, f1, yourusername, and 606,826 others

lewishamilton P2 in Bahrain, great start to the season. See everyone in Jeddah 👊🏾

View all 9,186 comments

georgerussell63 Helluva start! Let's keep this party going

formulafashion Okay but this is easily the best he has ever looked in the paddock 🥵

l.h.eight How much longer until we see Yn in the paddock???

queenyln Okay yeah, Lewis is definitely my second favorite of Yn's real life models

formulafashion Second?????

queenyln Zendaya.

formulafashion Oh, yeah, no, that's fair

yourusername

Liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, zendaya, and 87,017 others

yourusername Bit of a new look

View all 2,097 comments

lewishamilton Only fair after NYFW! Can't wait to host you again

mercedesamgf1 Easily the most fashionable person we've had in the garage

l.h.eight NOT LEWIS IN THE BACKGROUND YN TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

queenyln It's been so long since I've seen her this happy 😭

formulafashion Lewis too! He was practically glowing this week

queenyln I sense a power couple forming

l.h.eight Yn would fr be the queen of the paddock

yourusername

Liked by zendaya, lewishamilton, and 76,925 others

yourusername Just getting some inspiration

View all 10,719 comments

zendaya Girl if you don't call me right now I'm getting on a plane

yourusername This is an extremely real threat

queenyln SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

queenyln OUR GIRL GETTING TREATED LIKE THE ROYALTY SHE IS

l.h.eight TRIED SO HARD WITH THE SOFT LAUNCH AS IF WE CAN'T IDENTIFY LEWIS' HANDS ANYWHERE

formulafashion This is a dream. This is a dream right? I'm dreaming right now

lewishamilton

Liked by yourusername, mercedesamgf1, and 491,729 others

lewishamilton First time for everything. Dallas Fashion Week you've been a treat!

View all 1,618 comments

formulafashion You know who else is in Dallas for this same exact event?

queenyln Perhaps a designer we're familiar with?

formulafashion Ding ding ding! We have a winner

formulafashion The woman in the dress looks awfully familiar, Mr. Hamilton

l.h.eight No but the fact that he went from Japan to Dallas for this. AND THAT HE HAS TO GO BACK TO SHANGHAI

formulafashion Our boy is in l o v e

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, zendaya, and 79,169 others

yourusername Shanghai you've been a treat

View all 3,816 comments

lewishamilton 🥇✨

yourusername 🤩

l.h.eight They're speaking in emojis now

formulafashion They're not as slick as they think they are

queenyln Yn's never been slick

queenyln Girl we already know just post the Lewis content we all want

formulafashion This. I know she has so much

yourusername

Liked by lewishamilton, zendaya, mercedesamgf1 and 100,028 others

yourusername Studio has gotten a little warmer as of late

View all 7,291 comments

lewishamilton I'll be your muse any day 😘

yourusername My best muse yet 🥰

zendaya Damn, someone stole my girl

queenyln Someone stole OUR girl 😭

l.h.eight The longest four months of my LIFE

queenyln This is actually the best day ever. Nothing will top this

formulafashion Lewis is about to look the best he ever has

queenyln I think that's called the girlfriend effect

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All photos from Pinterest, Instagram, or Google Images

[paceprompting]

spontaneous

written for ‘pining’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: post-season four, pre-relationship, charged situation, tattoo artist!eddie, pining steve

@steddieholidaydrabbles

"Are you sure this is a good idea?” Steve asked, hands clenched on the armrests of the chair in his living room.

It was the dead of winter in Indiana, so Steve had been wearing a green sweater and sweats; anticipating a relaxing Saturday in his own home with movies and popcorn. And Eddie.

Eddie had come straight from work, bundled up a tad more in a heavy coat and scarf to compensate for the low-coverage of his sleeveless t-shirt.

In fact, that shirt was probably to blame for the whole situation.

Because when Steve had gotten bold and explored the plethora of tattoos along Eddie’s arms—a mix of D&D, icons from metal covers (some of which Steve knew)—asking what it was like to get one, how Eddie had chosen (or didn’t).

Eddie had given one answer and one answer only.

Why don’t I give you one?

And now, Eddie was knelt between Steve’s legs, with Steve in an armchair sans his sweats. They’d put a pillow on Steve’s opposite thigh for Eddie’s elbow, one gloved hand bracing on the upper part of Steve’s thigh, where he hadn’t just shaved away the dark, downy hair.

Apparently, to Eddie this was an extremely good idea.

“Yeah,” Eddie smiled at him. “You gotta scoot closer, though.” And he leaned back to let Steve resituate with his butt sat closer to the the edge of the cushion.

Eddie slid his hands back into place, his touch like brands on Steve’s bare skin—one at the top of Steve’s thigh, pushing up his boxers, and the other resting lower, tattoo machine ready in his hand to ink a design Steve was leaving completely up to Eddie onto his skin.

Even though Eddie had just spent twelve hours at the shop doing the same thing all day for people who would actually pay him for it.

All because Steve wanted his first tattoo.

And no one else would know that Steve only wanted Eddie to go it. Eddie was fucking good at what he did. And Steve wanted very good.

Steve would also be lying if he didn’t also enjoy the idea of wearing Eddie Munson’s permanent ink.

He thought he did well with the first pass of the needle over his skin. Eddie must have been familiar with the shift of muscle underneath his hand, and hopefully Steve had kept his breathing even and his leg still.

He wanted to be good.

Steve watched Eddie as he worked. As his dark curls fell into his eyes, but Eddie hardly seemed to notice, entirely focused on his work with his tongue sticking just slightly out as the machine buzzed away and Steve’s blood thrummed in his veins.

About ten minutes in, Eddie glanced up at him.

Steve wasn’t ready, and so he met Eddie’s dark eyes head on.

His cheeks flushed a hot pink straight across, and Steve could only guess that his pupils were so blown out the light brown of his irises were practically gone.

Eddie wet his bottom lip, and Steve tracked the movement.

“Doin’ okay?” Eddie asked in a soft voice.

Steve answered, but not quite the question Eddie asked.

“Your hair’s in your eyes.”

Eddie had stopped tattooing, and he let out this half-laugh as he said, “Happens.”

Steve thought he remembered Eddie mentioning once that that only time he put his hair up was when he was tattooing, and that Steve had so desperately wanted to see it—but didn’t dark to ask.

He had no problem looking at Eddie, any way that he was.

And Eddie hadn’t gone back to the tattoo yet, which had to be the reason Steve thought it was a good idea to shift forward and card his long fingers through the curls hanging in Eddie’s face—stray strands along with his bangs—and hold them out of the way.

Steve didn’t think it was really how Eddie would normally have tattooed anyone, but maybe Steve was actually helping a little bit and maybe, just maybe, Steve had tucked away a few dreams of doing this exact thing for an entirely different reason.

And for Eddie to be doing it to him.

Not that he’d ever said anything about it.

Even though they’d had a standing movie night just for them for almost two years now. And that Eddie was still staring up at him from down on his knees, pink lips partly open. Head cocked slightly to the side—like something had clicked into place.

He looked the same when he figured out one of the Will’s plots in their game when Steve hosted. Steve usually hosted nowadays, usually also focused on Eddie.

“This okay?” he asked.

And no, not really, he knew.

But also, absolutely.

All Steve could hope for, for sure, was that he was grateful for the pillow over his crotch that was keeping him from being completely given away and embarrassed out of his mind while he was finally getting Eddie (in at least half) the way he’d been craving for a long time.

Maybe since a certain boathouse.

Certainly since Eddie had made Steve put himself first while the bat bites on his sides and his throat healed. So bratty and pushy, but had probably save Steve from horrible infection.

Eddie blinked, seeming to come back to himself a little bit. Enough to give a bit of the confident smirk Steve had to hide how weak he was for and say, “That’s usually my line.”

And apparently, a lot of old habits died hard, because of bit of the old King Steve kicked in while Steve’s heart and mind were spiraling, and the words tumbled out of his mouth in a tone he never thought he’d try to use on Edie.

“Should we switch places, then?”

Eddie smiled wider, rolling his wrist before setting the needle back to Steve’s skin.

And if Steve tipped his head back to run his hand through his hair on a long exhale, Eddie didn’t say a word.