#little more than waitstaff

[lokischocolatefountain]

Honey, I'm Home || For The Right Man

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Trad Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings:  dom!Joel, sub!reader, rich!reader, master/slave dynamics, name calling (slut, cunt, whore, fucktoy, bitch-- it can't get worse folks), use of honorifics for Joel (Sir, Daddy, Master-- a hattrick!) Joel keeps reader in check, domesticity kink, mention of exhibitionism, boot humping, boot worship, collar and leash, chastity belt, mention of anal, use of buttplug, objectification, dehumanization, crawling, facefucking, kicking, cockwarming. (I think I got everything but lmk if I missed stuff) Word count: 4.8k Summary: Joel comes home to freshly baked dessert and a good little wife eager to serve in every way possible A/N: Look, don't be a trad wife irl. It's nothing like this. It's dangerous and will tire you out in the worst way possible. Remember this kind of Joel Miller is tragically not real. Heed the warnings.

You swiped a finger on the inside of the glass bowl, free to lick up the leftover brownie batter now that it was baking in the oven. You looked over at the clock, disappointed to see that it hadn’t moved even a little since the last time you looked.

You were still getting used to it, being home all the time. Being a housewife wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do. You hit the ground running after graduation, climbing the corporate ladder and making more money than you knew what to do with. After reaching the top and buying everything you could ever dream of and more, life got quite boring. Nothing brought joy or satisfaction anymore. Many a therapist and mental breakdowns later, you decided that you were done. Unable to bear the boredom of your career, quit your job and moved to one of your properties in Texas. 

That was when Joel Miller walked into your life. Or rather you called him into your life after seeing his number on a pamphlet. Miller Constructions. Tall, gruff, muscular as hell and all southern gentlemanly, he had your attention from the very first day. Miller Constructions was only a local business that he ran with his little brother. But he had good reviews online and your own neighbor’s kitchen renovation was a testimony to Miller Construction’s quality work.

With no job or entertainment, you’d set your eyes on the handsome contractor. As he stripped his shirt, arm muscles bulging in his white vest, you sat on your couch with a book open and watched to your heart’s content. But if anyone asked you the names of the characters in the book, you would draw a blank.

One thing led to another and a few years later you were in the bedroom of the house he renovated for you, wearing his ring and getting ready in front of the dressing table he built you from scratch. You stood bare in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but the steel collar with his name engraved and matching chastity belt he kept you locked in when he was away. It was a reminder of the kind of life you’d built together, of the role you’d readily accepted in your home.

You went through your extensive lingerie collection, all chosen to surprise him and make you feel beautiful. You took a sip from your glass of wine and set it down carefully on the dressing table before reaching for something you hadn’t worn in a little while. A bright red set that drove him fucking insane when you first wore it. It was from last year’s Valentine’s Day and you’d taken him to a restaurant, private booking with just you and Joel dining there for the night. It was expensive as hell but you had cash to throw away and it was worth it for his reaction. 

Once dinner had been served and the waitstaff left, you took your coat off to reveal that you’d been practically naked underneath. The lingerie set was a corset top, strapless with your tits almost falling out and the back open in a heart shape. The corset boning was covered in bright red silk, standing out against the soft sheer lace around it. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks when memories of the night flooded your mind. It hadn’t taken him long to forget the fancy food, bend you over the table and have his fill of your cunt. When he got close, he put you on your knees and came on your face, marking you as his. For the rest of dinner, you wore him on your face, eating all the courses of the meal and talking to him casually about everything under the sun like it was normal. 

A second wear of the lingerie set could only lead to another amazing night of debauchery. You grabbed the matching lace panties and slipped it on over your belt, the pair a skimpy one with too little fabric to cover up the essentials. You put the corset on next, struggling just a little to lace it up all by yourself but managing nevertheless. A pair of sheer black stockings, red lips, red bottomed Louboutins and your look was complete. 

He didn’t care much about makeup. The man couldn’t even tell you were wearing seven different products on your face the first few times. But he always noticed a red lip. Always liked having the visual of bright painted lips stretch around his impressive girth. 

Your stilettos clicked against the hardwood floor as you turned in front of the mirror, checking your appearance from every angle to make sure you looked your best. You could greet him in your old university tee and a pair of shorts with your hair up in a bun and he’d still gather you in his arms and kiss you senseless when he came home. 

But you liked going the extra mile for him every now and then. Be something soft, pretty and pliant to come home to after long days of hard labor under the sun and idiot subcontractors who got on his nerves.

Just as you’d sliced the brownies and left them on a wire rack to cool, you heard his truck pull up into the driveway. You sprinted to the door as fast as you could in your impractical shoes and took your position at the door. A wide smile plastered on your lips and your thighs rubbing against each other in a pavlovian response to his arrival. 

Joel’s eyes brightened when you opened the door and he laid his eyes on you. “Goddamn, honey… Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he said, wasting no time in wrapping a muscular arm around your waist and pulling you into a kiss. You relaxed in his embrace, moaning softly when he caressed your bottom in his large hand. He threaded his fingers through your hair, keeping you flush against his chest as he tasted you. You heard him kick the door close, chills running through you as you realized you’d been on display to the entire neighborhood all this while. 

You were the first to pull away, breathless from his kiss. Yet you stayed close, his nose brushing against yours and his warm breath kissing your cheek. You sighed, taking in his heady scent of sweat, his cologne, and wood shavings. The thing that screamed Man, Man, Man. The thing that had you begging to suck his cock every evening when he was only your contractor.

He hung his truck keys on the hook by the door and picked up the leather leash that hung from the hook right next to it. He hooked the metal end of it to the ring on your collar and tugged you forward, making you giggle as you crashed into his chest. 

You unbuttoned the first button of his flannel and licked your lips when you saw his chest, tan and marked by little brown spots from the treacherous sun that couldn’t help but kiss him. You staked your claim with a kiss on his chest and licked your lips, the salty taste of his skin enticing you even more. No matter how many times you had him, you felt the same excitement that you did the first time you submitted to him. That Friday night when he stayed longer than usual to finish retiling your bathroom so it’d be ready for the party you were throwing the week after.

“I missed you so much, baby,” you confessed, looking up at him from his chest. He was handsome as hell with his soft curls, beautiful brown eyes, kissable lips, and patchy beard. Before him, you had a preference for men with full beards. But you liked Joel’s better now. Especially the little heart shaped patch where hair refused to grow. 

“Missed you too, darlin’. Get on your knees now,” he said, tugging you down by your leash. You sunk down to your knees and looked up at him, heart swelling with joy at the view you had of him. He was handsome from every angle, but fuck he looked powerful towering over you like a God. 

“House smells real good. You bake for me again?” He asked, petting your head just as gently as the tone of his voice.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you wrapped your arms around his leg and pressed your cheek to his knee. It was all the satisfaction you never got at the job you quit. 

“Sweet little wife, working so hard for me huh?” 

“Mhmm. Heated up the leftovers from last night but I wanted to make something new too. Knew you’d need something nice to come home to, Daddy.” He never demanded anything of you despite the absolute power you handed him. He ate what you gave, whether it was good or not, whether you cooked or ordered take out. It only deepened your need to serve him. 

As you already had leftovers for dinner, you decided to bake instead. A good thing that came out of the expensive baking classes you took. You liked sending the remaining dessert with him to work where he proudly distributed them. 

He’d never tell you, but you knew he got off on it. His staff knew you, the boss’ sweet wife who cooked the most delicious things. You played it up when they were around— when they came by for signatures, when you visited his worksites with his lunch. You giggled more for him, touched his arms and smiled adoringly. You dressed provocatively- low cut tops that showed your cleavage, tight jeans that hugged your ass, skirts that were too short ro bend in. 

“Come home to you everyday, don’t I? My everythin’ nice.” 

“Shut up,” you muttered, a shy smile fighting to surface despite your best efforts. 

“That how you speak to your husband?” He asked, leading you to the dinner table you’d arranged with plates, cutlery, artfully folded napkins, and the flowers from him. You crawled beside him, enjoying the discomfort in your permanently bruised knees. He took a seat and you knelt next to him, pussy already slick as he tethered the leash to the table he made to accommodate it. 

“I don’t know, Joel. Maybe you should do something about it if you don’t like it. Can’t just leave your wife at home and expect nothing to change. You need to maintain her.” 

“Maintenance, huh?” He snorted, tugging you close by your collar and kissing you. He held you in place with a firm hand right underneath your collar, his grip on your throat reinforcing his ownership over you. 

“Turn around, let me see what’s mine,” he said, patting your cheek twice. You obeyed, turning around on your knees and bending over to have your face down and ass up. 

He pushed your panties aside and you rolled your ass in the air so the jewel lodged in your hole glinted bright. He gripped it, coaxing it out gently before pushing it right back in. You whimpered, pressing your cheek to the floor and looking back at him as he played with you. He thrust the plug in and out, his devilish eyes giving away just how much he enjoyed debauching you. He liked the contradictions in you. The good little wife who stayed home and cooked and cleaned. But also his filthy little whore that stretched her ass to take his cock. 

“Kept it in all day, baby?” he asked, pressing on the plug.

“Yeah, Daddy…” you said, looking away at the grains on the wood flooring as you smiled. 

“Good girl,” he said, patting your ass once again before letting your panties snap back in place. Your smile widened, proud that you’d done a good job.

You’d never taken a man in your ass. Not that none had asked before Joel. Some even tried to force themselves in, pretending it was accidental when you yelled at them. The thought of a cock there, where it wasn’t meant to be, where it would be at least a bit painful… It scared you. Your boyfriends and one night stands had no incentive to be good to you. But it was different with Joel. He was your Master and you trusted he wouldn’t do anything to damage his property. 

You were his in every way but you needed him to take more. To have a part of your body that wasn’t meant for fucking trained to take his cock… For every inch of your body to be transformed into a plaything for him. It was the utter, complete submission you craved. 

“So proud of you,” he said, turning you around to face him. He bent down, staying close so you could feel his warm breath as he spoke to you. He kissed behind your ear where he knew you to be sensitive, making you shudder in response. 

“Need to stretch it out good so when I take your ass one day, I won’t split ya’ open.” 

You whimpered, cunt clenching as his words morphed into images in your mind’s eye. 

He served himself dinner, heaping enough on his plate for the both of you. The gentleman that he was, he fed you first. You were his bitch at his feet, being fed and pet, but you were still a typical husband and wife sharing stories of each other’s day. 

You asked him about his day and he vented about some idiot using the wrong setting and overheating a drill bit so much it snapped. He asked about your book club and complimented the meal even though he’d already praised you for it last night.

He rinsed the dishes and set them in the racks to dry while you went upstairs to fetch his fresh boots. The nice soft ones he never wore outside and sanitized thoroughly after each use. You placed them by the coffee table, your eyes connecting with his as you did. He smiled and returned to the dishes, a knowing look in his eyes. 

You headed to the mini bar to prepare drinks. Joel’s drink never needed preparation- just a whiskey, neat. But you liked something fun every night courtesy of your newfound interest in mixology. 

⌘⌘⌘

Joel reached into his shirt and pulled out his chain. It was one of your first presents to him. It was gold and had him stuttering his words when he got it. 

He was not used to having a rich girlfriend. He’d always dated within his economic group. No surprise since not a lot of rich women liked contractors without a higher education. And as a traditional southern man, he liked to be the one to buy gifts for his woman. Liked to provide, to take care of his people. It took time to adjust to having a woman who liked just as much to buy him stuff and take care of him with meals and massages. One who took spontaneous trips to his worksites just to give him a bottle of homemade lemonade when he most needed it. 

Care was a one way street for him. But with you, he learned to accept some care for himself. It began with you cooking meals for him when he renovated your home. It wasn’t the most delicious. You had no experience cooking back then, but he was completely taken by the care you showed him. Just a man she hired. You had too many rooms in your fancy mansion to do shit like that. 

Quickly it had become routine. You spoke to each other about your lives. He told you about starting work straight outta high school after his parents’ death and he learned why you’d moved to Austin. The more days he spent renovating your house the less it felt like work. Especially since that one night you got on your knees and let him know that you would be happy to relieve his stress.

Ladies usually played it coy, or at least that was his experience. But you were unabashed. Bold. You didn’t drop hints and play games. You dropped to you fucking knees and offered him your mouth to fuck. It surprised him how attracted he was to your assertiveness. 

Like the other things he accepted from you, he accepted the gold. You liked how it dangled from his neck as he plowed into you. He liked that it was a counterpart to the collar he put around your neck. 

It now held the key to your chastity belt. He pulled your panties off, plucked the key from his chain and unlocked you. Most mornings, he locked you into your belt before kissing you goodbye at the door. In the evenings, he opened you like the best fucking Christmas present. 

He wasn’t too strict with it, finding integrity and trust a more powerful tool than fear. You knew there was a spare set of keys to the belt and collar in a drawer if you needed them. You trusted him enough to lock and collar you without disrespecting you and he trusted you to not remove it without good reason. He trusted you to not lie and you trusted that he would handle your actions with kindness.

He slipped the heavy steel belt off and placed it by his side on the rug. Knelt behind you, he bent down and kissed your pussy lips, already wet and needy though he hadn’t done anything but wiggle your plug a little. He made out with it just as he would your painted pair of lips, his tongue parting your folds to enter you, tasting your arousal. 

“Remindin’ me why I call ya honey…” he whispered into your sensitive skin, making you tremble against his lips. 

“Why you gotta bake me sweet treats when you got me my favorite between your legs?” He asked, wrapping his lips around your nub before you could answer him with snark. You buried your head in a couch cushion, muffling your sounds. But in the quiet of the living room, Joel could hear the pretty little whimpers you made for him. 

He groaned, his neck hurting from the awkwardness of the angle. He got back up from under you and slapped your ass thrice in quick succession. “Up. Put your panties on and change my boots.” 

He sat back comfortably on the couch and enjoyed the view of you as you got to work. 

Work boots off, you laced up the house boots and dropped your face to the ground, your ass pushing up. You pressed your lips to one boot and then the next. Then you licked it from the tip up, looking up at him for approval as you traveled up. He looked nothing less than absolutely pleased, his fingertips brushing his jawline and his smile soft at the sight of your devotion. 

He tipped your chin up with his boot and caressed your cheek with it. “My little slut loves my boots, huh?” 

You nodded and nuzzled into it, grateful for his attention. The warmth of his smile morphed into arrogance. From your loving husband to the man who knew he controlled your every breath and was ready to take advantage of it. 

“On your ass, slut. Spread those legs and show me your cunt.” 

You sat back, the coffee table supporting you as you spread your legs wide. When you moved the wet gusset of your panties aside, his eyes zeroed in and he tongue swept over his lips. You felt your cunt drip into the carpet, the shame of being so aroused by worshiping his boots only making the situation worse. 

He slid his boot between your legs and pressed it against your hole. “Tell me. Why do I need to keep you locked?” 

“Because I’m a slut,” you admitted, beginning to rub against it. You knew you were a lot to handle. You lived a life of restrain and shame before you found Joel. Joel freed you to chase your desires and allowed you to devolve into a slut. Since then you thought of nothing but filling your holes. He had you addicted to his cock and whining for it like a wild animal. If you didn’t have Joel to take full command of your body, you knew you would do nothing but rub your cunt raw.

“Yeah that’s right,” he said, leaning close. “But you are my slut. I know you won’t go around letting other men use your holes. So why do I keep you locked?” 

“B-because I’m so wet I can’t think, Daddy.” 

“Mhmm. That’s right. Now why does Daddy need you thinking?” He said, cupping your cheek in his callused hands. 

“C-cause I need to keep the home. I need to cook and clean.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t need your brain working to do that, baby. What d’ya need to think for?” 

“My projects. I need to think for my projects.” 

“Exactly. Good girl. You need to finish the portrait for your art class next week, don’tcha?” 

You simply nodded, happy that he kept track of your tasks. Sometimes you forgot. You got lazy and procrastinated, turned your hobbies into a source of stress. But Master guided you and held you accountable. 

“And you love your furniture so much. Your Persian rug, your designer sofas, the hardwood floor I laid down. What’ll happen if I don’t keep this hole locked?” He asked, tipping his chin up. 

Your mind began its descent into the void of lust as the sensations between your legs eclipsed all else. Yet you managed a response. “I’ll r-ruin it.”

“Mhmm. Can’t have you ruining our home. I know how much care you put into it,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How well you take care of it everyday,” he said with a kiss on your cheek. “It’ll all be ruined if you leave a trail of slick behind you when you’re on your knees cleaning the front.” 

You nodded frantically, words slipping beyond your abilities. 

“Now tell me why I need separate house boots.” 

You opened and closed your mouth, but nothing got to you past the cruelty of his boot and your slick panties on your clit. His had slipped from your face down to grab your neck and you gasped. 

“Answer me, girl. Why do I need these boots?”

“B-because of me.” 

“Mmm. Why?”

“Bec-because I’m a shameless bitch,” you croaked out as his hand constricted around you. “I need to fuck m’self on Master’s boots,” 

“That’s right,” he said, allowing you some air. “I can’t go out with my work boots smelling like pussy. Can’t let my men take a whiff of my slut now, can I?” he taunted, giving a light kick to your pussy. You gasped, the kick electrifying your every nerve. 

“You want more?” He asked, head tilted and a mocking smile playing at his plush lips. 

You nodded frantically, your cunt thrusting into the air as you sputtered, “Yes Sir, yes please.” 

“Shameless whore, asking to be kicked in the cunt,” he snorted before he kicked you again. You shrieked and closed your legs shut, pain and pleasure alike traveling from your core to every part of your body. When your brain recovered from the shock, you opened your legs again. 

You reached between your legs and rubbed yourself, intending to soothe but distracted by the waves of pleasure from the contact. 

“Fucking slut,” he said, slapping your hand away and replacing it with his own. He alternated between slaps and rubs of your cunt. The sting of pain morphed into jolts of pleasure until the two became so indistinguishable from the other that you didn’t know what you were craving. You took what he gave, your body grateful to accept anything that came of his touch. 

The hand on your neck squeezed and let go at unpredictable intervals. Every constriction of airflow was a reminder that you were just a toy at his whim. He decided if you came, he decided which hole he’d use, he decided if you’d take your next breath. 

“Look how you’re dripping all over my hand,” he said, his hand glistening with your shame as he brought it up to you. He smeared it over your face, a sob escaping your throat as you smelled your desperation. 

You inched closer to him on your knees and rested your cunt at the tip of his boot and humped. Up, down, up, down. There was no bliss like it. 

“Like a fucking bitch in heat,” he muttered, laughing to himself when you whined. “Imagine if your former subordinates could see ya now. Wouldn’t even recognize their ballbusting boss. Maybe we should have ‘em over.” 

You shook your head in denial, but your cunt was more truthful, clenching harder at the thought of having an audience to your subjugation. 

“No?” He mocked as he worked on your corset top. The hairs on your body stood up as the air cooled your sweating torso. Your breasts bounced free, jiggling as you fucked yourself on his boot. 

He took one in his hand, fondling it before letting go with a slap. You yelped, inching closer and trapping the bootlaces under you. He took turns with them, squeezing, slapping and pinching. 

“Please!” You cried, not comprehending why you were begging. 

“I know, baby. I know…” he said, the softness of his voice contradicting the cruelty of his fingers that tugged at your nipples. 

“Need t— Hnngg!” 

“I got you. Give into it, Cunt. Just be the fuckhole you were made to be.” 

A wild sound escaped your lips and you fell back. He caught you, holding you up against the coffee table. 

Your cunt still rutted, autonomous and in control of you. Just a cunt, just Master’s fuckhole. With that reassurance, the world disappeared and you found euphoria that you could never experience without him. 

All the tension in your muscles evaporated to join the anxieties he fucked out of you, leaving behind you a carefree fucktoy. 

Brains all fucked out, you could do nothing but comply as he rearranged you on your knees. Light illuminated his face and sounds of a cheering crowd and a fast talking man echoed in your empty head. 

He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your mouth to open. A cold glass pressed against your lips and you lapped up the drink, grateful for something to quench your thirst. He pinched your nose, laughing as your hole gasped wide open for air. 

He lined his cock up with your hole and thrust in, your lips stretching tight to accommodate him. He allowed you air once again and you moaned around him, grateful for his benevolence. Though your hole was accustomed to him, the walls trembled. But you persevered, needing to show Master you were grateful for letting you breathe. You took him inch by inch, stopping only when your head was on his lap and your nose pressed against his balls. 

You breathed in his scent, masculine and overpowering. Tongue darted out every now and then to lick his balls. Cunt pulsated in the joy of submission when he moaned and whimpered. Every now and then he fucked your face up and down his cock and gave you air but mostly let you be.

Time had passed but you didn’t know how much. No world existed beyond him, no purpose other than warming his cock in your hole. Eventually, he stood up and held your head in both hands, thrusting in and out with no regard for you. Pathetic sounds escaped your burning throat and your lips lost its bright red color as your lipstick ran with your drool. Mascara and eyeliner ran down the sides of your face with your tears, turning gray when he released his spend on your face.

Face covered in his release, you crumbled at his feet, your arms going around his legs. You couldn’t bear to be alone in this state. His hand came down, caressing your sweat soaked hair as he whispered comforts.

“Did so well for me, Darling. So fucking perfect…”

“I love you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through foggy vision. 

“I love you. More than I can show. Let me take care of you now. Bath and then bed, alright?”

You nodded, cheek pressed against his knee and loath to let go of his legs. He didn’t hurry you,but allowed you stay where you were until you decided to get up. There were chores to be done, you were sure but you knew he would take care of it. It was a worry you no longer had. All that mattered was that you served him well. No stock prices and market conditions. No early mornings and hours stuck in traffic jams. 

Nothing to do but please Master, nothing to be but holes and tits. You were free. 

⌘

Masterlist

[p0orbaby]

Far Too Gone for a Tuesday

summary: maybe you like jealous leah

warnings: jealousy obvs, some steamy stuff but nothing graphic

a/n: all thanks to this request !

word count: 1.4k

-

The evening air bubbles with the hum of laughter and conversation, lights casting a warm glow across the garden where you stand, half-listening to someone drone on about their latest holiday. You’re at one of those events, the kind you attend out of obligation more than desire.

A sprawling affair hosted by someone with too much money and too little sense. The atmosphere is as bloated and gaudy as the host's ego, with silk-draped tables groaning under the weight of excessive floral arrangements and waitstaff circulating with trays of canapés so pretentious you can hardly even pronounce the ingredients.

Leah’s somewhere nearby, you know that much. You spotted her a few minutes ago, deep in conversation with a couple of her teammates. Your eyes flick over to her now and then, a subconscious tether that keeps pulling you back.

The sight of her, standing tall and confident, is a small comfort in the swirl of pretension and forced smiles. She’s laughing at something, her head tilted back slightly, the elegant line of her throat catching the light. It’s a beautiful sight, and you wish you were over there with her instead of enduring the banal chatter of your current company.

“-and the water was just so blue, you wouldn’t believe it,” the man in front of you says, leaning in closer. Too close. You can smell the faint trace of whiskey on his breath, mingling with a cologne that’s a bit too strong. His eyes are on you, intent, and there’s a smirk playing on his lips that makes your skin crawl.

He’s the type of man who thinks his wealth and status entitle him to anything, or anyone, he desires. His gaze is an inventory, cataloging parts of you as if you’re a commodity. Something he can pursue.

You laugh, a little too brightly, taking a half-step back. “Sounds amazing,” you say, hoping the conversation will fizzle out soon. But he doesn’t take the hint. His smirk widens, mistaking your politeness for interest.

“You know,” he says, lowering his voice, “I could take you there sometime. Show you the sights.” His hand hovers near your arm, fingers itching to close the gap, to claim territory he assumes is up for grabs. There’s a calculated sleaze in his tone, the kind that comes from too many years of getting what he wants.

You glance around, looking for an escape. And that’s when you see her. Leah’s eyes are on you, and there’s a hardness there that makes your breath catch. She’s seen the whole thing, and she’s not pleased. The muscles in her jaw are tight, and her posture has shifted, less casual now, coiled and ready.

Before you can react, she’s striding over, her movements purposeful and confident. The man is still talking, oblivious to the storm heading his way. Leah’s presence is practically a force field as she steps into the space between you and the man with a possessiveness that’s both protective and territorial.

“Hey,” Leah says, her voice cool but with an edge sharp enough to cut. She slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Her touch is possessive, grounding. “Everything alright here?” Her eyes never leave the man’s face, daring him to challenge her claim.

The man blinks, taken aback. He looks between the two of you, a frown forming. “Yeah, we were just talking.” His bravado falters in the face of Leah’s unyielding stare.

Leah’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Were you?” she asks, her tone leaving no room for doubt about what she thinks of that. “Because it looked like you were doing more than just talking.” Her fingers press into your side, a silent reassurance and a clear signal of ownership.

There’s a moment of tense silence, and you can almost feel the heat of Leah’s anger radiating off her. The man finally seems to get the message, raising his hands in embarrassed surrender. “No harm meant,” he mutters before slinking away, his earlier confidence thoroughly deflated.

Leah’s arm stays around you, her grip firm. “Let’s get out of here,” she says, her voice softening only for you. You nod, relieved, and let her lead you through the crowd. As you walk away, you feel the weight of her possessiveness, a comforting anchor in the midst of the evening’s shallow frivolities.

The drive home is quiet, the air thick with unspoken tension. Leah’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, her jaw set. Her knuckles are white, gripping the wheel as if it’s the only thing keeping her from blowing her top. The dim glow of passing street lights illuminates her face in fleeting intervals, casting ridged shadows that highlight the building fire in her eyes.

You glance at her, a hefty combination of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. You didn’t ask for the attention, but you can’t deny that part of you is glad for Leah’s reaction. It’s a reminder of the intensity of her feelings for you, a silent declaration of how fiercely she cares.

Outside, the city slips by, a blur of lights and dark shapes. Inside the car, the silence is almost oppressive, filled with the things neither of you are saying. Leah’s jaw ticks, a muscle jumping in the tightness of her clenched teeth. Her eyes remain fixed on the road, but you can feel the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. You reach out, a tentative touch on her arm, and she softens, just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of your presence.

As soon as you’re inside, the door barely clicks shut before Leah’s on you, her hands cupping your face, her lips crashing onto yours with a desperate hunger. It’s a kiss that’s both an apology and a reminder, an outlet for the emotions she’s been holding back. You kiss back, matching her pace, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, needing to feel her against you.

“Mine,” she mutters against your lips, and it’s not a question. It’s a declaration, a statement of fact that brooks no argument. You nod, breathless, feeling the possessiveness in the way she touches you, the way she consumes you. Her kisses trail down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, marking you in a way that sends shivers down your spine. It’s primal, instinctual, a need to brand you as hers.

She pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, her own dark with desire and something more primal. “You’re mine,” she repeats, her voice a low growl. You nod again, unable to form words, lost in the heat of her gaze. There’s a fierceness there, a raw intensity that both thrills and terrifies you.

The night becomes a blur of sensations, Leah’s hands and lips everywhere, a constant reminder of her claim on you. She’s relentless, her jealousy fueling a passion that leaves you breathless and wanting more. Every touch, every kiss is a promise, a reaffirmation of what you mean to her. Her hands are possessive, her touch demanding, and you respond in kind, giving yourself over to her completely.

She presses you against the wall, then a door, then the mattress. Her hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips skimming over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arch into her touch, needing more, needing her. Her lips find yours again, and it’s a clash of teeth and tongues, a desperate strife over authority that she wins effortlessly.

When it’s over, you lie tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your breathing heavy. Leah’s arms are around you, holding you close, as if she’s afraid to let go. You nestle into her, feeling the steady beat of her heart beneath your cheek. It’s a soothing rhythm, a reminder that she’s here, that she’s yours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice rough with emotion. “I just… I couldn’t stand seeing him all over you like that.” There’s vulnerability in her words, a raw honesty that makes your heart ache.

You lift your head to meet her eyes, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “Don’t be sorry,” you say softly. “I’m yours, Leah. Only yours.” You mean it, every word, and you hope she can see the truth in your eyes.

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good,” she says, pulling you even closer. “Because I’m never letting you go.” There’s a promise in her words, a vow that you know she’ll keep.

And you believe her.

[passiveagreeable]

So the tipping is difficult to say. I think general wisdom says about 1 to 2 bucks per drink, which could be far more than 15% depending on the price of your drink, or it could be about the same. If you’re ordering really expensive or fancy things, then maybe less. So it seems to me that tipping per drink may have the bartender come out ahead. Or it may not, that completely depends on the behavior of the customer.

The transaction fee for paying with card though, that is real and a problem, and definitely one main reason for wanting one transaction.

As far as “closing out manually,” restaurants and bars and other places can have totally different register systems. Newer restaurants and especially places where you order and pay at a counter, like fast food or very casual places, tend to have vastly different systems than a typical sit down restaurant. But in my experience, all transactions were connected to one bill or one table in the computer.

When I’m in Europe, they just bring that nifty portable card reader to the table and type in whatever the quantity of the check is. The payment is not directly connected to the computer system to manages who orders what and where. Generally speaking, in my experience, that’s not possible here. So you have to close each check or table individually and independently from the rest. So that’s, to my knowledge, the meaning of “close out manually.”

I think it was mentioned before, but as far as fraud, because the standard is that they will take the card from you and bring it to the computer to charge you, the blame and responsibility for fraud are different here. If your card is stolen, well they know where it was a who probably touched it. The credit card company is going to investigate if you say there has been fraud on your account, and unless you are found to be like particularly stupid with your card or were in fact aware and/or assisting with the fraud, or you have a history of causing trouble for the credit card company, they are going to cover the fraudulent charges.

Right Americans, I need an explanation. What on Earth are these kids doing wrong? Surely this is normal?

[perfectsunlight]

I BET YOU THINK ABOUT ME - JISOO

kim jisoo x reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: implied age-gap, class disparities, isolation, belittling, emotional manipulation, mentioned breakup.

synopsis: despite being broken up, you bet your wealthy ex-girlfriend still thinks about you.

there were many things you enjoyed about dating kim jisoo. the way her laughter could light up a room, soft but knowing, like she was in on a joke no one else understood. how her touch was always delicate—calculated, even—as if everything she laid her hands on was an extension of the control she had over the world around her.

but her wealth and status? no, those were never the reasons you stayed.

even now, walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets where red and gold leaves scattered beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but be swallowed by memories of her. the crisp autumn air bit at your skin, a sharp reminder of the past, tugging at your thoughts like the wind tugged at your coat. it was in this season that jisoo had always seemed to glow brightest. her beauty matched the fall—effortless, rich, like a vintage painting come to life. she was untouchable.

however, she was just as cruel.

you just didn’t realize it at the time. how her perfectly manicured fingers—always cold to the touch, always adorned with rings that shimmered in the dying autumn light—had dug deep, not into your skin, but into your spirit. each time she mentioned your "quaint" lifestyle, your "charming" lack of understanding about the finer things in life, it had been wrapped in a velvet glove of affection, so you hardly noticed the sting at first.

it had felt like walking through the falling leaves, admiring the beauty, unaware that winter was creeping closer, ready to strip everything bare.

she had always made sure you knew she was from another world—one where silk sheets were the norm, where every meal came with a waitstaff and a glass of wine you could hardly pronounce. her apartment had been like a showroom, sterile and pristine, with floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched out over the city like a kingdom she ruled from above. and you, standing in the middle of it all, had felt small.

but now, in the aftermath, you could see how she had looked at you, like a pet project. an amusing distraction.

you remember the last dinner you shared at some restaurant you couldn’t pronounce, where the chandeliers above flickered against the dim light and the leaves outside the window swirled like some gilded snowstorm. she had ordered for you without asking, her voice as smooth and cool as the autumn breeze that crept into the cracks of your jacket.

"it’s adorable," she had said, waving her hand dismissively at your confusion when the plates arrived, "how little you know about this. really. it’s sweet."

at the time, you’d laughed it off, sipping the wine that burned your throat more than it soothed. but now you realize how sharp her words had been, each one a blade wrapped in silk.

the holiday parties were even worse.

you’d always felt out of place, like an actor in the wrong movie, wandering through rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged in some old-world painting. there were always murmurs of stocks and art auctions, people in tailored suits that hung off them like armor. you, in your off-the-rack blazer, had felt like an imposter. but jisoo, with her arm linked loosely through yours, had moved through the crowd effortlessly, her smile cold and practiced, like she knew every secret and every face in the room.

the air inside was thick with perfume and candlelight, but it never warmed you. outside, through the towering windows of the penthouse venues, you could always catch glimpses of the world you belonged to—the same city, but miles away, where people didn’t wear silk scarves that cost more than your rent or talk about vacation homes in hushed, reverent tones. the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees seemed desperate, the last few hanging on in the icy wind. much like you had been, clinging to jisoo’s side, pretending not to notice the subtle, cutting remarks she’d make about your clothes, your taste in music, your background.

"you know," she’d say in that breathy, disinterested tone of hers, eyes scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects, "maybe next time you could wear something… a little more appropriate for the occasion?"

the words had stung, but you’d smiled, nodding like you hadn’t just been dressed down in front of people who already looked at you like you were her charity case. you’d downed your drink, hoping the burn of it would distract from the ache in your chest, while jisoo had already moved on, laughing airily at some joke from a man whose name you couldn’t remember, but whose disdainful eyes stayed with you long after the night was over.

at those parties, she’d always introduce you the same way: “this is y/n.”

nothing more, nothing less. like you were just another accessory—another piece of her perfectly arranged life. your name alone always hung in the air, stiff and formal, with no affection behind it. 

it was a title, not a connection.

but the way she spoke about herself was different. she was kim jisoo, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in seoul, a woman who everyone admired but no one truly knew. she never missed a chance to remind people of her lineage, of her success, of the places she’d been that you could only dream of. you’d stand there, smiling politely, the outsider in your own relationship, as she charmed the room with stories of her luxury trips to europe or some exclusive party she’d attended.

you used to tell yourself that maybe this was just her world—one you didn’t quite understand but could learn to navigate. after all, you thought, love was supposed to be about growing, about adapting to each other. but now, looking back, you see it differently. you hadn’t been adapting. you had been erasing yourself.

you remember the first time you’d seen her living room—everything about it had been a display of understated opulence. the couch, soft and inviting, had been custom-made in italy, a piece of furniture that cost more than you’d make in a year. the kind of thing you wouldn’t even dare to sit on without an invitation.

she’d caught you staring at it once, your fingers brushing lightly over the velvety surface, as if afraid you’d leave some permanent mark on it.

“do you like it?” she’d asked, her tone casual, almost playful, as she kicked off her shoes. organic shoes, she’d said—handcrafted by a designer who only used sustainably sourced materials, each pair worth thousands. she’d tossed them carelessly to the side, as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.

“it’s beautiful,” you’d breathlessly answered, unsure of how to respond. what else could you say? the couch was more than a place to sit. it was a symbol of everything that separated you from her.

the older woman had smiled, that knowing little smile of hers, and settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “it should be,” she’d replied, her voice laced with a subtle arrogance. “it cost a fortune. but you can’t put a price on comfort, can you?”

at the time, you’d nodded, sitting beside her, careful not to spill the coffee you’d brought from a café that seemed almost comically out of place in her world of curated luxury. but now, looking back, you realize how much weight that moment held.

the couch, the shoes, the apartment—it was all part of the same narrative. jisoo’s life was meticulously designed, every element perfectly placed to reflect her status. even her so-called love of organic, sustainable products wasn’t about caring for the earth; it was about showing the world that she could afford to care. it was another layer of the image she presented, another way to remind you that you didn’t quite belong.

the shoes—those ridiculously expensive shoes—had been one of the first things you’d noticed about her. how she would glide through the city in them, effortlessly chic, while you tried to keep up in your well-worn sneakers. how she never seemed to care about the price tag, because to her, money wasn’t something you worried about. it was something you had. something you displayed.

you remember asking her about them once, marveling at their craftsmanship, at the intricate details stitched into the leather. “they’re nice, right?” she’d said, almost bored with the conversation. “made by a small artisan. i like supporting brands that are more...conscious. but it’s not just about the shoes, you know? it’s about a lifestyle.”

at the time, you’d nodded along, impressed by her philosophy, thinking there was something admirable about her commitment to sustainability. but now, with the clarity that only distance can bring, you see it differently. it wasn’t about responsibility or caring for the environment—it was about exclusivity. 

jisoo didn’t just buy things; she bought status. and as a result, she never let you forget where you came from.

she didn’t need to say it outright; her silences were louder than any words. the way her gaze would graze over your simple gifts, a flash of disappointment quickly masked by a too-sweet smile. the way her laughter, always so soft and melodic to anyone else, would carry a sharp edge when she’d point out how "cute" your attempts to impress her were. every look, every gesture, had been a reminder: you would never be enough.

and the holidays only magnified the divide between you. her family gatherings were a spectacle—elegant, with a quiet kind of opulence, but they were colder than the snow beginning to fall outside. conversations were distant, sterile, filled with politeness and half-meant compliments. you’d watch as jisoo’s mother raised an eyebrow at you, a polite but questioning smile on her lips, while her father barely acknowledged your presence at all, too engrossed in conversations about business acquisitions and real estate.

you remember the first time you had brought her home to meet your family. the warmth in the room had been undeniable, even if the house had been modest. the table was small, the plates mismatched, and the wine was cheap, but there had been laughter. real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that left your cheeks flushed. but jisoo had sat there, stiff and out of place, a polite smile frozen on her lips as she delicately picked at her food. she had said all the right things, but you could tell—she didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers.

and after that night, she’d never come back. not once.

"it’s not my kind of environment," she’d said, as if your family home was some quaint little corner of a forgotten world. but you hadn’t pushed it. you’d just smiled, hoping that love would eventually smooth out the rough edges between your lives.

but it never did.

your image of her entirely changed once she launched her own dior collaboration.

the transformation was undeniable. jisoo had always been poised, elegant, and out of reach, but when her dior collaboration was announced, it was as if she ascended to another level entirely—a world you never truly belonged to. the moment you saw her in those campaign ads, draped in luxury from head to toe, with that distant, unreadable expression in her eyes, you realized something had shifted. it wasn’t just the clothes or the brand—it was her.

the once subtle differences between you were now glaring. she’d always had a way of making you feel small, of making the simplest moments feel like they were being measured against some invisible standard. but now, with the world’s eyes on her, she no longer had to hide it. she wore her superiority like couture, and her status was no longer just an undercurrent in your relationship—it was the defining feature.

you remember scrolling through your phone that first day the campaign was released, seeing her everywhere—billboards, social media, magazines. her image was iconic, flawless, unattainable. the woman in those pictures wasn’t the same person you once loved, or perhaps she was, and you had simply refused to see it. the jisoo in dior was the one the world adored: polished, elegant, and untouchable. and the jisoo you had known—the one who laughed with you on lazy sundays, who curled up next to you in bed with soft whispers—felt like a figment of your imagination.

that night, you sat in your apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves, watching her face appear on the tv during yet another interview. the host praised her for her taste, her grace, and asked how it felt to be a global ambassador for such a prestigious brand. jisoo smiled that small, practiced smile, the kind that could melt an audience but had always left you feeling cold.

“it’s an honor, truly,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “i’ve always been drawn to the finer things in life, and working with dior is the perfect alignment of that vision.”

drawn to the finer things. those words echoed in your mind long after the interview ended. it wasn’t that she loved the finer things—anyone could—but the way she lived for them, the way they seemed to define her, made you realize just how different you were.

the last time you saw her in person, it was the tail end of last fall, the leaves almost entirely stripped from the trees, the sky a muted shade of gray. you’d met for coffee, though it felt more like a final performance than a reunion. she had walked in, dressed head-to-toe in dior, effortlessly chic in her monochromatic outfit, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing like some distant reminder of all the ways she had outgrown you.

she hadn’t even taken off her sunglasses, those oversized black lenses that concealed any hint of vulnerability. the moment she sat down, you knew—this was the end.

“i’m heading to paris for fashion week,” she had said casually, as if she were talking about a trip to the grocery store. “things have been busy.”

you remember nodding, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. there was no warmth in her gaze, no familiarity in her voice. the woman sitting across from you was a stranger, more concerned with her schedule, her image, her empire, than with you.

when you finally found your voice, all you could manage was, “i’m happy for you.” it sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

she had smiled—an empty, fleeting gesture. “thanks. it’s good to hear you say that.” her leaving behind the scent of her designer perfume felt more symbolic than it probably should have,

that’s when you knew—there was nothing left of what you once had. 

the girl you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by someone who only cared for power, prestige, and perception. and as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the café, you realized you weren’t mourning the loss of her, but the version of her you had once believed in.

jisoo wasn’t just a woman anymore. she was a brand. a symbol. a masterpiece crafted by the very world she belonged to. and you? you were simply a chapter in her rise to the top, forgotten as soon as the ink dried.

you didn’t date kim jisoo for her wealth. 

you dated her for the way she seemed to know the world in a way you never could—confident, poised, above it all. you thought that maybe, by loving her, you could somehow touch that world too. but love wasn’t what had tied you together. not really.

it had been power.

she loved the way you looked at her, like you were eternally trying to catch up. the way you stumbled over the names of her favorite designers, or blinked in confusion when she mentioned some art exhibit you hadn’t even heard of. she loved the control. and you—god, you had loved her for it. back then, you thought it was awe. now you see it for what it was: submission.

but there, in the middle of the bustling autumn streets, as you watch the leaves scatter across the pavement in a dance as fleeting as your relationship, you find yourself wondering—does she think about you?

does she ever sit in that apartment of hers, surrounded by luxury and untouched by the season, and wonder what it would be like to be less than perfect? does she ever close her eyes and picture the messier parts of love, the parts she could never let herself fall into?

you smile bitterly, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. maybe she does.

maybe, even now, as you wander through the city you had once explored together, her mind drifts to you—the one person who had never fit neatly into the frame of her perfectly curated life. maybe she remembers how, despite everything, you were never quite small enough to be molded. 

and maybe, just maybe, in her moments of silence, with her designer bags and high-rise views, she thinks about how she’ll never find someone quite like you again. someone who saw her for more than just the polished surface she presented to the world. someone who, despite it all, had loved her—flaws, cruelty, and all.

the wind howls, scattering more leaves into the air, and you watch as they swirl and disappear. there’s a certain beauty to the way things fall apart, you realize. a kind of freedom in it.

jisoo might not know that, but you do. however, your mind refused to let you rest.

it was 3 am, and you were still wide awake. the cold light of your phone screen cast shadows on the walls of your tiny apartment, worlds away from the penthouse where jisoo was probably fast asleep. you imagined her there, wrapped in those luxurious silk sheets, her breath steady, undisturbed by thoughts of you. in her city. the one that always felt a little brighter, a little shinier than yours. a place you never quite belonged.

your mind wandered, picturing her with someone new. someone from her world. the kind of girl who knew all the right names to drop at fancy dinners, who could wear those thousand-dollar organic shoes without feeling like an imposter. a girl with a perfect pedigree, someone who her friends probably thought was “better” than you. you could almost hear them whispering it, their voices low but full of certainty.

it wasn’t long ago that you had tried to fit into those circles. you’d been the outsider, awkward and out of place in jisoo’s world of high-society dinners and private parties. but you tried, back when love made you brave, when you thought if you just held her hand tight enough, the rest would fall into place.

they let you sit at the table, once. out of courtesy, or maybe because you were still attached to her arm like an accessory she wasn’t ready to give up. you’d laugh when they laughed, your smile tight as they sat around talking about the meaning of life, throwing around names of philosophers and books you’d never heard of.

“the book that just saved me,” one of them had said, casually, like it was a known fact that certain books saved people. you’d smiled and nodded, even though the title flew right over your head, another reminder of how little you belonged.

jisoo had glanced at you then, her eyes softening in the way they sometimes did when she noticed you struggling. she squeezed your hand under the table, like she used to when you were still hers, when you thought her world was one you could live in.

but that was before. before the doubts crept in, before the weight of her world pressed down on you. now, it felt like she’d moved on, maybe even found someone who fit in effortlessly where you never could. someone who didn’t have to pretend.

you rolled over, the silence of your room closing in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was asleep now, completely at peace. and if the girl in her bed had the right name, the right look, and could keep up with her friends when they talked about art and life and all the things that always seemed just out of your reach.

the thought made your chest ache, that deep, familiar loneliness that always seemed to come with thinking about her. about them. those nights when you sat in the background, silently wishing you could be enough. but no matter how much you tried, you could never quite silence the feeling that jisoo’s friends were always comparing you to someone else, someone better.

and tonight, even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were telling her that the new girl was everything you never could be. or maybe jisoo was out at one of those cool indie concerts she dragged herself to every week, trying to feel young, trying to prove she was still part of the scene, even though she didn’t belong there any more than you did. it was always about feeling cooler than she actually was, pretending she wasn’t inching further from the age of the crowd around her.

but even with her friends laughing by her side, pretending to be someone else, you knew the truth. 

“i bet you think about me.”

[love-quinn]

— PARTIAL CREDIT

summary — when a new member of the waitstaff starts undermining you, you worry that your job might be in jeapordy. carmen knows you better than you think.

warnings — swearing, i think that's it

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, semi (?) established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2.2k

note — i know i fully dropped off the face of the earth but unfortunately i was too busy channeling waitress reader a little too hard, i actually have to leave for work in a few hours but i really wanted to get something out. this 100% isn't inspired by true events or me projecting in any way, anyway i hope you enjoy!! <3

Being the only waitress at a successful restaurant is hard. During the dinner rush, between wiping tables, grabbing drinks and running food, you’ve slowly learned to be more adaptable to the Bear’s new clientele base. That’s not without its struggles, of course. 

Fortunately, Carmy and Natalie seem to understand that it’s a major handful to simply do your job. Which is why Richie thought it appropriate to call you in two hours early to meet the new waiter.   

Liam’s nice from what you’ve gathered. He’s been working with you at the Bear for about two months at this point, most of that has involved you and Richie training him, and he’s been very receptive to your instruction. 

Sure, sometimes he mutters under his breath when a customer asks him for something, but hey, they’re annoying sometimes. And sure, sometimes you find him in the walk-in on his phone, but you’d be lying if you said you were never on your phone at work. He’s had no complaints, and the work is always done to a standard that’s expected (he is still in training, you’re not delusional). 

You’ve worked at the Bear since they were still the Beef, right after Carmen took over. He realised Richie couldn’t keep up with the stuff at the front by himself, so he’d gone with the cheapest option available and thanked god every day that you weren’t awful at your job. You had just graduated from UofC and if you didn’t get a job when you had, you would have been pretty much out of options. You had no work experience outside of being a TA in college (which apparently didn’t have a lot of transferable skills, according to most of your potential bosses). You hadn’t been able to score an insane internship, you didn’t make super stellar grades, you’d been too busy being desperately poor and struggling to keep up.

You’d been really lucky that Carmen had taken a chance on you when he had, and you had been desperate to show him you were aware of that. Liam didn’t seem to have the same sentiment.

He was the same age as you, and he’d actually gone to UofC as well. He’d gotten a pre-med degree but wanted to take some time off before he went for his MD at Rosalind Franklin. 

He picked up on the work fairly easily, remembered when you showed him where the cleaning supplies were, showed him how to work the buttons on the till to ring in orders, and introduced him to all the staff. They were nice to him, nice enough. It took them a while to warm up to him, just like it took them a second to warm up to Carmen, to Sydney, to you. 

But now, several months in, they all got along enough that work was going well. You didn’t have to work six days a week if you didn’t want to now that Liam was there to lighten the load (you did, you made sure Natalie knew that). Now, you could actually take your lunch break without worrying they were being completely overrun. 

On the whole, things seemed to really improve. 

Until, of course, they didn’t. 

You started hearing whispers, soft remarks of “Oh, I did that for her,” to Richie about greeting table seventeen. Small “I wonder why that wasn’t done, I’ll just do it quickly.” 

“Not to be that person, but I noticed that a lot of the straws haven’t been stocked up. I feel like I have to do it every time. I just wonder what she’s doing when she’s back here…”

You do your best to not let it get to you. He’s never worked in the service industry before, he’s probably just doing his best to make sure that his efforts are being noticed. You were almost lucky, in that way, that you were the only real waitress they’d hired. 

It’s an unusually warm day as you slide in through the back entrance to work. You’re your usual twenty minutes early, lucky that there’s enough work to do that Carmen often encourages punctuality (and thus, fairly compensates for it). 

Liam is scheduled today, but he’s leaving after the lunch shift. You get your break while the kitchen does prep-work for dinner, and then you’re coming back for dinner as well. 

Marcus is in his corner, kneading bread dough with a concentrated look on his face. You brush past him with an airy hello that he returns with a half-hearted wave, not looking up from his task. 

Tina is on vegetables, and she stops you for a moment to ask about a shipment arriving. You assure her that you’ll check when you get to the other side of the kitchen, making your way to the front.

The chairs are already all down, table cloths clean and freshly washed. Sydney went down to the laundromat to get them all clean that morning; she’d texted you and asked if you wanted to come but you told her that you really, really didn’t. 

Your first job is a pre-opening sweep, then a restock, then a menu review. You have 87 minutes until service, and Liam should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so. You have just enough time to go and bug Richie into showing you more pictures of Eva’s last birthday party. 

You stick your head into the office just in time to catch the tail end of a sentence that you definitely weren’t meant to hear; “...doesn’t even stack the chairs? What is she doing here?”

Your work anxieties - the idea that every time something goes wrong it was your fault, that one missed drink or late appetiser would have you fired, that every time a customer berated you it was actually your fault - had definitely eased some in the six months you’d been working there. You’d stopped thinking that every time someone was complaining it was about you, but that meant that when they really were talking about you, you knew. 

Liam’s standing there, leaning up against a pile of papers that Carmen is staring roughly at. He looks tired - when doesn’t he? - and like he doesn’t really want to hear whatever it was that Liam was saying. 

“A lot more than you do,” Carmen grumbles. He runs a hand over his face from the bottom up, coming to a rest when it’s gripping onto his curls. 

“I’m always covering her sections,” Liam groans. “The amount of time that Rich’s given me her table’s drinks, it’s insane. We should start pooling our tips.”

Carmen wants to say a lot back to that. That his name is Richie, and calling him Rich doesn’t make him any more like the finance frat bros that Liam is so desperate to associate with. That tip pooling would be insanely unfair to you considering Carmy’s pretty sure Liam’s made less than what you make in a day. That he stacks the chairs because he likes to, and you know that. 

Instead, he settles on “you’re always covering her sections because she’s always covering up for you when you screw up.”

Liam looks like he’s unsure whether or not to go ghostly pale or beet red at the statement. “Wh- has my performance not been up to scratch, sir?”

Carmen stands. “I didn’t really notice it, at first, cause everything was going so well. She’d never tell on you, she knows what it’s like to struggle at a job.” He looks disdainfully down at Liam’s too-new dress shoes. Professional but impractical as a waiter. From what Carmen’s noticed, this is the second pair he’s ruined. “She’d never tell me that your silverware is never rolled, so she’s been staying late and rolling every single one of them. She’d never tell me that your tables are never cleared away. She’d never tell me that you had six meals comped in your first month because you couldn’t be fucked writing shit down.

So yeah, maybe you get her tables a refill when she’s too busy telling one of us one of your guests was coeliac because you forgot to, but that does not give you the right to look down your entitled fucking nose at her.” Carmen gets close, not close enough to the point where it could be uncomfortable, but much closer than he’d ever get to Liam if he could help it. 

“You don’t like picking up her slack? That’s fine, that’s fucking fine, because to be honest, it seems like you’re creating more work for her anyway. You’re done.”

He looks pointedly towards the door to the small office. 

Liam knows exactly what Carmy’s telling him. “Sir, I-”

Carmen raises a finger and points. “You’re fucking done.”

Liam scampers away so quickly he doesn’t even see you eavesdropping. 

Carmy knows, though. He seems to have a sixth sense for when you walk into a room. If you’re not planning on coming in to confront him about firing Liam then he has no intention of bringing it up with you. He sits down, putting his forehead on his fist. “Sir.”

You’re standing right in the door, it’s practically impossible for Carmen not to notice you. But he pretends, allowing you the chance to slip away and act like you hadn’t just witnessed him firing Liam for being slightly mean to you. 

He opens his eyes to see you standing there still. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” your voice is soft. The collar of your shirt is tucked underneath on one side, and Carmen has to resist the urge to reach up and smooth it out. He’s not quite sure why and he doesn’t feel like unpacking it. “He’s still learning, I don’t mind helping him out.”

Carmen doesn’t mince his words. “He’s a dick, don’t defend him.”

He swivels away from his desk and gestures for you to sit. After a second of hesitation, you perch yourself on top of the small surface. You’re not sure who moves first, Carmen to reach up and take your hands or you to reach down to let him. Neither of you have ever spoken about it, like a lot of things. How he always makes sure you get extra food and you make sure Carmen isn’t bothered while he sets up the dining room. 

You hadn’t realised how much Liam had been heightening your anxiety while he was there. “He’s not allowed to do that to you.” Carmy sounds genuinely pissed. “You do fucking everything out there, he’s not allowed to come in and treat you like some sanctimonious fuck. You… you should’ve come to talk to me about it.” He gives in. “You could’ve.”

“I didn’t want to be a problem.” You admit quietly. “You have enough without me.”

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t talk when he drives you home in the dark, in the snow. But he’d be naive to believe that the same rules applied to everyone else. The kitchen staff talks, none more than Richie. Carmy is surprised he hadn’t decked that pre-med asshole already. 

“You’re not a problem, honey,” he says gruffly. You stay silent for a moment before realising that’s probably all you’re going to get out of him. 

“I need to go prep dining for service,” you say after a moment, not wanting to speak too loudly. 

Camry’s grip on your hand tightens and for a brief second he feels panic set in. You clearly are feeling okay, so it’s not that he needs to check on you. You’re well ahead of schedule. There’s no reason for Carmen to keep his hand enclosed around yours. And yet he does. And yet you let him.

“Liam was just in here bragging about how dining room prep was already done,” he says after a short while. “You’re well ahead of time.”

“He is,” you point out airily. “I’d never want to take credit for his work.”

Carmen squeezes your hands once, eyes crinkling at the sides. You both know you need to go over everything Liam did in an attempt to make himself look better, not one hundred percent trusting him to have done it properly. There’s 56 minutes until service before Carmen finally lets you go (and only because he has prep he needs to get done).

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t say anything when he cracks his office door open for you when you need a breather. You don’t say anything when his station’s been cleaned for him miraculously while you’re waiting for him to finish paperwork.

Luckily for you, the rest of your coworkers seem to understand this time. Nobody mentions Liam or his absence. No one mentions the stars drawn on the band-aid on Carmen’s wrist. And, most surprisingly pleasant, no one mentions how Carmen has started calling you honey more than perhaps your real name.

It makes it even nicer when everyone heads out, leaving you and Carmen alone in the restaurant for the night. They seem to have miraculously developed tact over the last 24 hours, but you’re pretty sure nothing could have stopped Richie from telling everyone about the way that Carmen holds your hand the entire way to your apartment. 

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

[weebsinstash]

I hate when I start having an idea for one character and it turns into having that idea for multiple characters, but, basically, i started thinking of Bruce Wayne and then Lex Luthor creeped into my mind

One of my favorite yandere tropes is "helping you for your own good, even if it's against your will and you hate me for it", and, I was actually thinking about the whole red strings of fate soulmate trope again, and I started thinking of Reader almost immediately rejecting Bruce or Lex for, multiple reasons, but they won't take no for an answer, and then I ALSO started thinking, what if I throw ABO into the mix?

You're an adult Unpresented and basically a second class citizen in society and you've gone your entire life not knowing who to love or trust, growing up in an unstable if not outright abusive home, poor, not being able to be close and affectionate with people the way everyone around you is with their scenting and purring, and you eventually grow resentful of everyone else. You're constantly mistreated and called slurs and working shitty jobs, doing a catering gig at a high class party when your red string of fate appears and you think, "oh great, it must be another member of the waitstaff, if I cause a scene I'll lose this job and be even more in debt, maybe i should sneak off"

Cue you turning around and your soulmate is one of the richest men in the entire world and he even has a supermodel on his arm. Like you're either turning around and seeing unfathomably rich infamous man whore, 'is kind of a brat in his public persona' Bruce Wayne OR the guy who is equally as rich and is constantly beefing with Superman and does things like secretly cures cancer but waters it down to make more money as a treatment rather than a one-time cure

You're just instantly expecting rejection, not wanting any sort of confrontation, and also feeling more than a little humiliated. You finally meet your fated mate and you're working a service gig holding a tray of finger sandwiches while he's a billionaire in black tie attire eating caviar and sipping champagne. Not only is there this ENORMOUS class divide between you, absolutely daunting differences in how you live your life and the expenditures of wealth and flagrant flaunting of it, but he's also an Alpha, and you're... nothing. And you're not sure if you even want a mate anyways. You don't really believe in it. You don't want to give someone that opportunity to hurt you

You're just instantly wanting to run away, meanwhile Lex/Bruce is peeling the model off their arm and bee-lining for you IMMEDIATELY to introduce himself, not giving you any opportunity to slip away. Bruce would take the tray out of your hands himself whereas Lex would snap his fingers and have someone else do it, both of them expecting you to, essentially, immediately drop everything you're doing to get to know them, talk to them--

and your voice cracks as you reject them. Sorry, this clearly isn't going to work out. You need to get back to work, and the differences between the two of you and the worlds you live in are far too different--

But he won't take no for an answer. The arrogant Alpha is vaguely dismissive as he laughs off your concerns. The two of you just need to get to know each other! You're soulmates, how could you two not be meant to be?

But you refuse. You don't really want to talk to him at all. In fact, maybe you even dislike him. Bruce Wayne is publicly a playboy and Lex Luthor is infamously callous and outspoken about his hatred and distrust of Superman; you have genuine reasons to immediately dislike either man

But they know you're their mate now and you're in their sights. You could run away from the party and be back at your home, thinking you've bought yourself some time, and they're in their penthouse/basement respectively, using their supercomputers and superhuman knowledge to research every single scrap of information about you. No stone is left unturned. They'll hire a PI and private security to secretly follow you around while still researching the best way to approach you, concocting the perfect scheme to lure you in. All it takes is some hacking and some bribes and they'll know your rental history, your employment, your hospital records, old report cards from grade school, files from your last psychiatrist, EVERYTHING. They basically know your entire life story within 24 hours of meeting you, but they still want to speak to you, hear your own words, your own thoughts

Bruce is convening with the entire Batfamily, telling them about his new Unpresented mate, how you've had a harsh life and he wants them to have nothing but patience and love for you, with them fully intending to forcibly assimilate you into their pack while telling themselves you're just a little wild because you don't know your place in society, who you are as a person, and have never had your own proper pack to "socialize you", NOT that you're reasonably upset for being forced. Meanwhile Lex is over here making arrangements for a new luxury penthouse apartment in Metropolis for you to stay far away from the riffraff in the slums who harass you and threaten to burn your old beaten down house in the 'burbs down (and maybe even bribes someone to actually do it just to chase you into his arms), and begins legitimately actually genuinely researching how to "cure you"

and of course you guys know my cookies and creme is "whoops, now that you're obsessed with me and think I'm dumb and helpless and just a little uwu bean who needs to be rescued, turns out I'm an Omega! Sure hope you don't have any infantilizing if not outright misogynistic thoughts on how I need to be taken care of by other people and protected because I'm just SO delicate :)", so then you have Lex wanting to keep his oh so rare and elegant and pampered mate away from the rabble he thinks you're way too good for, and at the Wayne home you have like half the home thinking of you like their sibling if not ANOTHER PARENT and the other half convinced there's way too many psycho criminals out there for you to be allowed to be by yourself ever again

And I guess my final note is the juiciness of like, for Bruce specifically. Batman has to rescue you from being mugged or murdered or harmed in some way and you just start pouring all your stressed out feelings to him, about the mate you don't think you deserve, how scared you are, how you don't know how to love and he's so put together and successful, and suddenly here's the red string outting Batman as Bruce Wayne as you just sit there "Oh SHIT" realizing 1. You just told him like literally everything in your head including how you think he's an untrustworthy capitalist whore and 2. Oh God he's fucking Batman

Like... just imagine the excuse it gives him... criminals or let alone the Joker himself sees that red string between you and the Caped Crusader and soon every criminal in the city knows the face of Batman's mate and its never safe to show your face ever again. sure, he COULD potentially hide you away under a fake name on some island somewhere, but why do that when he can forcibly mark you and keep you as his house spouse? What, are you gonna break poor little Damian's heart that you AREN'T gonna be his new parent? But the pack is already so attached to you...

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[wri0thesley]

Consider: you work in the Angel’s Share. Because you’re curvier than the other wait staff the uniform cut comes up a lil bit shorter than the others, but it’s still within what you’d consider decent so you leave it be. Until one day someone orders something from the top shelf and Diluc is busy with another customer so you stand on your tippy toes and reach your hands above your head to grab it and without you knowing suddenly that skirt doesn’t cover quite so much when Diluc turns to see… (maybe the customer who ordered it even did that on purpose and he has to handle their leering at you) 👀

[rapturous applause]

it's . . . difficult. you're the first really curvy waitstaff that the tailor has had to dress, and they didn't realise that the adjustment needed to be more than just 'make some bits wider' - it's a common problem, you've found, with sewists who aren't used to sewing for bigger bodies! but it's basically decent, and you hate to cause a fuss, so you just sigh and smile and try and remind yourself not to bend over--

but it's not only bending over that causes a problem. and you have never thought about yourself as being attractive to a man like master diluc (!), so you don't notice the guilty way his eyes linger on you whenever the two of you have a shift together. you do notice the way a couple of the regulars like to peer down your too-low top or lean down a little further in their chair as you walk away (the cavalry captain and the bard with the braids are particular offenders of these) - but it increases your tips, and hey, you've gotta make a living!

only one night kaeya is leaning across the bar and pointing at some forgotten top-shelf wine and poking gentle fun that you can't reach it, so you end up placing your hands on your hips and huffing out that you'll show him, and as you turn around and get onto the tips of your toes . . .

there's a warm, large presence behind you. a hand grabs the bottle you're looking for. master diluc stands there, his breath coming a little fast, his cheeks a little bit flushed.

"sorry," he mumbles. "thought you needed some . . . help--"

and as he turns to kaeya and slams the bottle down, he gives the captain the biggest scowl you've ever seen from your boss.

[aestheticaltcow]

Our Future

The Bear Masterlist

Next Part

A/N: I've been workin' on this one for a couple weeks now and I finally finished omg

“I just don’t know if I want her to meet Eva.” Tiffany sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood in the doorway, “Tiff, do you wanna meet her first or somethin’?” Richie asked, scratching the back of his head. “Richie, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, but she’s like, what 23?” Richie sighed awkwardly. “Yea…” Tiffany shot him a look, “Look, Tiff, she’s really great-. I want Eva to meet her.” he looked down at her hopefully, Tiffany sighed. He’d been okay with Eva meeting her current boyfriend, so it would be hypocritical for her not to let Eva meet Richie’s girlfriend- you. Tiffany nodded. “Just promise you aren’t breakin’ up with her anytime soon. I don’t want Eva to also get her heart broken.”  

~

Over the summer, you worked as a waitress at The Bear. You thought Richie was handsome from the start. He was tall and rugged, and you couldn’t help but watch his hands as he did paperwork or signed for the liquor order. His hands were so big… you couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel on your body. Manhandling your breasts, wrapped around your neck, pulling you over his knee to spank you… you dragged yourself out of a daydream when Carmy asked the wait staff a question. “I’m sorry my mind was elsewhere… what was the question?”

It went on like that for weeks, Richie being the focal point of your daydreams. Your friends slowly started noticing how you’d turn down guys when you’d go out. Your parents noticed you were taking your time to do your hair and makeup before work. They’d assumed you had a crush on another waitstaff member or, heaven forbid, a line cook; oh boy, did they not expect the man you’d been dolling yourself up for someone 20 years your senior. 

One night, you agreed to go out with some friends from high school. You weren’t looking for a hookup or anything, but when you saw Richie across the street from the club at some pizza place, you were glad you’d borrowed a short cheetah print dress from your friend Mandy. You snuck away from the rest of the group and ‘causually’ bumped into Richie. He’d always thought you were pretty and quick as a whip, but he was significantly older than you, and the idea of even hitting on you made him uneasy. But, when he bumped into you on that night out, he couldn’t get the idea of you out of his mind. “Yo, cousin. You good?” “Ugh yea… was just sayin' hey to y/n.” Carmy chuckled when he saw you walking away from Richie, “She’s into you.” Richie adamantly disagreed, “She’s a good kid, but I’m way too fuckin’ old for her Carm.” 

As the summer came to an end, you’d turned in your two-week notice. Leaving  Richie with a sense of urgency to at least follow you on Instagram. By your last day, he did manage to get your phone number, which, in turn, led to some late-night Instagram stalking from both of you. Richie didn’t expect anything to happen. You were three hours away from Chicago, back at school, surrounded by boys your age. There's no way a girl like you would ever want some 40-year-old divorced single Dad. At least, that was until you’d come home for your Mom’s birthday in mid-September. 

You needed a break from your family. You saw Richie was out with some of the guys from The Bear and decided to make a move. ‘Casually running into’ the group was more challenging than you thought, but when Sweeps noticed you enter the bar, he knew why you were there. “Richie, your girls here.” he laughed; Richie was confused but was happy to see you. You two spent the night talking, “So you got a little boyfriend at school or somethin’?” Richie had hoped the answer would be ‘no,’ and then he could swoop in and show you how a man should treat a woman of your caliber. “Depends on who’s askin’.” you teased, making Richie chuckle. He offered you a ride home.

As Richie pulled up to your parent’s apartment building, you said fuck it and swiftly moved to place a kiss against his lips, the tickle of his facial hair adding to the stimulation. Richie was taken aback; he’d wanted to kiss her for months but didn’t think it would be like this. He kissed you back as soon as he’d realized what was happening. What should have been the perfect first kiss was ruined when your Dad saw you get out of ‘some random old guy's car’ and told you to get your ass inside. 

Your parents scolded you, “Wasn’t he your boss!” “Y/N! We forbid this!”. You were mad at the pair and returned to school sooner than expected. You turned your phone off and stared at the ceiling for a few days; maybe they had a point. Was Richie too old for you? He disagreed; if two people like each other, what’s the big deal? It’s not like she was fresh out of high school- she was 22, and he’d just turned 42. 

A year later, you graduated college and moved back to Chicago to be with Richie and work at a tech start-up. It took a while, but your parents had warmed up to Richie. Granted, your Mom still hated him, but you took a win as a win when your Dad referred to him as an ‘okay guy.’ 

~

Tiffany was hesitant when Richie brought you around Eva at first. She liked you, but she knew Richie better than anyone and didn’t want you to get your heart broken. She didn’t bring anything up until Eva’s birthday party. You were watching the kids play in the backyard when Tiffany saw an opportunity to talk to you. “Hey, Y/N, thanks for comin’.” you smiled up at Tiffany as she sat beside you. “Of course, I couldn’t miss Eva’s Taylor Swift party.” Tiffany nodded before asking, “Can I talk to you about somethin’?” you nodded, “What’s up?” “Might be a little awkward, but um, you and Richie? How’s it goin’?”

You squinted in Tiffany’s direction, “Why do you wanna know?” “I don’t want him back, but you’re just in such a different-” you scoffed. “Tiffany, I don’t think your daughter’s birthday party is an appropriate place to bring this-” “Y/N. I know Richie better than anyone. You have so much life to live. Don’t you wanna travel or get married or have kids someday? I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into before you’re too invested in this.” “Thanks, Tiffany.” 

Richie was talking to one of Eva’s friend’s Dads when he saw you walking toward the gate, “Sorry, I gotta check on somethin’...” he ducked out of the conversation to follow you out of the backyard. You wiped your eyes as you walked up the street. It was only a couple miles to the closest train stop, and you figured the walk would be a good way to clear your head. “Hey baby- you okay?” Richie called as he ran up behind you. You nodded, “Yeah, everything is fine… I just have to do some stuff…” “What about Eva’s party? Haven’t even had cake yet…” he noticed you’d been crying, “Did Tiff say somethin’ to you? I can-” “Richie- do you wanna get married again?” the question left him dumbfounded. “Maybe?” he shrugged, “Why are you askin about that?” 

You sighed, “Richie, I wanna get married and have kids someday.” you flexed your hand as you stared at the ground, “Okay, we can… we can talk about it later… come back to the party?” Richie said, trying to change the subject and cut the tension between you. “ Yes or no, Richie? Would you want to marry me and have a kid or two within the next three years?” “Baby,” Richie said softly as he touched your bicep, “Let’s talk about all of this later.” you shook your head. “Go back to the party. I have some thinking to do.” you calmly said as you looked up at him. “OK,” Richie nodded and kissed your forehead, “I’ll see you at home?” 

You haphazardly packed some clothes into a suitcase before grabbing your chargers and laptop from the bedside table. This wasn’t how you thought your day would end, but Richie’s answer- or lack thereof- was all you needed to know. Before leaving the apartment, you messily wrote Richie a note saying it was over and your Dad would come by to pick up the rest of your stuff later in the week. You felt your heart break as you locked the door behind you. It was over.

[jaebeomsbitch]

Jealousy Jealousy Smut Ver (R.R.)

Summary: Roman getting jealous after a waiter "flirted" with you turns into something more...Inspired by the Grace x Roman phone scene.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, degradation, lots of cursing, male masturbation, insecurity, mention of his ED

“So you have fun tonight?” Roman asks, undoing his tie

“Seriously?” You scoff, turning to look at him while placing your heels on the floor. He looks back at you already annoyed. 

“No because you were being a huge asshole but hey, what’s new?” You shrug, turning away from him and unzipping your dress. 

“Oh fuck off, you had fun. Certainly had fun flirting with that waiter,” he says, taking his dress shirt off. 

“Fuck you,” you reply, getting increasingly annoyed. Roman had been incredibly rude to the waitstaff today, giving you the cold shoulder. He got jealous when you had a simple conversation with one of the waiters who asked how your day was going. There was no flirting but Roman let his insecurities get the better of him.

“Yeah you fucking wish,” he mutters. 

“No you wish… or do you? I don’t fucking know at this point,” you say putting on one of his oversized T-shirt. 

“Yeah yeah you want to suck my cock,” he shrugs, grabbing his sleep clothes. 

“What’s wrong, Rome? Got a micro penis or something? Are you trying to hide some hideous deformation from me?” You taunt, anything to get him to just acknowledge the elephant in the room. Every time you tried to bring it up he’d just make a joke and try to change the topic.  You’d been dating for two years now, surely he’d be comfortable just talking about it. 

“I’ve got the most gorgeous cock. If you make a mold of it I guarantee Connor would buy one, better than fuckin’ Napoleon’s,” he quips, tugging on his sleep shirt. 

“I just want to see it,” you joke, looking up at him with a glint in your eyes.

“You’ve fuckin’ seen it, pretty sure you’ve got a whole folder of dick pics to blackmail me later with,” he laughs climbing into bed with you.

“That’s a photo, it doesn't count, the scale is off. Maybe put a quarter or something beside it next time. I’m not saying we have to fuck I just want to see it,” you say, turning to him and cuddling putting your hands under your head. 

“Just call your waiter if you want to see a cock. It might not be as impressionable as mine but it’ll make do in a pinch,” he nuzzles into the pillows, closing his eyes. 

“You know what… maybe I will,” you say reaching for your phone. His eyes whip open, watching your movements. He gapes as you turn your phone on then quickly yanking it out of your hand. 

“What the fuck?” You try to reach for it, he stretches his arm back. 

“No,” he simply says.

“No? Isn’t that what you wanted? You have a kink for being cucked or something? I’m just doing what you asked,” you shrug. 

“Oh fuck you! You know he’ll never be able to please you. You want to get fucked? Fine,” he says, unceremoniously detangling himself from the sheets, cursing under his breath. He climbs on top of you, pinning your hips down.

“Wait… Roman, are you a pervert? You want me to go fuck the waiter and tell you how much better his dick is?” You laugh, scanning his face. He stays quiet, he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching you. 

“Oh my god, you little fucking pervert. You’re disgusting,” your face turns a little more serious as his eyes turn half lidded. He seems almost dazed at your words… oh, he likes this. You break free from his grasp, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down next to you. You straddle his hips now. 

“Look at you so fucking pathetic, you look so stupid right now,” you say looking down at him from the bridge of your nose. 

“Aww the spoiled little brat can’t even get his dick hard,” you taunt, hand on his chest as you lean forward. You get close to his face. 

“Is this what you want? Want to be treated like the piece of shit you are?” You ask, eyes flicking toward his lips. His chest rising faster in anticipation as he nods. You shift down his hips to give him more space until you feel the unexpected bulge in his sleep pants. This was entirely new.

“You’re already turned on? No doubt, since no one ever fucks you. Can’t find someone to give you want you want,” you say. 

“Take off your shirt,” you demand, leaning back on his thighs. 

“W-what?” He asks, he’d never taken his shirt off in front of you. Afraid you’d call him fat and he’d dive straight back into restricting his calories.

“Did I say you can talk? Disgusting perverts like you aren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to, understand?” You say, arms crossed. He tries to nod his head, his mind spinning at this new dynamic.

“I’m fucking talking to you idiot,” you lean forward, face centimeters away from his.

“Yes, yes I understand,” he stutters, reeling in the feeling of being out of control.

“Take it off,” you say, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He hesitates, slowly sliding it up his torso before leaning up and yanking it off. He can’t even look at you, he shrinks into himself, arms across his torso trying to hide. You forcefully yank his arms to his side. 

“Fuck, Roman,” you say looking down at him. Scanning every piece of skin you see like it’s the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen. 

“What’s wrong?” He says, voice shaky.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you peck him on the lips. He’s far from fucking gone. In all the reactions he imagined he’d received, this wasn’t one of them. 

“Good now, sit up and take your pants off,” you say, completely removing yourself from him. He misses your weight on him. He tries to ask why but you shut him down.

“God you’re not only a fucking sicko but you’re a moron too? Follow my fucking directions,” you say sitting down close to the edge of the bed. He scrambles to sit up, pulling at his pants off but keeping his boxers on. 

“Touch yourself,” you command, staring at him. You open his legs wider and sit in between his feet. You wanted to be close enough to see him but far enough so he can still have full control over the situation. If he said no you’d stop immediately but he slowly drops his palm to his bulge. Nudging at it like it’s something foreign. 

“Look at you, you’re so fucking disgusting. trying to hide your little cock from me. Put your hand in there, fucking pervert,” You hiss, gaining more comfortability in this dynamic. He looks up at you before sliding his hand in his boxers, sighing at the warmness of his hand. He only strokes himself with the tips of his fingers, head leaning back at the sensation. 

“You’re fucking pathetic, already whining and you haven’t even fully touched your cock. God you’re just a filthy little fucking pig,”you say, he’s panting as he finally grips himself. 

“You’re gonna finish in two seconds like a little virgin. You’re fucking revolting, look at you squirming like a worm. You’re just a disgusting little worm,” you say.

“Y-yeah, I am,” he says, maintaining eye contact. 

“What else are you, huh? A selfish spoiled little brat. A sick fucking pervert, you disgust me,” you sneer, his hips jolting as he’s feels the familiar feeling in his gut. 

“Yes, yes,” his voice breathier. Hand stroking faster as he’s practically fucking his hand.

“Cum in your fucking underwear, gonna make you sleep in ‘em. So you can be reminded all night how repulsive y’are, can’t even fuck your partner, gotta fuck your own hand like the fucking loser that you are” you finalize, his hips stuttering, eyes rolling to the back of his head. You can’t help but stare at the wet patch in his underwear. You take your time to study him, eyes roaming the expanse of his chest, the vein running up his neck after squeezing his jaw tight, and the way he pulls his hand out covered in his cum. 

You grab his hand, looking at the glistening cum on it and take a lick. He moans at the feeling of your warm tongue on his skin. It’s the first time you’ve touched him. 

“Finish it for me,” you hold his wrist to his bottom lip, smearing it with his cum. 

“Typical, always having me finish what you started,” he rolls his eyes, shuddering at your proximity before licking his hand clean, not taking his eyes off yours as you stare at his tongue working at his fingers.

“Good, let’s get to bed,” you say, crawling over your side of the bed. He looks at you dumbfounded. 

“What ‘bout you?” He slurs, tiredness catching up to him. 

“We’ll worry about me another day, c’mon” you motion for him to join you. 

He takes a second before getting under the sheets next to you. The pent up cum spilled all over his underwear, it sticks to his skin like glue, making a mess of himself. He snuggles into your chest pulling you close as he intertwines your legs. 

“Ugh, you’re disgusting. Your cum is getting all over my thigh,” you complain at the sticky feeling.

“Fuck off, you love it,” he sighs, nuzzling his head into your chest. He just knows he’s gonna have the best sleep of his life. You were the first person to understand Roman, you help him explore this new side of himself.

[jnnul]

five questions

a/n: and here is the first of the wips! i know this was supposed to come out on friday and now it's almost wednesday but it's out and that's worth something, right? i hope you love this little fluff piece + mark as much as i do!

word count: 5.1k

tags: finance bro mark and y/n, slice of life, mostly fluff, kinda your typical suburban modern day couple, idk they’re just good ppl who experience a slow and sweet romance, oh! and mark sucks at beer pong

sorry, is this seat taken?

you pride yourself on not being a very superficial person. you always look deeper into a person of interest and in the past, your friends have made fun of you because you never seemed to find the people they thought were attractive very hot at all.

he seems like he swears at his mom. they give off the impression that they are rude to waitstaff. i don’t care how hot she is, she’s literally fighting with a customer service worker for no reason.

did it mean that your ability to look past superficial identity led to you giving some pretty sketchy people second chances? maybe. but usually, it did more good than harm.

but for all of your in depth thinking, you realize that you’re just as superficial as every last one of your friends when the man of your dreams asks you to marry him.

what he really says is, “is this seat taken?” but it all sounds the same when you’re half in love.

with dark eyes that are bright and shine with innocent curiosity, slender lips with a slight pout, and tousled black hair that falls into his eyes, you realize this man looks like nothing short of an angel.

you stutter out a squeaky, "no, go ahead!" before moving your laptop a little closer to you so that the hot stranger could have space to put his things down. he offers you a sweet smile before sliding into the seat next to you.

"my name is mark, by the way," he says once he's settled into his seat. he's about to ask your name but he nods to the keychain that's attached to your lanyard. "i'm guessing your name is y/n? that's a cute keychain."

"yeah," you say, flipping the keychain so that mark could see it properly. "one of the kids i teach made me it a couple years ago and i've carried it around ever since."

mark's eyebrows furrow at that as he checks his calendar to make sure that he's in the right class. "you're an education major? what's an education major doing in a business statistics class? this class is an upper level business class i thought?"

you nod and close your laptop so that mark could see the sticker on the backside of your laptop. you point out the biggest one that has 'ucla - anderson school of management' written in bright yellow letters. mark's eyebrows knit as he reads it and you can't help but laugh softly at how utterly confused he looks.

"i'm a finance major. i just really like kids so i spent last summer juggling between an internship at apple and volunteering at a learning summer camp for kids who are underprivileged in education," you explain, watching as mark's confusion turns to awe, his dark eyes glinting as you explain.

"damn. that's so cool of you, y/n. i'm sorry i assumed you were an education major. turns out you're just an angel instead," mark says, almost offhandedly. you freeze at the last sentence and immediately, mark's ears turn bright red as he realizes what he had said.

you to turn to face forward as mark rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and if you weren't so damn flustered, you would take a picture of how incredibly cute he looks.

mark had pretty privilege, as far as you were concerned. if any other person said that, you would probably just laugh it off and thank them but a single comment from mark had you blushing and internally combusting. the worst part? you didn't even mind it.

the two of you are silent for another couple minutes before you turn to him once more, a corner of your lips tilted upwards, a teasing look in your eyes.

"you know i definitely don't mind being called angel by a pretty boy," you say casually. you try not to let your voice give away how nervous mark actually makes you but there's still a little shake when you say the word 'pretty'. because really, mark was so pretty. just...too pretty to be good for your heart.

it doesn't really matter though because mark looks at you like you've personally put the stars in the sky.

"you think i'm pretty?" mark says, his voice soft and tentative. you look at him strangely. surely he had heard that many times over the course of his life? why did he sound so surprised?

"i think you're very pretty, mark," you say matter-of-factly. mark wants to say something else but everyone has filed in and it seems as though the professor is starting the lecture soon as the lights begin to dim in the hall.

mark has heard that he was attractive many times before. in fact, he'd probably become synonymous with the word handsome, as his superlative in high school was 'most likely to become a famous singer' and 'most likely to win prom king'.

so why did his heart flutter so much when you called him pretty?

can you help me with this one?

turns out, mark is shit at statistics. he's great at the business part, as you have learned over the past three weeks of sitting next to each other and working on the practice problems together. but the actual statistics? you might as well be working with a victorian child.

"i still don't understand why you can't just assume that this condition applies in all scenarios," mark says as he reads through the question once more. the two of you had grown pretty close over the past month or so, and often, you would go to the library after class to work on the assigned homework or projects together.

mark was a good study buddy (he always brought good snacks) and he had a great work ethic that made you feel guilty about not studying when he was. not to mention that he was gorgeous eye candy to look at whenever you needed to take a break from your work.

which was pretty much all the time if it meant looking at mark lee a little while longer.

your friends had teased you when you described your encounters with mark thus far. although they never really crossed the line between platonic and romantic relationships, just the fact that you were practically dying of anticipation was enough to rile your friends up.

you had had a few partners in the past but most of them ended at the situationship stage - very few of them become actual relationships. so, you had put a pause on dating for good (much to the dismay of your gossip mongering best friends) and had been happily single for the past year or so. unfortunately, that was when you met mark lee and your heart decided to rebel against all sense of logic.

besides his pretty face (your friends were very surprised to hear that you had developed a crush on a good looking man for once; you had a seriously incriminating track record), mark lee had a pretty heart. he was so incredibly humble and kind to everyone he knew - which was a lot of people, as you came to learn. he was super friendly and great at remembering little details about people that made them feel as though he truly cared about them.

which he really did. it seemed like mark truly cared a lot about every single one of his seemingly thousands of friends and went out of his way to make them feel loved. for you, however, it seemed like he went above and beyond.

it seemed as though after mark (and you, really) had gotten over the initial shyness and awkwardness, the two of you were rarely seen apart. you weren't sure if the two of you were toeing the line of romantic relationship yet, but it just felt like you guys were having fun. even without a label or anything, you and mark tended to gravitate towards each other in social situations and even made consistent efforts to see each other outside of your respective friend groups.

for example, you really didn't belong in the frat scene. you had expended all of the energy and patience you had for frat house parties during your freshman year and quite frankly, as a junior in college, it felt kind of embarrassing to go to them without having any real connections to brothers themselves.

but mark was a brother in nu chi theta so within the first month of your friendship, you found yourself at the NCT house with a red solo cup and an uncomfortable top on.

"hey y/n! i'm losing over here! can you help me with this one?" mark calls out from behind you. you turn around to see him extending a ping-pong ball (that smelled like it was coated in beer, vodka, and...laundry detergent?) in your direction. you look to see if your friends, who you had dragged along to the party, were going to save you from death by beer pong but you're on your own when you see two of your friends making out with the same boy.

you would stop them but the image was far too gruesome and downright hilarious. and in their drunken state, you doubted you could really separate the lovebirds (?) anyway.

"alright, but it's gonna cost you, lee," you sigh dramatically, setting your cup down on the counter before accepting the ping-pong ball, your fingers brushing over mark's.

"name your price," mark says confidently as you line up your shot, ignoring the heat that radiates off of mark's body as you realize that mark was a lot closer than you had previously anticipated. his words sink into your skin and you involuntarily shiver when you feel his breath on your neck.

"hmm...i'll have to think about it..." you trail off, finally throwing the little ping-pong ball into the cup. you turn so that your chest was pressed against mark's front and all your thoughts have been replaced by the look of his eyes in the dim lighting. the words tumble out of your mouth before you even realize what you're saying.

"go on a date with me?"

your heart drops as you see mark's face turn from confusion to shock and then back to confusion. he rubs his neck awkwardly (a habit, you had noticed, that tended to present himself when he felt particularly confused) as he licks his lips nervously.

"was...was us hanging out everyday not...dating? i kinda thought we were already going on dates," mark mumbles, his cheeks flushed. you stare at him and a strange gurgling laughter rips out of your mouth before you clamp your hand over your mouth, your eyes wide in horror at the sound that came out of your mouth.

"does this mean you like me?" you ask, and once again, you're graced with the sight of mark lee looking just all too angelic under the strobe lighting as he nods before tentatively making eye contact with you.

"uh...if you asked me on a date, am i safe to assume that you like me too?" mark proposes and the way that he says it, almost like he was presenting a business pitch to a potential investor, makes you laugh once more as you lean a little closer to mark, your lips barely brushing against his.

"more than you realize, mark."

can i come inside?

the first time mark came with you to help out with the kids at the school, it was completely unexpected. another one of the student teachers had suddenly fallen ill (you found out a few months later that at his girlfriend's baby shower that he was not, in fact, sick) and no one else was available to help out.

your supervisor was a sweet old lady who was dedicated to helping as much as she could before 'her joints gave up on her' - which meant that oftentimes, she tried to take on more responsibility than she really could. and then that meant that she often didn't hire enough staff to keep the place running, hoping that she could do all of the administrative things herself so that all of the people who did come in could focus on working with the kids. needless to say, as one of the only volunteers who had been with the organization for more than four years, you knew more than well that the sweet old lady needed more people to help her out.

so, you forced your boyfriend of three years to help you out. well, not really forced. mark had the day off from work because it was the day before july 4th and really didn't have any plans for the day. so when mrs. varghese calls you frantically at nine o'clock the previous night, mark offered to come with you.

"we've been together for the past three years and we've been living together for the past one and a half. i lose my girlfriend every monday and thursday evening to kids. i gotta meet the little suckers who've been monopolizing my girlfriend." which was mark's stupid way of saying i love you. let me help you out a little bit. let me be part of your world. maybe in the disney princess way.

and you're a sucker for kids and your boyfriend, even after dating for three years, so you agree and the next day, you're piling into the passenger seat at seven in the morning to teach young children addition and subtraction.

not really how the two of you (mostly mark) were planning on spending on of your rare days off but you could never deny mrs. varghese of anything. especially if it meant more time with the kids.

mark always joked about how you should've become a teacher but as much as you loved the children and the interactions with them, you were not a fan of the underpaying salaries. so you made it a point to become successful in your career and dedicate a percentage of your paycheck to donate to the school you volunteered at instead.

which had caused some struggles when you first moved in with mark, given that it was only the two of you rather than you living with three of your friends and your share of the rent went higher. but you figured it out and mark definitely wasn't the type of person to hold it over your head that you weren't able to pay your full share of rent for the first two months.

because that's just who he was. he would cover for you, covering up all of the little parts of yourself that you didn't like. and you would help him see that those blemishes he thought he had were just things that made him more lovable to you.

so when mark steps into the little school and immediately, kids are swarming to the two of you, trying to find out who the attractive boyfriend was, you're not even surprised. mark had a natural, comforting air about him (not to mention the fact that the kids were overly invested in your personal life) that made people want to draw to him like moths to a flame.

in fact, he's so overwhelmed by the love that the kids are showing him, he's still hovering around the door awkwardly, semi-bowing to mrs. varghese, who's watching him with amusement.

"can i come inside?" mark asks, trying to take a step forward while not hurting any little kids. you snort at his awkward shuffle before clapping your hands together, taking it upon yourself to relieve your poor boyfriend from the possibility of death by enthusiastic children.

"can you or may you?" mrs. varghese says with a humorous smile and mark's eyebrows furrow as he contemplates the question. the kids are slowly making their way over to you, where you're starting to distribute fruit pouches as a morning snack and mark finally feels as though he's only carrying his own body weight - as opposed to ten other children's.

"it was 'can i' at first but now i think it's more of a 'may i'. mrs. varghese, i presume?" mark says, extending his hand for the old lady to shake. she just looks at it strangely before gathering mark in a tight, bone-crushing hug.

for such a frail old lady, she had a lot of strength.

"get out of here with those manners. y/n's told me a lot about. and anyone in y/n's corner is family here, alright?" mrs. varghese says, and mark has to blink furiously to push back the tears, although he can't really tell why her words are hitting him so hard.

"thanks."

you mean that?

mark was really easy to love. that's just the type of person he was. in everyone else's eyes, he was a good guy who just always tried to be better at the things he was already incredibly good at. he was always polite with strangers, babies cooed at him, and was the type to be the person to start a 'pay-it-forward' queue whenever he could afford to do so.

and for all of his perfectness, mark was a very flawed man. he was a little bit of a miser - he hated to spend money on himself, even if he would splurge a little more on you. he was a little bit on the insecure side, and no matter how many times you told him that you loved him all the more for his quirks, he still got down about it. mark was also really bad at communication when things made him upset. he was just so easy-going that he would let the smaller things accumulate and build until he's practically bursting.

and mark was kinda mean when he got angry.

he would never hurt you, of course. mark didn't think he could ever live with himself if he knew that he had laid a hand on anyone - but you in particular. and he really, really was trying to work on his communication skills so that he wouldn't let it build and then get so angry.

but when mark got angry, he seemed to just turn into a different person. it had only happened once in your relationship before, almost right after you had moved in together

it was about something incredibly stupid but the tension had been building for a while prior to that. technically, before you moved in, the apartment had been mark and one of his friend's, johnny seo from school, before johnny had moved out to move in with his own girlfriend. and mark and johnny weren't exactly...the cleanest people. you didn't really mind the mess but soon it turned into an unhealthy balance of mark leaving things around the house and you having to clean up after him.

not to mention that a lot changes when a couple moves in together. naturally, tensions were running a little high. for all your cleanliness, you had a really bad habit of leaving unfinished meals in the fridge until they went bad and started to smell, which made mark upset because that was a waste of a valuable meal. and so on and so forth.

one day, the tensions just burst and the two of you ended up in a screaming match going back and forth and back and forth about cleanliness and not eating properly and soon, it escalated from a conversation about living together to being together in the first place.

mark regretted it almost immediately, cursing himself out when he saw you just completely shut down in front of his eyes. he knew his anger got the best of him sometimes, and when he was in the moment, all he could think about was winning the argument, no matter what he needed to say to win.

that had been the worst fight you've ever had. after that fight, you got a lot better about portioning your food to eliminate leftovers and mark made a more conscious effort to clean up. you also started talking more to each other about what things did or didn't make you happy.

but even as mark was getting better at communicating with you, he still didn't know how to raise up issues with you. usually, you would tell mark what you were up to and then you would naturally ask him yourself if he was comfortable with what you were doing. he would then reply with a simple yes or no with an explanation and that would be the end of that. he always hesitated to raise up an issue with you though. he didn't want you to think that he was trying to control your life or be one of those possessive boyfriends.

one day, though, you were out clubbing with your friends (your friend had recently broken up with her fiancé and she really needed her girlfriends) and you had come home pretty late. mark had stayed up, watching a movie (barely), worried about you making it home safely because he knew that your friends were prone to trying to get you as wasted as possible.

mark never told you explicitly but you had a feeling that's how he felt. it frustrated you though that he never said anything to you and wait for you to bring it up to him instead. so that night, you decided to drink a little more than usual (but not as much as they tried to make you drink) so that you could finally, finally get mark to talk to you about his issues.

really, for your behavior, you were expecting to have a round two of what had happened when you first moved in with him. you were imagining a screaming match like no other but instead, mark just looks at you, sighs, and pulls you into a hug when you come stumbling through the door. confused, you begin to pull away, but mark just continues to hold you tight.

"i was so worried that you might not get home safe. and i promise we'll have a proper conversation about this when you're sober in the morning but i love you so much and...let's just talk about this in the morning, okay?" mark mumbles into your hair. you let mark just rock you gently side to side as he clings onto you, completely opposite from the reaction you were expecting.

"mark, i'm not drunk. i just...i'm tired of always being the one to bring up issues. i know that you don't like it when i get drunk outside because you're worried for me but i'd rather you tell me that than me having to guess that by myself. i can make my own decisions and i'm a big independent girl but you're the singular most important person in my life. i would never consciously do something to make you uncomfortable but i make mistakes sometimes. i need you to be open and honest with me when something makes you uncomfortable - because i know it takes a lot to get that far in the first place."

mark steps back to look you in the eyes, his eyes glittering in the shitty lighting of the apartment. "you really mean that?"

"i mean it with my whole heart."

do you promise to love me for the rest of our lives?

mark tries not to trip. he tries really hard to hold in his sneezes, tears, and any other bodily fluids that are inappropriate for the situation. but the nearly fifteen feet from the entrance to the where the officiant is standing is enough to make mark want to puke all over the very expensive carpet you bought for the wedding.

when you first proposed having a backyard wedding, mark was extremely opposed.

a wedding was a once in a lifetime day where you could celebrate your union together with your partner and start the journey to the rest of your lives together. in fact, it was mark, not you, who had the pinterest board (although, to be fair, it wasn't actually a pinterest board and was rather just a folder on his phone of screenshots from pretty tiktoks). he had a vision for the wedding - one that included all members of your friend circle, your families, and your family friends as well.

and well, that wasn't really in the budget. rather than spend 100k on a one day event, you proposed having a backyard wedding that would be significantly more economical and using that 100k to buy a starter home.

"you still get your expensive venue and we have a place to move into. a real home that we can start a family in, mark," you had argued as mark paced back and forth in the small, almost cramped apartment the two of you shared. mark stops when he realizes that it only takes fourteen steps to make it from one side of the room to the other side and back.

and that was the biggest room.

so mark agrees on one condition: there are no lacking traditional elements of the wedding. the both of you worked together on the pain-staking process of planning a wedding that included portions of your culture and his culture to put on the wedding of a lifetime. hopefully the only wedding of your lifetimes.

well, the only wedding for you and mark, at least. but that was about the future and in the present, mark can barely keep from keeling over right there at the beautifully decorated altar that you and your mother had spent hours on.

after so long of being together, mark can't help but feel just so incredibly lucky and overwhelmed to be finally marrying you. you. the person of his dreams. the person who taught him that love isn't always fireworks and euphoric thrills; that love can be huddling together when gas bills were too high to pay and wanting nothing more than to see your significant other when it's been a long day.

love was you and mark really, really can't wait to finally show the world how much he truly loved you.

unsurprisingly, mark almost cries when you finally enter, the picture of the stunning bride as you clutch your father's arm for the last time as y/n l/n instead of y/n lee. mark isn't sure the last time he saw you this nervous but when you meet his eyes, he can feel the rest of the world melt away.

just normal people with enough love to fill the world, is what you say in your vows. just a guy and a girl in the same business class who never travel business class because the two of you are such money minders - something that my soon to be husband has rubbed off on me.

"i will never forget the moment that i knew i was so irrevocably love with mark. it was two days after we fought for the first time. i remember that i was so incredibly angry and scared that that fight would be the end of y/n and mark. that i would have to move out and redownload tinder and just be miserable again for losing one of the best things in my life over a little sock in the wrong place and leftover pizza."

"but two days after we fought, mark came up to me, hugged me and just said, 'we're gonna get through this. i love you too much to not get through this.' and even though everything just seemed so uncertain, the moment mark said that, i knew instantly that we really were going to get through it. because mark had faith in us. and i have faith in us. i love you, mark lee. from the moment you sat down in that ucla business class. i have loved you for so long and i will continue to love you forever."

there isn't a single dry eye in the house (quite literally) after your vow. mark has to clear his throat four or five times before he can start his vows, too afraid that his voice would give out on him in the middle due to how much emotion he was feeling.

"y/n, you asked me one day when we were binging american horror story and pigging out with a family sized bag of chips when i started falling in love with you. and i couldn't answer then so i just said that for as long as i can remember. and that's true - i still don't know when i fell in love with you. i just remember that one day i woke up alone in bed (don't worry mr. l/n, i have never slept in a ten mile radius of your daughter...please don't make her divorce me) and thinking that i would rather wake up next to you instead for the rest of my life."

"but i do know when i realized you were my soulmate. five moments when i knew i found the one. when i asked you if i could sit down next to you in business class. when i asked you to help me with statistics because for being a business major, i'm horrible at math - go figure. when i volunteered with you for the first time with mrs. varghese. mrs. varghese! - where are you - mrs. varghese! may i marry y/n? then i'll be real family."

mrs. varghese blows into a handkerchief unceremoniously, waving mark off through her tears, making the crowd and you laugh a little. mark's smile grows when he sees you laugh and continues on nervously.

"and the fourth moment was the time when you gave me a reality check. when you reminded me that love doesn't work without communication. you've changed me so much for the better, y/n, and i truly could not thank you enough for it. so, i have one last question for you. one last moment for me to know that we're soulmates."

mark takes a deep breath, holding one of your hands in both of his as he looks at you with soft eyes, so filled with love that your breath catches in your throat. "i promise to love you and stand by you for as long as i breathe. can you - can you promise...do you promise to love me for the rest of our lives?"

it seems as though everyone in the venue is holding their breath before you press a sweet kiss to mark's cheek and say the words that everyone has been waiting for.

"i do."

and with those five questions, mark lee had found his soulmate.

[void-occupation]

QPR Applemedia Headcanons

I got bit with the bug for this ship a couple weeks ago, and while I'm writing a little fic for them, you guys can have these headcanons

Lucifer and Vox are romantically and sexually involved while Alastor is their queerplatonic partner

Lucifer and Alastor were actually the first to become involved with each other, then (somehow) Alastor and Vox worked through their differences and became qpps as well

Lucifer DID NOT like Vox at first - he'd heard what happened between him and Alastor and was sure he was trying to hurt Alastor again. It wasn't until Alastor got sick of the protectiveness and forced them to hang out that the pair actually realized their chemistry

Lucifer and Vox are both rich and treat customer service employees like shit

Alastor - who grew up poor and is still not exactly strapped for cash (I'm a broke Alastor truther, sue me) hates this. Both he and his mother worked in customer service when money was tight while he was alive, so he always tries to treat them with respect. He'll take money from whoever was the biggest asshole on their nights out and use it to give the waitstaff large tips. Nights out almost always end in the silent treatment, but our boys are dumb so they don't know what they did wrong or understand why it was wrong when Alastor tells them

Don't worry, they get it eventually and start working on themselves

Vox and Alastor both prefer coffee while Lucifer likes tea more

Vox has the best sleep schedule, Lucifer alternates between not sleeping at all and sleeping for 19 hours, and Alastor sleeps at most 3 hours per night due to crippling insomnia - though he like to tell everyone that not sleeping is a choice in order to seem more mysterious and intimidating

Vox and Lucifer had a field day when they found out Alastor was ticklish. Alastor pretends to be annoyed every time they gang up on him, but it actually reminds him of the rare happy memories of his childhood, so he lets them keep doing it

Vox and Lucifer will binge their favorite shows together and come up with the wildest conspiracies about them

When they sleep in the same bed, Alastor and Lucifer use Vox as a makeshift heater

Alastor is fine with being kissed - making out is a definite no - but he doesn't kiss. He bites with affection. He never draws blood when he's being affectionate, but he's not always gentle either. It isn't uncommon for the trio to be laying in bed and Alastor just starts biting whoever is closest

For someone who is supposedly with the times, Alastor and Lucifer had to explain asexuality an ungodly number of times for Vox to finally understand it - a byproduct of being with Valentino for so long

Alastor still refuses to allow cameras to see him clearly, just to tease Vox when they aren't around each other

Despite his claims, there is actually a wide array of modern music that Alastor enjoys, but despite his southern roots, Vox found out the hard way that Alastor will throw hands if you play country around him

Alastor and Vox love making fun of Lucifer for his height - until he shifted into a form that was a good 5 inches taller than both of them just to shut them up. Lucifer wishes he'd had a camera because he'd never seen them both so flustered at the same time

They have competitions about who can come up with the best dad joke/corny pickup line, and they usually end up laughing so hard they can't breathe by the end of it

They also love trying to make each other blush. Lucifer turns bright gold when he receives genuine affection. Vox overheats when either Alastor genuinely laughs, or Lucifer turns on the charm. Alastor hates that he turns bright red with either genuine praise or when his partners surprise him with something he enjoys (knowledge of jazz/radio, cooking authentic Creole meals for him, expressing real interest when he actually gets invested in something, etc.)

All three of them have weird little hyperfixations - Lucifer with his ducks, Alastor and furbys, and Vox is absolutely fascinated by the existance of Pastafarianism (the worship of the Giant Flying Spaghetti Monster). They all tease each other over their hyperfixations but will listen with the same fond looks when one of them starts rambling about it

Speaking of furbies, when Alastor unleashed the fabled Furby Organ, he played "Symphony No. 5" on it perfectly, and Lucifer and Vox were both awed and horrified

Lucifer always worries they will leave him just like Lilith did, and they both do their best to comfort and assure him otherwise

Vox is afraid that Alastor and Lucifer secretly think he barged in on their relationship, and they will playfully talk shit about each other until Vox is convinced he's both wanted and plays a vital part of their relationship

Alastor fears that they'll either decide he's not good enough because he doesn't like sex, or they'll find out he doesn't own his soul and cast him aside. They don't do anything about this because Alastor never tells them about his fears, instead letting them fester until they manifest as constant nightmares that he also doesn't tell them about

They have each others favorite food and drinks memorized down to the seasoning and temperature

Vox's love language is gift giving, Lucifer's is quality time, and Alastor's is - ironically enough - physical contact. Of course, this makes his touch aversion even more difficult to navigate

All three of them are incredibly touch-starved

Alastor learned how to rewire and fix televisions purely for Vox's benefit - he read three different owner's manuals and practiced on the tv in the lobby in secret

On Lucifer's bad days, Alastor and Vox will regularly check on him and slowly coax him out of bed

Vox is prone to viruses despite his firewalls, and Alastor and Lucifer take turns playing nursemaid when they get bad

When they learned Alastor suffered from panic attacks, Lucifer and Vox spent hours researching ways to help during, before, and after an attack, and learned the signs Alastor had that he was becoming distressed so they could make them less frequent

On that note, when they discovered that he had trichotillomania (hair pulling disorder), they got him different fidget/picking toys to negate the urge to pull his hair

That's all I have for now, feel free to add onto this if you want, I'd love to hear your opinions

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Yakuza x Cinderella AU Part 1 (Sukuna x Reader)

A/N: I listened to Sukuna’s Russian voice dub while writing this. Gave me some cool gangster vibes.

Everyone would have understood if you shed the “Itadori” name after old man Wasuke passed away, and no one would have blamed you if you walked away from being Yuuji Itadori’s legal guardian. After all, you just started college, you didn’t need to be “burdened,” especially by a kid you weren’t even related to.

But there was no way you could leave eleven-year-old Yuuji alone. You grew up changing his diapers, taught him how to ride a bike, cleaned up his boo-boos, and threatened his bullies. 

He was your family.

Prioritizing your baby brother and his future above your own, you decided to bartender at a fancy but sleazy bar. Although the majority of patrons were assholes and the place was too far from your house and the university, the pay was better than most other part-time jobs so you sucked it up.

Between your job, mandatory onsite classes, group assignments with lazy jerks, and taking care of Yuuji and the house, you could never afford to sleep for more than three hours a day. 

But Yuuji was, of course, an angel. 

He didn’t like to show it, but you knew he missed gramps, and you often caught him biting his lip to suppress his whimpers and wiping his eyes with his back turned to you. He did his best to appear strong, but you wished he’d rely on you more. But the little tiger never stopped doing his chores and liked offering to do yours.

“I can’t get a part-time job yet so all I can do is take care of the house and everything else!” When he said that, you swore an arrow pierced your heart and you almost died from fluffiness. 

Seeing Yuji’s bright smile was the only thing that kept you going, especially after a long day at the bar.

That’s where you met Ryomen Sukuna. He was the single most irritating bastard you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. It wasn’t like he was a sleazebag per se–he was actually more of a silent, brooding type compared to the handsy, foul-mouthed drunkards you usually dealt with. At least, that was your first expression of him.

It was nine pm and your five minute break was almost over so you sent Yuji a good night text and a reminder to lock the doors and windows. You brushed your hair and went to your post behind the bar. 

This place was in the inner city, far from most schools, so it was rare to find college students here, but it was a Friday and the end of finals week so the place was jam-packed with depressed people. You didn’t mind. Actually, you preferred having a bar full of university kids over a bar full of working adults. You liked college students. They were… nicer, more polite and patient compared to their older counterparts, who were usually middle-aged career men and women whose dreams have been shattered by the real world. Your regulars were broken and pathetic, and they often liked making their problem yours. You’d “listen” to their ramblings, nod and pretend to care, when in reality their words just went in one ear and left straight out the other.

You didn’t like talking or socializing. You left that part up to the waitstaff and prepared the drinks as quietly as possible in order to avoid trouble.  

It was nearing one am, almost time for you to go home. You finished wiping the last piece of glassware when the store bell rang. You didn’t bother to even pretend to be polite this time and continued cleaning up, waiting for one of the waiters to tell the guest that the bar was already closed. But that didn’t happen. 

“The VIP room is a little unclean right now, so if you’re willing to wait–”

“What do you mean unclean? You should always keep it ready,” a cold, androgynous voice reprimanded.

You were annoyed. And a bit confused. You’ve been here for several weeks now and you just found out about this so-called VIP room. And up until now, the personnel here always shooed away all customers during closing. 

“It’s fine, Uraume,” a deep, husky voice interrupted. “I’m fine waiting here. Just get me my drink.”

You raised your eyes and saw a tall man in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bringing attention to his… big veiny hands and sinewy arms, lined with black tattoos. 

“O-of course!” Your boss clasped her hands together. “Please excuse me, I’ll get the sake ready in a bit.”

As if sensing your gaze, your tall, red-haired stranger turned his head, revealing a face also full of tattoos. You blushed but composed yourself and bowed in greeting. You refused to make eye contact again though, too embarrassed that you were caught ogling. He was more gorgeous than most idols and sports players that showed up on TV.

“On second thought, I think I’ll sit at the bar.”

Ah, crap. 

“Oh, um…!” Your boss fumbled towards you, putting a hand over your shoulder. “Th-this is Y/N. She’s new. Really new, I don’t think you’ve met yet.” It felt odd watching your usually calm and charming boss act like this. She was the one who dealt with perverts and other difficult clients, all without getting too emotional or stuttering, but she seemed almost afraid of this man. “Y/N, this is Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, he owns this bar.”

That name certainly felt familiar, but you sucked at names, and as for his face… you glanced up at his smirking face. Yeah, there was no way you’d forget a guy like him. Even if you just saw him walking down the street for a split second you would remember him for sure. 

Your boss squeezed you and you quickly bowed your head again. “Um, hello, thank you for the opportunity.”

“You seemed irritated when my companion and I walked in.” 

“No, you must be mistaken.”

“Really? You couldn’t even be bothered to greet us. Bartenders are supposed to be friendly.”

You just tilted your head, contemplating on what to say next when your phone started ringing from the counter. Mr. Sukuna swiped it before you could blink. 

“Hey!” Your sudden burst of energy shocked you and your boss. You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Er. I mean… I apologize.” 

“Shouldn’t phones be on vibrate during work hours?”

“It was on vibrate. We’re supposed to be closed now.” Welp. You were already as good as fired so you didn’t try to cover up your weariness. Yuji sometimes woke up randomly in the middle of the night. He was probably wondering where you were. You held out your hand. “Can I please have it back now? Sir?”

Like you just told the world’s funniest joke, he threw his head back, laughing heartily. 

Despite your boss almost fainting on the spot thanks to your little stunt, you didn’t get fired. Sukuna seemed absolutely smitten with you–that is, as much as an owner can be smitten by a pet hamster. 

It was the beginning of an irritating, one-sided relationship. 

Ever since that day, Sukuna began frequenting the bar more often. Sometimes three times a week, other times almost daily. Rather than stay at the VIP room, he’d hang out by the bar and find many ways to piss you off, like hitting on you, annoying you until you talked about either Yuji or your classes, and asking you to make some complicated cocktail he heard from a business partner, only to then insult it (he’d always finish the thing though). At the very least, he didn’t try touching you inappropriately. And plus, his childish fascination with you meant he demanded you hang out with him immediately after you finished preparing someone else’s drink, so you didn’t have to listen to other people whine about their lives and you didn’t have to make up excuses with the more gropey customers.

To be continued…

[ninzied]

some sentence sunday

There are days when Alex longs for the wide, open space of his hometown in Texas, actually getting to see the stars and feeling like he’s part of more of the world than just the one made in New York. He longs to see Henry back there, freely and utterly himself in a way that Alex has never seen him get to be anywhere else. The moments they’ve spent there feel almost stolen from time, and more than anything Alex wishes they could finally belong to him and Henry alone.

Someday, he thinks, glancing across the room at Henry and smiling a little. Someday.

Today, though, is something else, because today they’re at a charity event for Henry’s youth shelters; they are there specifically to be seen, by just the types of people that Alex usually couldn’t care less about when it comes to what they think. People who say things like upper echelons but unironically, and who refer to waitstaff as the help.

It feels kind of gross having to turn the charm on this hard for them. But it’s for a good cause, and, well.

Alex would be lying if he said he doesn’t get the tiniest thrill whenever Henry casually takes his hand right in front of their literal salad, or catches Alex’s eye over a glass of champagne and smiles at him like no one else is in the room.

And it gives Alex even more of a thrill that these people have no clue what Henry plans to do with his title.

So, yeah, maybe a part of him kind of totally wants everyone to see. To know that Henry—Prince Henry, to them—is his boyfriend. His.

Now he just needs to make sure that guy knows it, too.

tagged by:

@cha-melodius @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @kiwiana-writes @sparklepocalypse @theprinceandagcd thank you all! tagging:

@anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @carrythesky @celeritas2997 @dreamsinthewitchouse

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@guillermosfamiliar @heysweetheart-writes @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @junebugclaremontdiaz

@magicandarchery @mulderscully @nocoastposts @notspecialbabe @piratefalls

@priincebutt @suseagull04 @stereopticons @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @wordsofhoneydew

[younmexreaders]

~~ Mahito x Reader 18+~~

Just Keep Quiet

You're enjoying yourself on Halloween at a nice bar when you're suddenly approached by an odd man who no one else can see. As long as you keep quiet, you can enjoy a nice, kinky night with this… ghost?

Chubby Fem! Reader/Mahito | 2.5k words

Includes:

Public Sex

Vaginal Sex

Just a bit of Mahito's Technique in use

This fic was made for @nanamiscocksleeve 's Monster Mash event! He's a bit OOC here to be more mischievous than creepy. Don't worry though, my other Mahito stories will be sufficiently in character hahah.

The bar was alive with Halloween energy—dim lights, fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and costumed patrons laughing over spooky-themed cocktails. You're settled in a seat far from the center of the bar, back where the music is quieter, in a simple witch outfit that didn't take too much time or effort. The cozy atmosphere of a fall festive bar surrounded you. You smiled, feeling right at home in the cozy chaos. It’s the perfect night for a little solo time with yourself, but as you sipped your drink, that feeling of being watched creeps up your spine.

You glance around, and that’s when you see him. Among the various costumes and painted faces, a guy leaning against the bar completely at ease, as if he owns the place, caught your attention. He looked like he belonged here. His patchwork body paint fitting in seamlessly with the ghoulish crowd. But something about him stood out. His lazy grin was too sharp, his mismatched eyes locked directly on you, unwavering and intense.

And yet, no one else seemed to notice him. Not the waitstaff, not the patrons... just you. Must be caught up in their Halloween fun.

He’s attractive in an odd, dangerous way. The kind of guy you’d try not to be seen staring at—but you can’t help yourself. He looked like trouble, but the fun kind, especially on a night like this. A nervous flutter stirred in your chest. You took another sip of your drink, keeping him in your peripheral vision, wondering why he’s looking at you so intently. Your mind played through a dozen possibilities, but none of them prepare you for what happened next.

Before you could process it, he’s walking over, cutting through the crowd with an easy confidence.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was smooth, laced with amusement, and without waiting for your answer, he pulled out the chair and sat down. His eyes roamed over your body—lingering in a way that made your breath hitch.

You raised an eyebrow, a little flustered but trying to play it cool. “Uh, sure, I suppose,” you said with a slight grin. “Nice costume.”

Mahito chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You like it? Fits the occasion, don’t you think?”

You nodded,his lingering gaze made your skin tingle. There’s something about the way he looked at you that makes you feel warm, especially the way his eyes seem to appreciate every part of you. Something... alluring. It felt like he’s savoring every inch of you, especially the extra curves in your full figure. You’re used to the occasional look, but this—this is different.

“You’re quite a sight yourself,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze settled on your soft thighs, the way your dress hugged your curves. He spoke with a hint of something that makes your breath catch. His fingers trailed the edge of your arm, light and teasing, sending shivers down your spine.

A blush crept up your cheeks. “Thanks, I guess.” You laughed softly, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his touch. Normally, you’d be wary, but there’s something about the way he touches you that makes your pulse race for all the right reasons.

His hand moved, slow but deliberate, tracing the edge of your arm. The touch sent a ripple of warmth through your body, and instead of shying away, you found yourself leaning into it.

He smirked, eyes flicking to your full thighs as they press together under the table. His gaze is appreciative, far from judging—it feels like he’s savoring. "Such a pretty thing," he murmured, his fingers brushing your shoulder, and for some reason, the way he says it makes you feel something. Like he’s appreciating every curve, every bit of softness. “You should wear this more often.”

Your heart skipped a beat. His words, paired with his bold attention, make you feel... seen, and not just in a superficial way. There’s something intoxicating about how he looks at you, like he’s genuinely enjoying every inch of your body.

But as your pulse quickens under his attention, you realize no one else was reacting. Not one head turns. Not one eye glances your way. No one’s reacting to him being so close, so bold with his touches. It's almost as if—

A nervous laugh bubbled up from your throat. “I normally see some weird looks when people get too touchy in public.”

Mahito tilted his head, his grin widening. He leaned in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. “You’re the only one who can see me, darling.”

"Ahaha, it seems like it," you laughed, thinking nothing of that revelation. Mahito looked up at a server as they pass by. He took a drink off of their tray and dropped it, watching as they whipped around looking utterly confused. You just stared with your eyes wide as the server, looking directly at Mahito, chalked it up to an accident and walked off to their table, extremely apologetic.

"You're kidding me. Are you... Are you a ghost??"

He chuckled softly, his hand sliding down your arm to rest on your thigh. The touch was firm, grounding, sending heat through your body. “Something like that.”

Your heart raced, but not in the way it should. He’s not cold like you’d expect from a ghost. No, the way he touched you felt very real, very solid and warm, and suddenly, your body responds in a way that surprises even you.

A ghost? That's one thing. But a flirty ghost? Even better.

And now that you know no one else can see him, something in you loosened. The tension you felt earlier melted away, replaced by a growing curiosity. You shifted slightly, your thighs pressing together, and his eyes track every movement.

A shiver ran down your spine. You took a moment to process what he’s just said.

“Ooh,” you hummed softly, a coy smile tugging at your lips. “So, you’re telling me no one else in this room knows you’re touching me right now?”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” His thumb brushed against the soft skin of your thigh, squeezing lightly. “It’s just you and me. I can do whatever I want, and no one would even notice.”

You bit your lip, a small heat pooling in your stomach. This is... different. It’s thrilling, in a way. Knowing he’s there, touching you, and no one else has a clue? It sends a rush of excitement through you. “I guess that means you can do whatever you want, huh?”

Mahito’s fingers trailed up and down your thigh, resting there for just a moment before he picked at the hem of your skirt. “Whatever I want,” he purred. His thumb brushed the inside of your leg, making your breath hitch. “And no one will ever know...” His grin widened, eyes darkening with something more primal. His hand squeezing your thigh a little tighter. “And now that you know... I can be a little bolder.”

Your breath caught as his fingers traced slow circles on your thigh, moving higher with each pass. Your body reacted instinctively, leaning into his touch, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The way his hand caressed your softness, the way he’s treating your curves like something to be worshiped, it sent a thrill through you. It made you feel wanted in a way that sent your mind spinning. His hand moved higher, fingers grazing the soft inner flesh of your thigh where your plush thighs met, and you let out a soft gasp, your body responding to the warmth and pressure of his touch. Inching ever closer.

Your heart raced, the heat between your legs growing as his hand slips higher, fingers grazing under the edge of your dress.

“You like that, don’t you?” His voice is low, teasing, as his hand reached up under your skirt, the touch no longer hesitant. His eyes drinking in the way your body moves under his touch. “I knew you would.”

“Ooh,” you murmured, voice a little breathy. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you, it’s making it hard to think straight. “Maybe... a little,” you admited, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “You’re really not holding back, are you?”

“Why should I?” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver through your body. “I’m already invisible to everyone else. I might as well enjoy myself... and so should you.”

Mahito’s grin turned wicked, his hand slipping even higher, fingers brushing dangerously close to your sensitivity, making your heart race. “Just a little, huh? I think I can do better than that.” His eyes darken with hunger, but there’s a tenderness there, a strange mix of teasing and adoration as his gaze drinks you in. He lifted your skirt revealing your themed panties hidden under a thin layer of pantyhose. He split your legs beneath the table and quickly tore a hole in the crotch of the fabric.

Your mind was spinning, but in the best way. His attention feels intoxicating, like a game you didn’t even know you wanted to play, and now that you’re playing, you can’t get enough.

His eyes trailed over your body again, and the way he looks at you—it’s like he can’t get enough. His opposite hand explores the soft curve of your stomach, squeezing appreciatively. “You’ve got a body worth loving,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Every curve, every soft inch of you... it’s perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, a mix of pride and desire swirling in your chest. Hearing him speak about your body like that made you feel so sexy. And the way he’s touching you... it’s sending every nerve in your body into overdrive.

“You’re bold, aren’t you?” you teased, but the playful edge in your voice betrayed just how much you’re enjoying this.

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I wonder just how much more I could make you enjoy this.” His voice sent a pleasant chill down your spine.

Your breath hitched, your thighs pressing together under the table as his hand lingers between your thighs. “Go ahead then,” you murmured, your voice a little breathless but filled with curiosity. “Show me.”

Mahito chuckled, the sound low and sultry. “Oh, I intend to.”

And with that, his fingers slid higher, his touch growing bolder as he explores every inch of your softness. The way his hand moved over your curves, the way his voice hummed with approval at every squeeze, every caress—it’s enough to make you melt into the seat. You shivered in anticipation, heat coiling low in your stomach. You’re not sure how this night turned into something out of your wildest fantasies, but you’re far from complaining. His touch is addicting, and now that you know no one else can see him, it feels like you’re sharing a secret—a thrilling, dangerous secret.

No one else can see. No one else knows. But you? You’re loving every second of it.

You tucked yourself into the corner of your table to minimize being noticed, though that might be hard. As much as you stifled your sounds, Mahito's incessant prodding made it hard to keep quiet. While you bit your lip and flattened your hands at your sides, Mahito's fingers began to pull your panties aside and slide up along your moistening slit. You knew that making too much noise would draw attention and getting kicked out was not what you wanted. His fingers pressed into you, stirring up your wetness. You whimpered, laying your head back against the booth seat.

Mahito's lips played on your neck, his body hunched over yours other hand trailing along your soft sides with gentle squeezing.

"You really like doing that, huh?" You said softly, scanning the bar for any suspicion.

He continued his pecking along your shoulders and jaw, pausing only for a moment to respond. "Why wouldn't I? You feel so wonderful already, I can only imagine how it feels inside you," he purred.

"Isn't that a little risky? I already c-" you stiffened as his fingers pressed into your sweet spot, your jaw tightening before you can finish your sentence. "C-can barely keep quiet."

"Then why don't we stick to fingers?" Mahito offered. Though, as he said it, you felt something shifting and thickening inside you. It felt as if he had produced a dildo of some kind, using that on you after sneakily replacing his fingers, but when you glanced down, it was his hand. It had transformed the three digits that was teasing you into a twisting piece that he used on you relentlessly, thrusting up into your depths and stretching your walls. Ghosts can do that?

You covered your mouth, the thickness pushing in and out of you while his lips danced on you. Your hands dug into the seat, eyes shutting tight as you fought the moans in your throat. His thrusting piece moved at a stuttered, deep pace that rattled the warmth in your stomach. Heating up more and more, steadily higher. You couldn't stop the way your breath began to come in heavy pants.

"You feel so good. I wish I could just fuck you right," Mahito groaned softly against your ear, his hand over your stomach pushed up to your breasts and started to squeeze and fondle them.

You fought against the growing sounds, "if we get out of here, you could."

Mahito shook his head, nipping at you and pulling you closer to him, his piece hastening it's pace. The way he ran it into you was making that pool of heat start to boil over. "I want to watch you cum here first. Maybe I can break you," he laughed, his hold tight, trapping you against him and the back of the booth.

That wouldn't take too long. All the attention, the whispers, the struggle to keep it under wraps, it was too much for you. You clung to him, sure it looked so odd to whoever might be glancing over, burying your face into his shoulder and shuddering as you clenched on his hand. It was a strong wave of pleasure that crashed into you, threatening to escape your throat as you bit onto his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

Mahito gave a low groan at your teeth in his flesh, his hand stuttering inside you and his head lowering onto your own shoulder.

Shuddering, stuttering, you both sat in a stiff and forced silence for a moment before he finally pulled his hand away and returned the shape to normal. Your faces were both flushed, a heavy panting shared.

"We need to get out of here," you decided, pulling your dress into place and sliding out of the opposite end of the booth. Mahito followed close after you, agreeing completely.