#mar-the-subpar

[my-castles-crumbling]

popcorn - January 20 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 310

"...and then you go over there and get food," James said, gesturing to the counter with all the colorfully-wrapped candies and the giant vat of popcorn. He held their tickets for the cinema in one hand and Regulus's hand in the other.

"No," Regulus whispered, half in disgust and half with disbelief. "James...all of that popcorn...it's all just...sitting there! How long has it been out? That's disgusting!"

"Just wait until they put the butter on it!" James replied gleefully, dragging Regulus towards the food. "It's so greasy and salty! It's amazing!"

But even as Regulus looked on with shock while James spoke with the Muggle at the counter, ordering one large popcorn, two sodas, and two candies Regulus had never heard of, he couldn't help but look around the large room in amazement. Muggles were fascinating, he had to admit.

"Now, he's the thing," James said after he finished, handing Regulus his food and drink, (he overheard that the candy bar came all the way from the planet Mars, but he wasn't sure how that could be true), "when we get in there, you want to head to the back row."

"What?" he asked, stopping to stare suspiciously. He'd been to plays in the Wizarding world, after all, and the best seats were always at the front. "Why?"

"Because," James smirked, winking at him, "I'm showing you how a Muggle date works. And when you go on a date to the cinema, the best place for snogging is in the back."

Regulus let out a shocked laugh, almost dropping his soda as warmth shot through his body. He got ahold of himself quickly, though. "Alright, Potter. Lead the way," he grinned.

And even though the popcorn was disgusting and the movie was subpar, Regulus had to admit that he didn't end up paying attention to either of those much, anyway.

[evieolo]

Cocaine Kicker

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Contains: SMUT!!/intoxicated sex/MANY mentions of cocaine/doggy/fingering/clit stim/multiple rounds/squirting/p in v/breeding

Request: Can you write a Matt story inspired by the song gorilla by bruno Mars

You and Matt parade into your apartment loudly. Messes of giggles fall from both your lips as your hands fumble through your purse for your keys.

You stumble in your stilettos as you haphazardly key open your door, but tread into your apartment with confidence, ridding yourself of your bag and about to kick off your heels when Matt pulls you in for a sloppy kiss.

He’s granted access easily, the liquor helping with this. He tastes strongly of bourbon. Fragrant of Invictus Rabanne with the mixture of the cola that dusts his collar.

Your lips move messily against his, saliva mixing and teeth bumping together occasionally. You pull away but let your arms loop loosely around his neck, the lack of oxygen intensifying the dizziness of the cocaine.

Matt runs his hands over your body. Hips, ass, thighs, chest.

You shiver when his cold palm brushes your pebbled nipple, and you’d be lying if you said the contact didn’t go rushing straight to your heat.

Your nipples are hard from a mix of the cold and the intoxication that flows through your bloodstream, and your thin top does a subpar job hiding the pebbled dots.

Matt’s close, close enough to give you a hickey, or kiss your neck but he doesn’t, he stays embracing you, almost inhaling your scent before he speaks.

“I want to ruin you.” He rasps.

You breathe softly, feeling the words go straight to your core. “What’s stopping you?”

Hearing your words, Matt pulls your form to his body. Your back arches into him causing your tits, which practically spill out of your top to be pressed against him. Matt groans, his growing erection poking at your thigh and he licks his lips, holding you for seconds until his mouth is latched to the plump flesh of your breasts.

You moan. Open mouthed, nothing on your mind but Matt, snaking your arms around his torso for better grip and you start to grind your hips against his with need. Matt lets out a low whine, the drug in his system enhancing the pleasure he’s feeling. He sucks a bruise onto your skin, grazing his teeth over the dotting red spot in admiration before pulling back, grabbing your hand, and pulling you to the bedroom.

He wastes no time, shoving you onto the mattress with fervent, his dilated eyes poking into yours. “Take this off.” He breathes, tugging at your cheetah print top.

You nod, letting out an eager sigh as you hoist yourself up on your elbows. Enough so you can get the tank over your head.

Matt nearly groans at the sight of your tits spilling out of your top, you’d been teasing him in the bra-let all night, and he had to refrain from the idea of crawling over you as is and fucking his dick in between the two mounds.

You don’t wait for him to ask about your skirt, slipping it down your thighs, grasping your panties at the same time, pulling them down concurrently.

Matt watches intently as you arch your back off the mattresses to get your bottoms off, breathing in deeply as he eyes you, all exposed for him.

Turned on further, he pulls his shirt off, unbuckling his belt but not stepping out of his pants yet.

Matt steps closer, looming over you as he grazes your slick with his fingers. “You’re drenched.” He nearly laughs, bathing his digits in your wetness. You whine at the contact, feeling more stimulated than ever, the drug shooting all your pleasure straight to your core but what you need is to be filled.

“Need you now Matty.” Your voice is anything but stern, it's whiny and high-pitched—begging to be fucked.

Matt circles around and above your clit lazily with his fingers, ignoring your pleas and continues teasing.

He lets out a wry laugh when you squirm away from him. “Gotta stretch you out first baby.” He murmurs, pressing straight down on your clit with his thumb, rolling it off when he hears you gasp.

You let out a whine, shaking your head. “ No Matty, I need you now. Need it all.”

Matt lets out a breath, loud, you feel the hot air trickle against your neck and practically sense his indecision.

“Fine.” He breathes, his look hardening, “Turn around, hands and knees.”

You smile, stomach fluttering with anticipation as you reposition yourself to face the headboard, face down, and ass up, pawing at the nearby pillow to brace for what's to come.

Matt unloops his belt, tossing it to the floor into the haphazard pile you’d made of your clothes.

Feeling the heat build in your stomach, you wriggle your hips in anticipation, knowing exactly what to do to set him off. As if on cue, his boxers and jeans are off.

“So needy,” Matt laughs, palming the base of his cock and feathering his hand up his length to coax out tears of pre cum.

He lets out a loud groan and gives in, running his dick through your slick as a lubricant, rutting his hips back and forth gently to coat his base before it gets caught on your hole.

Matt has to restrain himself from pushing in in one solid thrust. Instead he eases himself into you inch by inch from the tip.

You paw at the sheets at the fiery burn. You feel so full. The leftward curve rimming against your g-spot, and it has you near wreathing when he hasn’t even moved yet.

Once you’ve fully adjusted to Matt’s size he pulls out to the tip, then waits for a beat before slamming himself fully into you. You let out a startled yelp, “Oh!” As he continues ramming into you. Slow pulls, and hard thrusts that ram your g-spot each time.

The stretch of his cock burns in the best way, the way it rams into your cervix has you pawing at the sheets.

The bulging vein that runs down his right side hits all the spots in your gummy walls. It has you pawing at the sheets, grasping the blankets in your palms as best you can as you try to keep a steady grip, but it's near impossible with how much your body jolts forward every time he thrusts.

“This pussy’s made for me.” Matt grunts, gripping your waist firmly while indulging himself in you. “Can anyone else fuck you this good?”

You let out a loud whine in an attempt to say no, then try to shake your head. This only results in your mascara and lipstick standing on the pillow your head is pressed to.

“Words,” Matt grunts, “words or I’ll stop”

Your back arches into him, and your legs start to shake at the feel of your orgasm. “No-nobody else can fuck me-me good,” You stammer out, voice whiney as the orgasmic tears brimming your waterline fall.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Matt grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your face of the mattress you’d settled in. “You,” you croak out, “s’your pussy daddy.”

Matt doesn’t let you ride your orgasm out one bit, pulling himself out the second your walls start convulsing. You’re too fucked out to care, too fucked out to notice how he turns you on your back, presses your legs up, and slips himself back into you.

He starts ramming into you, his hips meeting yours every second. The sound of sex fills the room, your mixed moans and whines along with the wet sounds of your bodies mixing.

“Deeper!” You cry, fucked out, chasing another high, and mind clouded by pleasure.

Matt hears this and halts his thrusts. He repositions himself so he’s more bent down and hoists both of your thighs over his shoulders. Then he resumes thrusting.

”H-holy shit.” You stammer, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth.

Your eyes roll back in your head, you're unsure he’d ever hit spots so deep in you. The pleasurable stretch of your hamstrings and Matt's length ramming into your cervix was nearing your orgasm.

“You can take more than just this,” Matt smirks through his groans, freeing one of his hands and bringing it down to your slit, flicking fast circles over your clit.

You wreathe, convulsing under him, “T-too much!”

But to your ‘dismay,’ Matt wouldn’t stop unless you used your word, and you didn’t want to use it. So you were fucked. Literally.

You try to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, a fist meets his chest momentarily but it’s weak, this turns into pathetic grasping, your fingers pawing at his chest, gripping around nothing, just the pads of your fingers on his chest.

“You gonna cum for me?”

You nod pathetically, legs trembling as you squirt around him. A string of curses and moans flows from your mouth as your crushing orgasm overtakes you.

You let out a choked sob, sending Matt over the edge. He thrusts deep into you and holds himself there as he releases, letting out small groans and whines as his hips stutter into you.

He stays inside you for several beats, drawing his orgasm out inside if you.

He draws out a long ‘fuckkkkk’ as he pulls himself out of you, nearly hissing as your walls hug him tightly, milking him for all he’s worth. You hear a light ‘plp’ sound when Matts draws himself all the way out, a mixture of his cum and your juices flowing out of you.

Matt notices this and makes a ‘tut’ sound between his teeth.

He brings two fingers to your slick, starting from the bottom, and runs them up, spooning his cum up and shoving it back into you, thrusting, with his fingers, as deep as he could go.

“Can’t have any of it go to waste huh?” He coos, pumping his fingers with lazy movements, continuing in this action until he’s satisfied himself and stops, drawing his fingers out of you and releasing your legs from his shoulders’ grasp.

With this your legs fall limply on the bed as he lets them go, pattering down on the mattress as you let out a sigh.

“You fuck me so good Matty.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your clammy forehead before lying down, flattening himself onto you. “It’s the cocaine sweetheart.”

[1117feverlessdreams]

W.C.P.P. 🎀 ⛓️‍💥- Episode 1

🐈‍⬛~🎀 SUMMARY: After seven long years, you’ve fired your assistant because of your differences. Your new hire, Wooyoung Jung wants nothing but the same as you do, and a lot more than you’d think.

🐈‍⬛~🎀 TAGS/WARNINGS: Cursing/Name-Calling, Mentions of Sex, Mention of Dom-Sub Play.

🐈‍⬛~🎀 WORD COUNT: 11.4K

🐈‍⬛~🎀 A/N: In the beginning, it’s important to pay attention to detail. You never know who/what may come later on. (ALSO WOOYOUNG CUTTING HIS HAIR THE DAY I RELEASED THIS, IM SICK.)

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾 🐾

The sleek, modern office buzzed with activity as creative teams huddled around the latest MacBooks and smartboards.

Your intensifying aura strides throughout the space with piercing stiletto heels that click authoritatively on the polished marble floor.

Today starts with the sudden approach to Mark Lee’s desk, your assistant of seven years. He sat hunched over his computer, oblivious to your approach. You make yourself known as you obnoxiously clear your throat, springing him to spin around rapidly in his chair.

"Mark, a word in my office. Now." Your tone left no room for argument, demanding that the man should follow for his own good.

Your office decor reflects your fierce femininity- pretty and in pink, your favorite color. You held the door open for both of you to enter. As your back collides with the curtain-covered glass door inside, your eyes dart toward the side of Mark's head. The silence becomes entrapped with a soft click. Then you turn to cower him in once more, ensuring that your expression is stern.

“How do you think the meeting went earlier today?" Your voice was measured, betraying none of the frustration you’d felt during the presentation.

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your wandering gaze. "Um, I think it went alright."

A heated breath shrivels even the hairs in your nostrils, your eyes narrow slightly as you continue to press him. "Mark…honestly, as my assistant of seven years, I notice when my decisions may worry you. So, I'll ask you again,” you warn. “How do you think the meeting went earlier today?"

Mark sighed, his shoulders sagging as he finally met your gaze. "Look, Mrs. Hart, I just think...I think you should have signed that deal with GreenTech. The numbers were solid, and it would've given us a leg up on our competitors." Mark's tone bordered on insolence, his body language relaxed as if he thought he was merely offering a differing opinion.

“‘Quality over quantity’…it’s a phrase that is constantly undermined in the business world.” You chuckle lowly with an underlying menacing tone, determining that your footsteps are purposeful as you travel behind your wide office desk. “But for your sake Mr.Lee…let’s say we did sign that deal.” Mark's eyebrows raise with an attentive quirk, hoping to hear your change of heart.

“Skyrocketed to the top with our profits…”, you continue, “We’d probably make shit product too, but hey!- maybe with that money we’ll make GreenTech cover our tracks.” That’s not exactly what he hoped for, and yet he remains seated without choice but to listen. “Where’s the competition in that Mark?”

Mark, with his face flushed, leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Mrs.Hart, you have to think about the offer without playing the moral high ground here. Business is about making profit, not about making friends, or producing some perfect, ethical product." He paused, his expression turning cunning.

Your eyes flashed with annoyance at Mark's presumptuousness. You lean in closer, and for his sake, you turn your voice low with the same level of intensity. "How do you think money is made in business, Mark? By cutting corners, sacrificing quality, leaving a trail of subpar products and obviously disgruntled customers in our wake?"

“That’s not the way I see it madam“, Mark grumbles. “There will always be the next best thing. That’s why there’s competition! Just think about it! With GreenTech in our market, we will always be the best.”

Like a thick block of ice, your face hardened to its core, and your expression remains cold. "It’s a shame that you could be so wrong, Mark. Competition is about offering a superior product, not buying our way to the top,” you say plainly. “I expected more from you…my assistant of seven years."

Mark's jaw tensed as the words he’s always wanted to say battle on his tongue. "Oh please, you've always been short-sighted Mrs.Hart. With the kind of money GreenTech is offering, we could bury our competitors! We'd set the standard, not just try to keep up with it!”

That was it, the last re‘Mark he could make, and then came dangerous consequences.

“Short-sighted?! Mark…” You address coldly, "I'm disappointed. You've bought into the very thing I've always tried to stand against." You walk over toward your high ceiling windows, a view of all surrounding industrial architecture.

“Perhaps you’re short-sighted one. Quite frankly…I couldn’t envision a capitalist in my company's success. I'll be revising your position within the company. Mark Lee…”, you say with a slight head turn, “you are dismissed.”

Mark's face contorted with anger and betrayal as your malicious words began to sink in. "You seriously can’t be considering firing me over this," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "After everything I've done for this company, you're just going to toss me aside because I have a differing opinion?"

You turn your attention back to the distant outside view, seeing it as pointless to give him the time of day. “Business comes with compromise. Your “opinion” derives from GreenTech beliefs, and based upon this conversation, you’ve tossed yourself onto their side.”

Mark burst up, screeching his sitting chair across the polished flooring. "I'm not some change in GreenTech's pocket. I just believe in seizing opportunities when we see them! You're the one who's being stubborn and stuck in your ways, Mrs.Hart!”

With his challenging words, you had to look him in the eye. To see him cower. For him to fully feel you overpower. “There it is. You, and everyone in this company, that’s your real and raw opinion about me.” You turn slightly so he can see your pleased expression and provide him a round of applause, because speaking up surely had been a feat he’s been wanting to conquer for quite some time.

"You're unyielding, Mrs.Hart, and that's what's going to be your downfall. You can't keep dismissing ideas just because they don't align with your perfect little moral compass," Mark hissed, his face reddened with boiling anger.

“Dismissed.”, you quip with the click of your tongue. You remain unmoved, calmness frighteningly rooting from where you stand. “Allow your replacement to enter please.”

Mark ferocious gaze shuffles between you and what awaits behind the door. He storms to unlock it, his hand flinging dramatically backward as he opens the door to meet his maker.

The new guy's balled fist stalls in the air, his eyes darting between you who is dangerously content, and the infuriated Mark. He hesitates to enter, uncertainty written in bold all over his face. "I, uh, I assume I'm not interrupting anything important?" he asks cautiously.

“He’s been dismissed”, you carelessly announce. “You’ll take his place for the time being.”

You smile graciously, pleased with the divine timing. Wooyoung Jung was the perfect candidate. Charming with a perfect resume, and similar to you, as you do say so fabulously yourself, looks that could kill.

Mr Jung’s eyes widen slightly, but he quickly composes himself. "Oh, is that really it? I must admit, I didn't expect to be stepping into this role so soon," he says, walking further into the room. He casts one last glance at Mark before focusing on the person he came to impress.

Next thing you knew the door slams and Mark disappears, making your eyes squeeze shut, and Mr.Jung to tsk. You blink open your eyes upon hearing the noise of disapproval he made, making you all the more intrigued to turn around and meet such a character.

With finely cut long black hair, a small, yet intimidating face, and a respectful demeanor- you were considering him platonically attractive at the least. Perhaps it wouldn’t piss you off to see his face in office every weekday.

“I admire the decoration in your office madam. Pink adds a new touch to all things business.” He grins to you with glee with a lack of oppression on his nerves.

“Why…thank you.”, you mumble in surprise. “This is short notice,” you cut in, avoiding elongating pleasant greetings. “I apologize for the ongoing…drama. But if you would like to dismiss yourself, you could follow behind Mark there. The work environment is preferably... fast-paced.”

Mr.Jung clears his throat, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "No, no, it's quite alright. I'm flattered you've chosen me to fill this role. I assure you, I can keep pace with whatever this position requires." He extends his hand towards you.

You take his hand gesturing for him to sit across from you where your ex-employee took a stand. "Mark and I have... differing views on how the company should progress." You pause, eyeing Mr.Jung curiously. "I hope this won't be an issue for you.”

Mr.Jung tilts his head as he grins charmingly, his hands slipping into each other comfortably on his lap. “Just steer me in the direction you wanna go. No matter where, I’ll always be your right-hand man.”

You smile for the first time since Mark's presence disappeared from the space. “The expectations are high for you now Mr. Jung. I carry promises like those in the front of my mind.”

His smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I won't let you down, Mrs. Hart. I promise I'll prove myself worthy of your high expectations." He pauses, "And please, call me Wooyoung."

You turn in your chair, and grab a clipboard and pen, sliding it across the desk to him. “Well Wooyoung, I hope you are ready for your first-ever business meeting.”

…

During the meeting, Wooyoung listens intently to the presentations, asking insightful questions and offering thoughtful suggestions that clearly show he's not just knowledgeable, but also cares deeply about the company's success. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, thoroughly impressed by his intuition and outspokenness.

"I understand that we're aiming for a quick turnaround on this project," Wooyoung interjects during a discussion on project timelines. "But I think we should allocate more resources to quality assurance. Rushing might lead to oversights that could cost us more time and money in the long run."

Then there was once a marketing director, presenting a campaign idea that you seemed hesitant about. "I think we should consider a more digital approach," He interjects once again, and confidently. "Millennials and Gen Z are our target audience. They're not flipping through magazines or watching TV ads like they used to."

“He's right,” you chime in, your eyes appreciative as they meet Wooyoung's who’s sat across from you. "Let's allocate our budget to influencer partnerships and social media ads. And let's discuss this further after the meeting, Wooyoung.”

…

“This may be the first time in ages a man has kept true to his word with me,” you say to him after the meeting, “you quite literally took the words from my mouth.”

Wooyoung grins, leaning against the edge of your desk. "Well, I try my best to read the room. And you wear your thoughts rather openly on your face, Mrs. Hart."

You find this amusing, considering reading the room is your unique skill. “I don’t hold back, or rather, I can’t afford to. It was relieving to step back from being the bitchy boss for a change.”

"Well, I'm glad I could help you take a step back," Wooyoung remarks, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "For what it's worth, I find your honesty refreshing. And I assure you, I can handle the 'bitchy boss'. I thrive under challenge."

You genuinely chuckle and extend your hand for him to take. “Welcome to The “Better Business Co.”

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

As the days go by, Wooyoung's presence starts to have a noticeable effect on the office's mood. Colleagues who were once distant or quiet are now opened up and engaged in conversations. The atmosphere is lighter, with more laughter and genuine smiles. You aren’t ignorant of the changes, and it's not lost on Wooyoung either.

One day, as he's is chatting with some colleagues during lunch, you happened to pass by the table. You’re surprised to see him laughing freely with his coworkers, his natural charm and wit shining through. You pause in place, watching him for a moment before continuing on your way, a small smile playing on your lips.

Soon, you start to realize that Wooyoung's positive energy is infectious, and you find yourself feeling more relaxed and approachable. You start to initiate conversations with your team, asking about their weekends and hobbies.

The once-stuffy office is now filled with the sound of laughter and friendly banter. But business is still business of course.

As much as you worry to admit, you look forward to seeing Wooyoung's face in the morning. His warm smile and easy demeanor set the harmonious tone for the work day. You catch yourself humming along to the music playing in the background, something you never ever do. Even the usually grumpy IT guy can't help but crack a smile whenever he walks by.

As you and Wooyoung walk down the hallway together after another entertaining meeting, your colleagues greet you with daily smiles and waves. "Morning, Mrs. Hart! Mr. Jung!" someone calls out. He was so remarkably casual, a few high-five him as they see him pass by.

You can't help but notice how popular he's become. It made you ponder your work relationships at his side. Which made you realize, ‘relationships’ weren’t in your vocabulary.

You lean over towards him whispering, “You're like the office mascot. how does it feel to be so well loved?" Your eyes sparkle as you smile teasingly.

Wooyoung grins bashfully, running a hand through his flowing hair. "I guess I'm just a people person..but you know, it's not just me. You've lightened up too. The whole office feels like a different place now," he replies, his gaze warm as he smirks cheerfully at you.

It causes you to huff as you begrudgingly confess. “I suppose I have. But I’m never letting my guard down though when it comes to my business. I’m still tough like a clam.”

Wooyoung chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I wouldn't expect anything less from our 'bitchy boss'." He winks at you, his tone playful. "But even a tough clam needs to come out of its shell once in a while."

…

The office is transformed for the night, strings of fairy lights casting a warm glow over the space. Laughter fills the air as colleagues mingle, enjoy good food, and let loose.

Wooyoung, dressed in a sharp suit, is behind the makeshift bar, mixing drinks with a flourish.

You finish a conversation and look for your new partner in crime. You realize his natural mingling nature may never be cut short from serving drinks all night long, so instead, you walk over to him yourself.

“Hey Jung, have you ever had a drink yourself yet?” You fold your arms onto the counter as you approach it. “I bet you could use it before everyone else here. After me, of course.”

Wooyoung looks up from his bartending duties, flashing you a grateful smile. "You know me too well. I've been so caught up in making sure everyone else is having a good time, I haven't had a chance to enjoy anything myself." He reaches for a clean glass, preparing himself a drink.

You wait until he’s finished and raise your half-empty glass for a cheers. “To our partnership…and the grand endeavors we’ll be rewarded along the way.”

Wooyoung clinks his glass against yours, his eyes meeting yours over the rim. "To partnerships, and proving that business and fun can be compatible." He takes a sip, his gaze never leaving your face. "You did an amazing job with this party by the way."

“Oh dear”, you snicker, “if it weren’t for you, a party would be the last thing on my checklist. We did an amazing job.”

He shakes his head, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Don't sell yourself short, Mrs.Hart. You're the one who decided to reward the team. I just helped you execute your vision." He leans over the counter with a playful wink, going over the remainder of his drink into his mouth.

Your face becomes flushed, flicking your wrist in distraction to swig your glass, only to spot it empty.

What's worse is that in truth, you had become a bit tipsy.

"Besides," Wooyoung continues, misinterpreting your flustered expression to be unphased, "it's not every day I get to work alongside such a... power boss." He winks playfully, grabbing a bottle behind the bar to refill your glass.

“A power boss?” You murmur. That’s a new one, but it’s the best name by far. Looks like I finally found someone to put up with my bitchiness.” You lift up your glass in celebration, slaying your arms over the stool in victory.

Woo laughs heartily, clinking his glass against yours once more. "And I love every minute of it." He takes a sip, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You know…”, he trails off, “some people might say we make a pretty great team, both in and out of the boardroom."

“Yeah?” You murmur, blowing out a harsh breath. Mostly due to the burning alcohol in your stomach. “Who said that?”

A mischievous grin appears on Wooyoung's face as he leans in closer. I might have overheard a couple of our colleagues discussing earlier. They were saying how well we complement each other, and..." He pauses for dramatic effect, “how our dynamic is almost...romantic?” He raises an eyebrow with an unveiling expression, gauging your reaction.

The office has been buzzing with such rumors for weeks. What goes around comes around to you like clockwork. But the folks in the office have been careful not to address either of you directly. "But we'd make a terrible couple, right?"

You freeze in disbelief before drunkenly waving off such a claim. “Damn right. We’re both too stubborn. We’d be unstoppable then.”

Wooyoung chuckles, taking another sip of his drink. A rather large one in comparison to the lasts. "Exactly..besides, I couldn't handle being bossed around 24/7." "Though I must admit, there are some perks to the idea." His gaze flickers to your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again.

“Oh yeah? Well, lemme hear 'em.” You suddenly become confident with the liquid courage, and he is no help, he continues what he initiated with the liquor flowing like blood in his system.

Wooyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Well, for one, your... assertiveness would be quite... stimulating in other situations." He smirks, watching your reaction closely.

The sudden change of mood makes you spit out a little laughter and nearly fall out of your seat- to which Wooyoung catches you, but almost falls over himself.

You lean in and whisper childishly with a hand hovering over the sides of your face. “Do you mean like…

“Sex?”

A brief widening of Wooyoung's eyes occurs, followed by a soft laugh, his face flushed. "Eh, erm, yeah...that's one of many perks that came to mind."

You giggle in amusement, wiggling a teasing finger at how heated he became at his own jest. Just as your moving close to his chisled cheek, with his eyes allured on your dazed face, you lose balance from out of your seat.

Wooyoung helps steady your waving form, his hands are gentle, and firm. "Ah...see? You're drunk sweetheart. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate topic for the office party anyway."

You groan in annoyance and set down your glass. You lean forward again, trying to maintain contact with his deep eyes as your eyes blink out of sync. “What happens to putting the fun in business”, you whine. “Your a little…party pooper. I wanna go home.” Your head wanes back and forth, then tumbling down to smack the countertop.

Wooyoung sighs, rubbing his temples. He looks around the party, which has started to wind down, and he decides then, it's probably for the best. "Alright, alright. Let's get you home." He carefully moves around the bar to pick you up, cradling you in his arms.

You continue on, whining and complaining about wanting to go to bed with your arm thrown around his neck-pulling him down in the slightest. “Hey you…party pooper…tuck me in already”, you burp.”

He trudges you successfully out of the office, ignoring your complaints. Once you're both in his car, he carefully buckles you into the passenger seat before getting in behind the wheel. As he drives, he can't help but glance over from time to time. It was extremely rare to have ever seen you like this.

Wooyoung pulls a quick hand off the wheel and sends a voice text to your HR representative, asking them to wrap things up and make sure everyone gets home safely. He then focuses back on the road, determined to get you home without any more eventful detours. "There, all taken care of," he says, more to himself than to anyone else.

A sudden road bump pangs your head into the door, and you moan painfully, waving a measly finger at your subordinate.“Hey, don’t drink and drive!”

Wooyoung can't help but adore at your drunken concern. "Don't worry, I'm perfectly sober. I only had the drinks we shared. You, on the other hand..." He glances at her, shaking his head fondly. "What am I going to do with you, madam?"

You frown with etched brown, drunkenly trying to think long and hard about what you should do. It makes your headache worsen even more and you simply give up. “Arghhh, I dunno…”

A warmth spread through his chest at your petulant expression. He pulls up to your apartment building and parks the car. "Come on, let's get you inside." He reaches across to unbuckle your seatbelt, sliding his hands around your waist to help you out of the car carefully.

You don’t know what happened in between but you have already made it to the elevator “Eight, room 816,” you whisper. The door closes as you both elevate to the eighth floor. You lean on Wooyoung when you stumble, his hold is automatic, and he finds it so amusing. “You’re so warm.” You drunkenly express, “like my blanket.”

Wooyoung chuckles softly as he supports your weight, his hands resting comfortably on your hips. "I'm glad I can be your human blanket." He guides you out of the elevator when you arrive at the floor with a ding and down the hall to your door. "Now, where are your keys, sleepyhead?"

“I won’t tell you that they’re in my purse.” You whisper, and quite literally waving a finger ‘no’.

He sighs and carefully sets you down on the floor, kneeling in front of you to dig vigorously through your deep designer purse. "You're making this much harder than it needs to be madam," he mutters, finally finding the keys.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly mutter.

“I forgive you.” Wooyoung unlocks the door and pulls you inside, guiding you to the place you've wanted to be all night long, the bedroom.

He sits you down softly on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of you, gently removing your feet from your gruesome hot pink heels.

"There, that's better, Wooyoung proclaims. “Now, let's get you under the covers before you pass out on top of them."

In a way, you make things a small bit easier, smiling and pulling your body in the sheets with him like a lazy rag doll. “Ahhh…home sweet home.”

Wooyoung tucks you into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin as if you were his child. A strand of hair is brushed out of your face by him in another sign of parental affection. "Sleep well. You’re going to need it.”

He pulls back as you nuzzle in warmth, speculating a small glance of discomfort in your features. At first, he hesitates, but then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the harsh kiss between your eyebrows.

Wooyoung lingers for a moment, his lips still against your forehead, before gently pulling away. To his surprise the crease melts flat, ceasing in appearance.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he watches over your form. "Mrs.Hart," he whispers softly, "We need to talk."

Without speaking any further, he leaves your apartment shortly after. He didn’t expect a response of course, nor for you to remember these moments in the next morning. It was more so of a practice run, a severe need to ease relief from the front of his mind.

The drive home is spent lost in thought, the gold city lights blurred outside his windows. Once he arrived home, he stripped down to his boxers and fekk into bed.

But sleep is harder than most nights, and it’s all your fault.

…

The next morning, Wooyoung strides into the office with a purpose. He's dressed sharp, his mind focused solely on business. At first glance, you would have never thought anything worrying was crushing on his nerves.

He greets his employees with a polite nod, and his face derives from anything non-neutral. As he settles behind his desk, he pulls out a folder containing the day's agenda.

You, on the other hand, are hungover. Someone looked after you this morning-setting out your clothes and saving you lots of time and embarrassment in the process- because you were started to settle on PJs.

All alone in your office, you suffer in silence from your headache, drinking both tea and coffee to wake you up and liven your mood.

Wooyoung walks in happily as he does every working morning, noticing your slow movements and frequent face-palms from his office. He suppresses a smile, instead walking over to your office with two ibuprofen tablets and a bottle of water. "Here," he says, setting them down neatly on your desk. "For your head."

You greatly take them as soon as they’re placed in front of you, swallowing one dry as you down the water to prepare for another. “Wooyoung…thank you for this, and for getting me home safely. From this headache, I can imagine I was a hot mess.” You pull your hands to smooth the sides of your head, moaning as the pain subsides.

He leans against the nearest wall with his arms crossed. "You were," he says bluntly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "But I took care of you, and that’s what I'm here for." His gaze intensifies, holding amusingly onto yours.

You hiss from looking up toward the ceiling lights. “Yeah but last night might’ve been a little extreme, and it won’t happen. Anyway, what’s on today’s agenda?”

He pulls out a folder from under his arm and walks over to set it down on your desk. "Today, we're finalizing the contract for the new club downtown."

“Good”, you scan over the contents inside the folder with a breath of relief. “Nothing that over-exerts the energy that I don’t have. Today should be easy.”

Wooyoung straightens up, his smirk deepening. "Just leave the heavy lifting to me, my hungover delicate flower. I'll make sure everything runs smoothly."

You chuckle at his typical teasing. It was never too much. Just unpredictable, but effective. “I’ll treat you to dinner after work. It’s the least I could do for my non-professional-like behavior.

Wooyoung's eyes glint with excitement. "Deal," he replies. "But tonight, I choose the restaurant. And…," he adds, shifting aimlessly on his heel, "you're not driving. I'll pick you up."

Without a beat, you throw your hands up beside your head without banter. “You don’t hear any complaints from me!”

He grins at you wolfishly, clearly pleased. "Good. Because I have the perfect place in mind”, he says cheekily. “Now, let's get to work, Madam Hart. We've got a contract to finalize." He winks at you and saunters out of your office, whistling an original tune.

…

As the day progresses, Wooyoung does indeed take the lead, handling the more demanding tasks with ease. In admiration you watch him, impressed by his imitation of your assertiveness and confident demeanor.

As the discoursed work day came to its end, the business still stood on all fours thanks to Better Business Company’s Mr. Jung.

True to his word, Wooyoung arrives at your apartment later that evening. He's dressed for a casual outing, his long hair tucked back into a ponytail with two neatly placed front strands. He rings the doorbell, a bouquet tucked under one arm.

Your company comes as expected as you lie idly on your couch. You walk to answer the door, looking more refreshed and rejuvenated than earlier today in a pink slip-dress. "Hey…you look nice."

"You look… well-rested," Wooyoung amends, smiling. "For you Madam. They’re pink!"

The large bouquet of petunias came out in surprise. You would’ve seen them sooner if you weren’t processing your focus in his face before it could make its way down to the rest of his body. “Oh…Wooyoung I- what are these for? I’m already in your debt. I don’t need you to buy me flowers.”

"Nonsense," he replies, pushing the bouquet firmly into your arms. "Consider it a peace offering. For last night, and for being such a trooper today despite your hangover." He grins mischievously.

You turn foot into your apartment as you roll your eyes. “Well let me just set these in my vase, and we can get going to this mystery spot.”

Wooyoung nods, watching as you bustle around and make picky remarks about the secret place he selected. He notices little details - a book on the coffee table, a photograph on the wall, a stack of unopened mail. He files these away in his mental library, eager to learn more about you outside of his paycheck. "Ready?" he asks once you return, his hand waits for yours to hold.

“More than I’ll ever be.” You take his hand as the tips of your fingers brush over his palm. But once you’ve made it outside your door, you pull it out of his subtle grip.

Wooyoung snickers under his breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry, it's not a surprise skydiving session." He places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the building and down to his car.

“That would be such a dick move after a hangover,” you scoff as you approach the door.

"Mmm, note to self: no extreme activities post-Mrs.Hart’s bender." he chuckles, moving around to open the passenger door for you.

On the drive there it’s no different. Wooyoung fills the silence with baited banter, making you fall for it so gullibly, despite your usual self.

The car arrived at a nondescript building. Wooyoung leads you up a flight of stairs to a rooftop patio. String lights twinkle overhead, and the air is filled with the sizzle of cooking and the low murmur of conversation. He guides you to a small table in a quiet corner.

You nod approvingly at your new surroundings, smiling warmly at Wooyoung who has been watching your reaction with glee. “Fresh air, check. Warm high-calorie food, check. Nice company….check. This may be the ideal hangover spot. Well played Mr. Jung.”

Wooyoung grins, taking his seat after pulling out yours. "I have my moments."

He picks up his menu, scanning it for a few seconds before setting it down without a second glance. Rather he looks across the table at your downturned eyes. "Now, let's see... what do you hungover crave? Greasy food? Carbs? Something spicy to clear out those sinuses?"

“Mmm…”, you hum, dazzling over the menu while scooching playfully on your seat. “I’ll have a mix of all the above.”

"Excellent choice," Woo says, approvingly. He flags down a waitress, placing an order for two of their special, ‘Hangover Helpers'.

While waiting for your orders, you decide to pick up on less frivolous conversations. “Did I do anything odd that made you uncomfortable while I was drunk? I swear I can’t remember a darn thing besides going to bed.”

Wooyoung leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, nothing too out of the ordinary," he says, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Just the usual drunken musings and some...affectionate gestures."

You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth in frustration. “Dammit! That is one of the things I didn’t want to hear! Did it make you uncomfortable?”

His smirk widens into a full-blown grin. “You drunkenly telling me I'm ‘so dreamy' and trying to hug me was adorable. It didn’t make me uncomfortable in the least, I just wish I had recorded it."

“Okay…”, you start with a genuine laugh, “I don’t even have to be sober to know I, in fact, did not say-“

"Oh, yes you did," Wooyoung insists, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And you also informed me that my hair is 'like satin'. Your words, not mine." He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“You truly amuse me”, you bitterly scoff.

"Oh, but you did," he continued, leaning forward. "And then you proceeded to pat my cheeks and declare that, ‘I had such a sweet face'. You were quite taken with my face actually."

Your eyes lower in a deadpan expression. You reach forward to grab a menu, fanning it in your face. “I have a feeling that I was more infatuated with my bed than anything.”

"Ah,” he concedes with a chuckle, “but the bed was a close second. "You did have a rather passionate reunion with your pillow when I finally got you into bed." He shakes his head, still grinning. "I swear…your drunk self is a riot."

You huff quietly with a small smile that dissipates in seconds. “I’ve only heard that a couple of times with Mark…he’d just let me lay on top of the bedding- and forget about setting my clothes out for tomorrow. He said I was so impossible to deal with, he couldn’t even take off my shoes.”

Wooyoung's expression softens, his humor fading for a moment. "Well, I managed," he says quietly. "It wasn't so bad. Though I will admit, you were a lot more childish than usual.”

Your eyes snap up from his use of words- your turn the menu down in disbelief. “What! Oh gosh… I don’t think I wanna know what happens next.”

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," he groans, his grin returning. Before he could further explain the waitress serves your platters.

Wooyoung dives into his food with enthusiasm, occasionally stealing glances at you teasingly as you prepare to eat. He watches as you take a big first bite, your eyes fluttering closed briefly in satisfaction. "Good?"

Your eyes feast on the rest of your meal rather than the man who invited you out to dinner. “Breakfast never tasted so good.”

"I'm glad," Wooyoung mumbles, his mouth full of food. He swallows and takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Though I have to say, you seemed to enjoy your pillow just as much last night. Quite the dramatic reunion with it."

“Okay, let it go!” You chew with a small laugh, and there was more where that came from for the rest of your dinner.

…

Wooyoung mimics your every giggle to your apartment, leaning against the closed door. "Well, at least this time you're sober." His grin is quick and charming. "Mostly."

You hold back a smile and push him away from the door, fumbling while grabbing your keys that fell to the bottom of your purse- giving Wooyoung major deja vu vibes from last night. “Well I promise you won’t have to cuddle me in bed this time- and set out my outfits.”

When you finally found your key, you held it up like a bar of gold, quickly inserting it through the lock and entering the apartment.

You turn to Wooyoung, but the intensity in the air fills with an odd lingering desire to stay in each other's company. The night was still young, and the office was closed for the weekend...

“Would you like to come in?”

His gaze follows into the apartment, his eyes lingering on you as you turn your back to him, walking towards the hall to your bedroom. If he said no, you’d have to awkwardly walk back to the door, and slam it quickly to just blame it on you still being hungover the next day.

The intensity in the air is palpable, the unspoken desire to prolong this moment hangs heavily. Wooyoung steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Just for a minute."

You approach the bedroom door, opening it up just a bit with a small creak. “I’m just going to change back into my PJs. Make yourself comfortable if you’d like.”

Wooyoung watches as you disappear down the hall. He doesn’t understand why his shoulders drop from tension as you leave the room. He lets out a slow breath, trying to rein in his thoughts.

He walks over to the gray velvet sofa with pink pillow decor, sits down, and runs a hand over to the back of his head to remove his hair tie- dislodging a few strands from its careful styling.

Moments after you come back out in your pink (of course) satin pajamas- making yourself comfortable on the couch with glasses of water for the both of you.

Wooyoung's eyes follow you as you re-enter, his gaze lingering in satisfaction in the way the satin clings to your curves. He takes the glass of water you offer, your fingers brushing briefly. "Thanks," he murmurs, taking a sip to distract himself from the sudden dryness in his throat.

His change of demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you, part of being a good CEO is reading the bodily behavior of your colleagues. “You sure that’s all that went last night Mr. Jung? I feel like you might be disassociating with some kind of- PTSD.”

His smirk revives at your teasing tone, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny," he drawls, setting his glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "I'm just thinking, that’s all."

You weigh your leg into a cushion, settling your back into a pillow in the corner. “A glass of water for your thoughts?”

Wooyoung's expression suddenly turns serious, his gaze intent as he peers over at you for a few heartbeats. "Just...about how different this is from last night," he says slowly. "And how much...I don't want it to end."

A tapping sound clinks on your glass from your fingernails as silence reigns after his confession. “I respect you for being so open about that, I know that wasn’t the easiest thing. Which is why…I too feel the same way.”

His eyebrows melts and his pout lies flat as relief etches into his features. "Good," he breathes. Leaning forward, he sets his glass down. The movement brings him closer to you, and the space between you both shrinks in distance.

“Oh, come on.” You whine, the sudden moments of silence were becoming exasperated. “When the spotlights on you, you want to shrivel up in the dark and be nonchalant? What’s bothering you Wooyoung?”

His chest tightens at your words, his heart pounding in his ears. He looks into your eyes, seeing the warmth and understanding there, and it's like a dam starts breaking inside him. "I'm scared," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sensing the seriousness that arises, you sigh in guilt, setting your water down as you gesture toward your chest for Wooyoung to lie upon. “I won’t push it.”

He hesitates for just a moment before slowly leaning forward, resting his head on satin-clad chest. Your warmth envelops him, your laundry wash filling his nostrils. He exhales shakily, his arms coming up to wrap around smoothly around your waist. "I'm scared of messing this up."

Your face scrunches up in confusion. If anything, everything he’s done so far is miles away from a fuck up. “You don’t need to worry. The business thrives with you in it. If anything I’ll slip up before you do.”

Wooyoung lets out a huff of laughter at your comforting words, his arms tightening around you as he exhales another snapping breath. "That's not what I meant," he says quietly. His fingers trace irregular patterns on your back through the satin. "I'm scared of scaring you off. Of wanting too much."

You scoff, shaking your head with worry and whispering, “I’m sure whatever you have planned for the company will be in its best interest. You cook up great innovations Wooyoung. I trust you most.”

His breath regulates at your revelation, a warmth spreading through his chest that has nothing to do with body heat. He tilts his head to look up at you, his eyes shining marvelously with emotion. "You trust me?" he asks softly, almost desperately.

“I never thought I’d see the day I say it to any man…but yes!” You chuckled. “I trust you, Wooyoung Jung.”

His face breaks into a wide, heartfelt smile. "Good," he murmurs, before leaning up to lay back on his elbows. When he pulls away, he props his head on the top of the sofa, his voice is barely a whisper. "Because I trust you with me, Mrs.Hart."

A hand you had casually been held up where his head lied poked him on the forehead. “That’s what makes us so compatible, partner.”

‘Partner’, he thinks, the word resonating to the deep thoughts within him.

…

In the following week at the office, you and Wooyoung have fallen into an upbeat rhythm. You spent hours debating over contracts, brainstorming new evolutionary ideas, and sharing laughter over late-night work sessions. One evening, as you’re wrapping up, Wooyoung leans back in his chair, rubbing his drowsy eyes.

You shut off your desktop, holding the power button until you see pitch black. “This week catching up to you too huh?”

Wooyoung nods, a rueful smile on his face. "You could say that. I feel like I've been running on caffeine and adrenaline." He stands up and stretches, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his toned stomach. "What do you say we call it a night?

Your jaw tenses as you take an accidental peak at his abdomen, you grab a pen and scribble on a sticky note- alleviating your focus elsewhere. “I’m up for it. Tomorrow is our day off, and we’re caught up for the next couple of months if things go to plan.”

"Mhm, and things will go to plan," he bursts out confidently, rounding his desk to where you scribble your thoughts on paper. He comes up behind you, and your doodles come to a slow. It wasn’t until you felt massages to your shoulders that the tension melted under his fingers.

You moan softly, tilting your neck for Wooyoung to access those sore spots your massage gun touches every hard work day.

His grin widens at your quiet moan, his thumbs working the knots out of your pointed shoulders. "Mmhmm, just like that," you murmur approvingly. As he works, he leans down, his breath fanning over your ear. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you lately?”, he devilishly whispers.

"Not nearly enough," you jokingly reply, your voice low.

Wooyoung huffs, continuing to massage your shoulders, his touch easing as he feels you relax under his ministrations. “You're the backbone of this company, Mrs.Hart. And not just the company...me too. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Your eyes snap open, you grab onto the hands Wooyoung held over your shoulders in a still. “You know that goes both ways.”

Both of his hands smooth over your back blades as he backs away to turn your chair around, dropping to his knees before you. His hands take claim off you this time, thumping in your lap. "Yes, it does," he agrees softly, his eyes focused on yours in a deep search.

The office is quiet around you, the only sound is the soft hum of the computers on standby. There was something about him at this moment that made it hard to swallow. To move, to just breathe. He just looked so striking under the one ceiling light that illuminated the room.

“Okay…”, you sufferingly clear your throat, “let’s get a move on. If you keep doing that time will be pouring into tomorrow.”

Wooyoung nods as his head casts downward with a wicked grin, reluctantly releasing onto your hands. He arises first, helping you to your feet. "Alright, alright. Let's go," he groans, walking with you towards the elevator. As you both step inside, he hits the button for the ground floor, leaning against the wall behind you.

You mindlessly look at the secured sliding doors, dreaming about the freedom outside of it, wondering what your day off would entail.

The elevator begins to descend, the soft hum filling the silence between them. Wooyoung watches your blurred expression through the reflective steel walls of the elevator. He places his hands tentatively on your shoulders once again. "A massage for your thoughts?" he mimics from last week's hang out.

Your eyes shutter as soon as you feel rhe contact of his warmth. “I’m just waiting for tomorrow. Mentally, I’m already there.”

Wooyoung chuckles, pulling off once again to stand by your side as the floor gets closer for departure, bumping your hip with his own. "Me too. It's going to be a good day," he comments, his tone filled with promise. The elevator dings, as the doors slide open. He places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out into the lobby.

You both walk out to your cars which are now parked next to each other- because it just makes sense with how often you work together.

As you both approach the cars you push start on your keys, and you both arrive at your drivers' doors simultaneously. "And Mrs.Hart?" You look up to meet Wooyoung, who is already eyeing you. "Drive safe, okay? Text me when you get home?"

You giggle as you chew nibbles on your lips. “You know I’m no good at that. I’ll probably be blowing boogers in my sheets by the time I get home.”

Wooyoung pulls open his door with a chuckle, shaking his head. "Fair point. Just ask your Alexa, she’ll do all the work.” He opens his door, sliding into the driver's seat before leaning over to roll down the passenger window. "Goodnight, Mrs.Hart."

You slide into your car, mimicking his action before waving at him with a small smile. “Goodnight Wooyoung, drive safe.”

He waits until your car pulls out of the parking lot before putting his car in gear. He watches your taillights until they disappear around the corner, a contented smile on his face as he starts the drive home.

…

Wooyoung wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. He stretches flexibly, the blankets roll away from his bare chest. He stands up to freely pull off his boxers, padding naked to the bathroom.

After completing his morning routine, he wraps a towel around his waist and heads downstairs.

He eats his eggs and rice slowly, his mind drifting to the possibilities of your whereabouts. He thinks about your strength, your confidence, your unyielding feminist nature.

He thinks about kneeling before you, about your hands gripping his hair, about your voice ordering him to... He shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

He hears a distant ping from his coffee machine and walks back into the kitchen to pour himself a mug, adding plentiful spoonfuls of sugar before taking a seat at the table. As he sips his coffee, his mind wanders back to you.

He remembers how you handled a difficult client last week. How you stood tall, your eyes blazing with anger as you dressed the man down. He remembers the way your voice dropped to that low, commanding tone when you were displeased. He swallows hard, his body reacting dangerously to the memory.

He takes a shuddering breath, his towel tenting obscenely in his lap. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about his boss this way. It's inappropriate and unprofessional. But he can't help it. The thought of her dominating him, controlling him completely, sets his blood on fire.

Coincidentally, he receives a text later that day as he's lounging on his bed, flipping through the channels on his TV.

You: I know it's our day off but could you come over?

You: I need some brawn over here.

Wooyoung: No worries.

Wooyoung: I haven’t moved from my bed since I ate breakfast this morning. Coming over.”

In no time flat, he quickly gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making his way over giddily to your apartment. When he arrives, he knocks and hears a voice yelling from inside. “Come on in!”

He walks into you trying to carry a box into your room. Your face is flushed with red, and strands of hair fall out piece by piece out of your bun. "I swear, if I break a nail..." you muttered under your breath.

Like a track star he quickly strides over, wrapping his arms around the other side of the box. "You can let go, I’ll take care of it," he says, easily lifting it out of your hands. He carries it into your bedroom, placing it on the floor beside your bare mattress. "What is all this stuff woman?"

You follow him inside, sighing at all the packages you have yet to unbox. “It’s all for my queen-size four-poster bed. I should’ve let those guys charge me to build it.”

Wooyoung's eyes widen as he processes the implications. A queen size bed with four posters...perfect for-

tying someone up?

He swallows hard, stressing to keep his composure. "That's... that's a really nice bed," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.

“Yeah…I figured it looked nice with a canopy,” you remark, “it’ll make this space less boring I guess.”

Wooyoung nods, his eyes darting to the bedposts. He imagines being bound to them, helpless, at mercy. The thought makes his heart race. He turns away, busying himself with disassembling the box. "What all do you need help with again?"

You turn to him awkwardly with an embarrassed grin. “I think I need you for the whole build… if you have the time?”

He starts to talk but he hesitates, struggling to blindside his racing mind. Being alone with you for an extended period, in your personal space... It's dangerous territory, given his feelings. But he can't say no, not when you’re looking at him with the eyes of a vixen. "Of course," he hears himself say.

“Really!” You gawk in excitement, hugging him only briefly. “Ugh, where have you been since I moved into this place!”

“I don’t know…when did you move in?” He childishly muttered.

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest which he rubs onto delicately after with a pout. “I’ll help you, of course, and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

As you begin to skim over the directions, oblivious to his inner turmoil, Wooyoung takes a deep breath, stilling himself. "Alright, let's do this."

…

The next few hours are spent reading a complex manual the team deciphers with experiments- and oftentimes- chatting breaks that could’ve been replaced with work being done.

As the two of you build, your dynamic of ‘partners’ begins to shift. You laugh together at each other’s frustrations, your shoulders brush as you lean over the instructions. Wooyoung finds himself relaxing, his earlier anxiety replaced by a comfortable camaraderie.

Until...

"Okay, now we need to attach this to the post."

You stand above the mattress to hold each piece in place while Wooyoung reaches around to the front of you to secure it with the provided hardware.

Again, experimentation is the most convenient strategy- well… more to one party than the other. As your bodies press close, his chest connects to your back. His breath catches at the contact. He fumbles with the screwdriver, his hands suddenly become clumsy and the nail unscrews itself from the hole. "Shit… sorry.”, he whispers.

“Don’t fret”, you gleam, “just screw it in a bit more.” You assist him as you tip your head back against his shoulder, giving him better access to properly screw into the hole. "Here, like this," you say. Wooyoung swallows hard, his throat crumbled dry. He can feel your breath, warmth brushing against his neck. He pushes to focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the distraction you unknowingly present.

He's hyper-aware of every inch of your body against his. He finally gets the screw tightened, then pulls back abruptly, as it doesn’t screw in any tighter. "There”, he breathed out in relief.

You squeal in excitement, jumping down from your bed. “Holy shit…we’re finally done, and it looks exactly like the picture on the box!”

Wooyoung nods, climbing down and trying to regain his composure. The bed stands proudly in the center of the room, its canopy draped along the edges so sinfully. "It looks great," he manages to say, his voice a bit hoarse.

An adrenaline rush pulses through your core as you jump to lightly bounce on the mattress, zooming to every corner.

Wooyoung laughs weakly, running a hand through his hair. "Hey get down, don’t erase our hard work!" he says teasingly. You walk down to the foot of the bed where he stood, towering over him in an effortless and poweress stance, poking out your tongue with a silly expression.

He avoids looking at you after you bounce away, afraid his feelings might be written all over his face. "Well, I suppose your zoomies mean that my work is done. I should probably go.”

His discern punches guilt into your chest. His energy couldn’t equate to match yours right now, and it’s all because he took on the weight of putting the pieces together. “Wooyoung wait!”

He turns hesitantly in the door frame, watching as you hop down from the newly built bed. "Thank you…for today. I couldn't have done it without you." You bite your lower lip, dithering to say…"Stay for dinner?"

It's a recipe for disaster. But he can't bring himself to say no.

Wooyoung's heart skips a beat at the invitation. He wants to stay, and he wants to spend more time with you. But he knows it's a bad idea, and that he needs to set boundaries for himself. He opens his mouth to decline, but the words stick in his throat. "Okay," he hears himself say instead.

“Great! And then you’ll be on your way home, I promise!”

Wooyoung forces a smile, nodding in agreement. He follows you to the kitchen, his mind racing. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't seem to help himself. As you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge, he offers to help, hoping the distraction will keep his feelings at bay.

He watches as you bustle around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, and humming under your breath. Every now and again you’ll point to a spot in the kitchen for an ingredient and he’ll fetch it for you like a puppy.

And boy did his tail wag at every command.

…

“Okay, that’s enough now” you direct in a monotone voice. “Just give it to me Wooyoung.”

He looks up from the cutting board, his eyes meeting yours. You’re leaning against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest. Your gaze is intense, and your expression is unreadable. "What?", he asks voice barely above a whisper.

“The veggies!”, you vigorously point, “you’re gonna cut them too small!”

"Oh," he says, his voice coming out choked. He quickly moves the cutting board out of his reach, his hands shaking slightly.

You push off from the counter and move closer to him, your movements careful and deliberate. "Here, let me," you say in your more homely voice.

He steps aside, his heart pounding in his chest. He watches as you finish chopping the vegetables, your hands sure and steady.

As you work, Wooyoung can't help but stare at you. The way your hair cascades near your back, the curve of your waist, the strength in your arms. He's so caught up in admiring you that he doesn't realize you're finished until you turn back in his direction. "There”, you whisper with a satisfactory smile, "dinner should be ready in another ten minutes.”

"Great," his voice sounding strained even to his ears. He clears his throat from the itchiness, "Is there anything else I can do to help?" He's desperate for a distraction, anything to keep his mind off the way his body is reacting to your proximity.

“No, you’ve done enough. If it makes you feel better I can just give you a bite to go.” You turn to him as you mix around the ingredients from sticking at the bottom of the pot. Slightly worried about his oddly anxious nature.

"I'm sorry, I'm just..." Wooyoung trails off, unsure how to finish. He's just what? In love with you? Desperately attracted to you? Terrified that you might notice the way he's been looking at you?

You sigh, slowly walking up to him and touching his shoulder. “You're overthinking too much, and you’re probably pushing your body beyond what it can bear Wooyoung. Lay on the couch for a bit, I’ll bring dinner to you.”

In coerced agreement, he nods, relief washing over him at your touch. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling like he's teetering on the edge of a precipice. He turns and walks to the couch, sitting down heavily. As he lays back, he closes his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. “Get your shit together man,” he whispers amongst himself.

You enter the living room minutes later, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of your homemade chicken and vegetable stir fry, a side of steamed jasmine rice, and a glass of water. You set it down on the coffee table in front of Wooyoung.

“You wanna sit up so you can properly put some fuel in your body?” Wooyoung sits up, his eyes fixed on you. The way you lean over to put the tray down causes your blouse to gap slightly, offering him a tantalizing hint of cleavage. He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

As Wooyoung starts to lean backward, you plump the throw pillows behind him, your fingers brushing against his shoulder. He stiffens at your touch, and you notice his reaction, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

The contact lingers for a moment, with your faces close. Wooyoung can smell your perfume, something light and floral that makes him want to bury his face in your neck. You blink, breaking the spell, and step back. "Eat up before it gets cold," you mutter in a slightly breathy voice.

He feels both unnerved and invigorated by you’s directness. It’s as if you stripped away some of the layers of polite distance that usually exist between you two, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

You join him in eating and cars rev as they pass by now and again in the silence. You chew softly and grow more annoyed with Wooyoung's continuous acts of behavior. You thought the food would cheer him up but by the way he’s still scooching on the opposite ends of your couch- you know something’s up.

"You're being awfully quiet," you acknowledge, tearing the silence. "And you keep scooching away from me, so, let’s talk." you take a sip of your wine, your eyes narrowing as you study him.

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his hood collar as if it's suddenly too tight. "I, uh, I'm just not used to you being so... nurturing, I guess. It's throwing me off."

You laugh loudly, shaking your head in surprise. "Wow, not even a little bit subtle, huh?", you set your wine glass down and turn to face him fully. “Did I ruin your plans for today? I will grant you a free vacation day from work. I mean we’re already caught up with the progress we’re making.”

Wooyoung's shoulders relax, and he lets out a small laugh. "No, seriously, don’t bother. It's just... different. Unexpected. You're usually so... focused on work. Seeing you like this, taking care of me, it's...nice." He pauses, then adds quietly, "...a little scary." your eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of hurt crossing your face before you disclose your expression.

"Scary? Because I'm being nice to you?" your voice is carefully neutral, but there's an undercurrent of confusion and slight offense.

“I don’t know it feels…motherly?”

You throw your head back and laugh, a rich, throaty sound that fills the room. "Oh my goodness, Wooyoung. I'm 29, not 60. I think I can take care of you without having to be Mrs. Weilderman from next door."

Your laughter eases the tension, and Wooyoung feels his body unwinding. "Alright, alright, not motherly. Just... different. And I like it," he says, giving you a small smile. He takes a deep breath and continues, “Maybe even more than I should." He pauses, looking down at his hands as he wrings them in his lap. "I think I might be um..."

“A mommas' boy?” you joke, tapping the shell of your elbow into his slender shoulders, causing him to rock right.

“I am my momma's boy,” he admits, “and I love her to death, so you can’t shame me.”

“Awwww how cute~ I don’t think I’ve seen you become such a sap. Looks like we’re both seeing different sides of another tonight.”

Wooyoung encircles his small face frame that holds a big package of handsomeness. “No shame.” You giggle, swiveling your wine before tossing back the remaining liquid.“But, there’s this other thing. I can’t find the word for it, but it’s like this feeling of me just… naturally wanting to do anything for you. It never feels forced on the job.”

“Awe, well aren’t you perfect for employee of the month.” You sigh contentedly and ponder his heartfelt confessions. “Okay…” you nod, “let’s try, devoted? Indebted? Grateful?”

Hiss eyes flick over your face, he tilts his head like a lost puppy, shaking his head when the words just didn’t hit a ring in him. “No? Naturally, doing anything…for me? Without feeling forced…

“Submissive?” you whisper, looking down in shock from the slip before you look back up at him.

Wooyoung's head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear. "How did you...?"

“Oh…”

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I mean it’s only natural! As your..subordinate."

You grin mischievously, your eyes gleaming with amusement. "I mean it is a bit of a shock, but we can talk about it.” you lean forward, poking him playfully in the chest. He reaches up to rub over the area, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “You were a bit like this the other night. I think you said something about scaring me off?”

Wooyoung chuckles nervously, looking back at you. “I guess I just... I just wanted you to see me as more than just your subordinate. And I guess this is me ruining my chances.”

“I guess that sort of depends on what you want then. You smooth a hand over his shoulders, trying to mimic the calming massages he gives you under stress. “We work pretty closely to where things are just natural between us now, it wouldn’t necessarily be ruined.”

Your words send a thrill through Wooyoung, and he bites his lip, his heart racing. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you might be thinking.

“Well… whatever it is that you're beating the bush around.”

Wooyoung's words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. He looks up at you, his eyes pleading, and his heart pounds like a bongo in his chest. “I want to serve you outside of the office, provide you relief from a shitty work day, and more beyond than just a back massage.”

“Tell me the about the- ‘and more’ ” You inch closer with dimly lit slender eyes and coax Wooyoung's shaky hands with your hot pink sharp stiletto nails.

He shudders as you's nails trace over his skin, his resolve weakening. "I... I want to worship every inch of you," he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained desire. "To use all of me for your pleasure in ways you've never experienced before. I’d kiss the ground before you.”

You lean in completely and abruptly stop at his trembling dolly pink lips. “How about you shut the hell up, and kiss me now?

The sudden change in your demeanor sparks immediate action from Wooyoung. He leans in, burrowing his fingertips directly onto your scalp, pressing his hot lips to yours. The kiss starts chaste before growing more passionate.

As you pull apart, his eyes dilate at your lips as he whispers, "That's what I've wanted to do to you every time you've snapped at someone in a meeting.”

You chuckle, leaning upward to press your thumb over his wet lips. “That would’ve been a real power move hm? It would’ve given those uppity dipshits more of me to talk about.”

Wooyoung's heart races as he looks at you, taking in your amused expression. "Yeah, it would have gave them more to focus on than their egos." he agrees, his voice still breathless from their kiss. "But I think I'd prefer it if you saved all that fire for me. Just me." He reaches out to gently stroke your cheek.

“You like seeing me upset?”

“I thrive on it every day I come into the office.”

“You’ve never given me a reason to be upset...”

“That’s because all I want to do is please you."

He glances down at your collarbone slipped from your disheveled top, tracing it in memorization. “Your smile is always rewarding to me, especially when it’s directed to only me.”

Your eyes flick up to his while your hands become curious about his body. “So, this word for you…submissive.” You twiddle with the strings of his hood, pulling it as it scrunches around his venous- covered neck. "In what other ways did you want to explore that outside of the workplace again?”

“Well.. just as you would in the office…you make the rules Mrs.Hart.” He grabs onto your hand, conversing almost completely with his own.

Your expression softens briefly at Wooyoung's touch, but then your gaze hardens as you consider his words. You pull back slightly, your hesitation palpable. "That would be... complicated," you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "My reputation, the company... if word got out..."

Wooyoung watches you stand and smooth out your clothes, your movements precise and calculated- disrupting the easy flow. He feels a flicker of confusion, wondering if he's misread the situation entirely. He sits in contemplation, his mind racing with possibilities, trying to understand what's going through your mind.

He swallows hard, his expression serious as he listens to your concerns. "I understand," he says softly, his hand dropping from her cheek to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And I don't want to put either of us in that situation."

Although his words were assuring, his anxiety betrays him, He decides to approach you cautiously, not wanting to ruin the progress you both made. He stands up and walks over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. He reaches out and gently takes your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

You breathe out softly and look upon your hand with his in-fitting connection. But then you let it go again. “I might’ve initiated things too quickly, and it isn’t your fault. I like you Wooyoung…maybe too much." You walk over toward the door, holding the handle as an indication of the next step that had to be taken. “Let’s dial this back and call it a night. I’ll see you at work?”

Wooyoung’s heart sinks slightly as you release his hand and step back, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He looks at you, searching for your face for any sign of hope, but your expression is resolute. He gets up accordingly, meeting you at the door.

"I'll be heading home now, my boss is counting on me to be well-rested for tomorrow's meeting," He says with a small, forced smile. His eyes, however, betray his true emotions, flickering with a mix of hurt, confusion, and unfulfilled desire.

The door clicks and you breathe out a deep breath your face hardened to obtain.

”Business and pleasure, an easy recipe for disaster.”

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Episode 2

THANK YOU FOR READING.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

©️1117feverlessdreams, 2025

Much love,

xoxo

[pjisskullourful]

┊ 𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 ┊

🐦Ethan × reader

NSFW🔥 filthy smutathon

° Ethan Torchio/female reader insert

° making premature ejaculation work for you & your boyfriend

wordcount::: 6,326

° commissioned by dat boi jace(@punk-gremlin)💋 always a great time being on the same wavelength as you [requests are open but commissions get priority- there are 2 fics in cue, secure your own spot right here]

° [ITA:] principessa: princess - amore: love

It had been an incredible date, this was proving to be the norm in your relationship with Ethan. You didn’t think he was capable of taking you on a subpar date, even if he tried.

You were eight dates in, and he was still impressing you - taking you to places that you could brag about visiting and giving you nights full of sparks. He gave you butterflies each time he picked you up and none of your meals had been marred by awkward silences.

Tonight had seen you dining at a recently-opened seafood restaurant. Because it was so new, it was hard to get reservations, but his notable name got you into places without a fuss. Seafood was a favourite food that you shared, both of you intrigued by almost everything on the menu. This was more low-key than some of the other dates he had taken you on (axe throwing had been especially memorable). But that didn’t make it any less interesting. You had enjoyed getting to hear so many stories from his childhood trips to Costa Rica - a country you had never visited.

Everything had been so perfect. But by the time you arrived back to his place, you were pretty much done with keeping your hands to yourself. You were tired of (bordering on bored) being polite and acting according to society’s rules. This behaviour went against what you wanted. You wanted to get to the real main event of the night - him. All of the food had been delicious, but what was going to keep you buzzing into tomorrow was him and that amazing body.

Being back in his luxurious apartment had you inundated by memories of thrilling conclusions to other nights. They were recent and powerful, getting you to the point of practically salivating over experiencing more of that Heaven he could take you to.

Luckily for you, he was under no false pretences of why you were here. He didn’t waste your time pretending that you were here for a night cap or to see any souvenirs from Costa Rica.

You quickly found yourself in the master bedroom, your lipstick making a mess of his face and neck as he held your body close. Held up against the wall, you were kissing him with all of the enthusiasm that you had been keeping a lid on. Your hands had found their way into the open collar of his button-down, while his hands were pushing up the hem of your dress. You couldn’t recall who had started it, but you were immensely enjoying the steady grinding your bodies had set into.

You separated from his mouth, whimpering a little in response to the rising passion. “Mmn, I wanna fuck you.”

He paused, leaning back enough so that he could look you over with a furrowed brow. “Really, that’s what you want to do now that we're here?” You nodded, eagerly licking your lips. “I thought I was gonna turn the lights down so that we could share spooky stories.”

You laughed and gave his solid shoulder a shove. “Ethan…”

“What? I’m genuinely surprised that’s not what we came in here to do.” He said before dropping the farce. He showed you his more serious side, pinching your chin with his fingers to keep you looking at him. “I wanna fuck you too.”

You were smiling as he came in, initiating more kisses. But you didn’t let yourself get entirely carried away by this - not while you had an important point to make. “I mean that you don’t have to eat me out…”

This time he looked at you with sincere confusion. “But I like to- I love eating your pussy. Do you not like it? Did I go too hard or something last time? Because you can tell me to change anything at any time. I just really love making you feel good like that. I’ll do it any way you like-”

To silence him, you put one of your hands over his lipstick-smeared mouth. “It’s perfect, there is absolutely nothing wrong with how you eat pussy. I have no notes for your technique ‘cause there’s no part of it that I don’t enjoy. If there were such a thing- I’d give you an award for how great you are at it.

“But I just thought that for tonight, we could go straight into the fucking. You eat me out every single time. Maybe we could try things a bit differently tonight.” You said.

You weren’t prepared to see uncertainty on his face, but he nodded all the same. “Yeah, of course, we can try anything you like.” He briefly kissed you. “All that matters to me is that you come.”

“Well, are we gonna talk about it for the rest of the night, or are we gonna do it?” You asked.

He smiled as he lowered his centre of gravity slightly and relocated his hands to the backs of your thighs. He gripped you here, fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you off of the ground. You wrapped your arms securely around his neck as your heart began racing. Without a single second of trepidation or unsteadiness, he carried you over to this bed. You were invigorated by the ride, stealing a couple of kisses from him as he crossed the room.

You didn’t release your arms from around him, so when he lowered you to the bed, he was pulled down as well. You kissed him more as he laid down on top of you. You lifted your legs from the mattress and wrapped them around his waist, tensing them so as to keep him securely in place. After a whole night of holding back, you had a lot of time to make up for.

Your bodies fitting comfortably together, he started to grind on you again. You reached your hands into his loose hair as you enjoyed this friction. He buried his tongue into your mouth as his hands gripped your back, making you feel so wonderfully secure. Your cheeks rushed with heat as you noticed something below the waistband of his pants digging into you. You were still fully clothed, but the promise of nudity and more already had him erect. It was so flattering, just another testament of how into you this unbelievable man was.

A brief pause was taken so that you could each get undressed and he could grab a condom. He asked if there were any specific positions that you were craving. You didn’t care if it made you seem vanilla, you said missionary - ready to be obsessed with, knowing there was nothing more erotic than seeing him on top of you.

He turned down your offer of helping to apply the condom. So you just got comfortable on his bed, keeping your legs parted as you laid your head down on the pillow. As you took this opportunity to admire his body, you noticed him doing the same to you.

Then he began to get into position, filling the available area between your thighs. He braced himself with his hands on the pillow as he moved in closer than before. He appeared to be putting some concentration into this, his brow furrowed to go along with the serious expression he now wore.

Meanwhile you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that there was nowhere better than your current position. Your fingers played with his cascading hair, refusing to allow it to hide his handsome face at all. As you ran your fingers through the long locks, you found the singular plait that started at the nape of his neck and you wound the thin plait around your pointer finger. This was his ‘secret’ plait, not there for any particular reason. You had to be very close to even know of its existence - there was something so intimate about that, making you appreciate it more, giving it significance.

“Principessa.” He said, the pet name always made you feel precious. That was especially true now as he started to bury his dick into you.

You relished the feeling of your cunt stretching to accommodate him as he came in even closer - you were ready to feel him as close as possible. Your heart was consistently racing now, each time you were daunted by the size of him, needing an opportunity to settle in. But it did nothing to dampen your excitement and you could hardly wait to explore everything that took you from daunted to satisfied beyond belief.

That serious look remained on his face and you assumed he was worrying over hurting you. You took it upon yourself to show him how much you were enjoying yourself. You kept one hand playing with his hair, while you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, easing his chest closer to yours. You lifted your head, getting close enough to cover his mouth in enthusiastic kisses.

At first he couldn’t quite keep up with you, his breathing somewhat laboured between kisses. Then his mouth was responding more, it seemed that his focus was shifting and the two of you began to find a synergy. All the while, he was moving deeper into you and you expressed your appreciation by kissing him harder.

You chased greater proximity by wrapping one of your legs around his waist. You worked your hips, eagerly pumping yourself closer to him. As you further explored the fun to be had with your current range of movement, you swiped your tongue at his lips.

Instead of letting you into his mouth, he was breaking the kiss altogether. His head somewhat slumped, mostly falling out of your field of vision. For the moment you placed your concentration on mastering your movements.

On top of you, you could feel his uncontrolled shivering. He met each of your hip snaps with his own powerful yet unpredictable movements. These thrusts were accompanied by his heavy breathing, the occasional moan falling from his lips to denote his efforts. On either side of your head, his hands were curled into tight fists and you admired the way his muscular arms bulged as they framed you.

You felt him letting you take the lead and you sought for a maintainable pace. You gained almost all of his length into your cunt, enjoying this with your continuing rocking.

“Yes, Ethan.” You whimpered as his reckless movements invited new sensitivities into your body. “Give it to me.”

“Oh.” He gasped, following his hips slamming into yours.

Shakily, he rocked himself back again. But you were quickly thrusting yourself forward, your pussy greedy for more spellbinding stimulation. You pushed his hair back from one side of his face, instantly revealing the expression he wore, almost frowning, with deep lines all over his features. It was a look you had seen before, when the two of you had had a Netflix and Chill date, watching the documentary Our Father together. You hadn’t seen it mid-fuck before and you weren’t sure it suited the scenario.

You endeavoured to kiss it off of his face. You started on his cheek, kissing across his cheek, towards where his mouth was hanging open. He didn’t respond much, seemingly too caught up in the reactions he was gaining from your rutting.

You pushed your lips against his, but you couldn’t follow this up with anything more. He was soon turning his face away, it was only slightly, but you noticed it all the same.

You tried to not apply any meaning or emotions to it, just trying again. He dodged you again, a bit more noticeably this time around. His eyes were squeezed shut and with his face slightly turned from yours, it was almost like he was avoiding this connection with you. So much for not applying meaning to his actions…

“Ethan, is something wrong?” You asked, feeling a bit too vulnerable for your liking.

He paused, falling out of the pacing that you had been slowing. “Huh? No, I’m fine…”

You didn’t care for this answer, and he still wasn’t looking at you. “Are you sure? The vibe is kind of off.”

He stopped moving altogether, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’m just trying not to come.”

“What? Why? What are you talking about?” You asked, this abrupt change almost totally throwing you out of your mood.

He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “Do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“Yes.” You said, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want you to hold anything back from me, especially not while we’re fucking.”

He pulled out, rocking his weight back onto his knees to create some distance between you. “I have this thing where I always come super fast. Prematurely, some might say. And it’s really disappointing for the woman. I didn’t want that to happen ‘cause you’re not close, not even a bit. Am I right?”

You sat up. “Well, yeah but-...”

“I really like you and the last thing that I want is to let you down in any way.” He said and you were grateful when he let you hold his hand with yours. “I don’t wanna be a shit lay for you, I’m trying really hard not to be because you deserve the best. You deserve to not have someone come so fucking fast that it’s over before you really get to enjoy yourself. You deserve someone with the right amount of stamina to live up to your expectations. And I’m trying to be that-...”

You silenced him by crawling over to place yourself in his lap, instantly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. You put your hand to his cheek so you could direct him to look at you. “My only expectation is for us to have fun together. And if you having fun means you come quickly, then come quickly, amore.”

“You say that now, but it’s-”

“I say it ‘cause I mean it.” You said, leaning in closer so that he had no choice but to meet your eye - you had never seen him this insecure before. “Actually, it’s kinda hot. Some people have these strong poker faces when it comes to sex, it’s impossible to tell if they’re having a good time or not. But you’re so honest with how much you love it that you can’t even hold back, you can’t wait to come and hit that highest high.

“It’s sexy to know that I can drive you so wild like that.” You took the opportunity to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Will you let me drive you wild?”

“Are you sure it’s not a turn off?” He asked.

You changed how you were sitting on him, moving so that you could straddle him and push more of your body against his. “The opposite. I think it would be physically impossible for you to do anything that could turn me off.” You were pleased when he let you kiss him some more, finally beginning to kiss you back. “Can I show you how much it turns me on?”

“If you’re sure about-...”

You cut him off and with your hands on his shoulders, you began to push him down. “No more expectations. Get out of your head and just be here with me, Ethan.” You got him down on his back. “Come when you wanna and let’s have fun with each other’s bodies.”

You didn’t think he looked entirely convinced, your words wouldn’t be enough to dismantle his insecurities at once - especially because this seemed like more than just a passing anxiety.

But he didn’t have any further arguments against your points, and this was good news to you. The good news continued when, upon laying your body on top of his, you discovered that his erection hadn’t gone away. You wrapped your hand around it, pleased to find he was still in an aroused state, similar to you.

As you kissed him, you started to stroke your hand up-and-down his shaft. He kissed you back, helping you release the worry that he might not be into this. Now you could put your concentration on feeling his body’s reactions, which were so exciting that you were soon finding yourself firmly in the mood again.

He didn’t ask you to slow down, instead he was holding you tighter as he kept up with your kisses. You braced yourself with your knees on the mattress as you repositioned your hips. You kept stroking him as you directed his head towards your awaiting pussy.

You felt him suck in a quick breath when you started to bury his cock inside of your cunt. There was that moment of being daunted again, but nothing was going to deter you. You let the greediness inspire you.

“Oh…” He moaned as he broke away from the kiss.

Your clenching walls were taking in more of his length and you could hear him thoroughly losing his breath again. You kept easing yourself down, wanting to get back to what both of you had been enjoying earlier.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You said, waiting for that moment when you felt his body relax.

There were a few soft kisses shared. But the majority of your focus went to discovering how your bodies could move together in this new position. He let you take the lead again and your eager grinding on him developed into bucking. You worked your hips, so happy to give into the rush of desires.

You were still so worked up (the sensitivities in your pussy had hardly faded away during that little discussion/intermission), each collision invigorating you more and you didn’t hesitate to increase your speed. You found a consistent pace to stroke yourself up-and-down his erection, gaining more thrilling stimulations for yourself as he writhed beneath you. Your cunt stretched accordingly, letting you pursue everything that could come from these quick movements.

With his hair splayed out on the bed around his head, you could enjoy an uninterrupted view of his face. He held his eyes shut and although some frown lines were still visible, his expression wasn’t as extreme as before. He had lost some of his seriousness as he resisted far less.

“It’s okay, amore.” You said as you felt more of his body responding.

His hands took on the appearance of claws, his fingers digging into you as he held you so tight. You could feel the need in him, especially in his enthusiastic responses to your bucking. And it made you want to give him more.

His hips jutted up into you, not always matching your timing. But you didn’t allow this to throw you off of your momentum because it felt so promising. You tensed your thighs against his hips and gave him back the energy that he showed you.

As you mercilessly pushed one another up to that edge, there were moments of synchronisation. These impacted you much deeper, noises falling from your lips as you felt these true threats to your composure. But they were few and far between. With his thrusting so unpredictable, you couldn’t capture them for yourself, leaving you unable to unlock that greater pleasure.

He left all control behind, whimpering through his constant, yet inconsistent movements. Until, with one final snap of his hips, he captured the peak for himself, quickly disappearing over the edge.

You couldn’t enjoy watching what the orgasm did to him. Because he was swiftly taking his hands off of you so that he could cover his face with them. He groaned into his hands as he fell back to the mattress, his body slumping.

You stilled yourself, letting this moment be all about him as you stroked his chest. “It’s-”

“You weren’t even close, were you?” He asked, interrupting you.

“It doesn’t matter to-”

“All my ex-girlfriends hated it. I didn’t want to embarrass myself like this in front of you.” He said and his disappointment was clear.

You put your fingers around his wrist but he wasn’t going to let his hands be taken from his face so easily. “Ethan, why are you embarrassed? I like it, this is what I wanted. I’m really into it. I’m so happy that you came for me, can’t you be happy too? I mean, it did feel good, didn’t it?”

He lowered his hand, looking at you with one eye. “Of course it did. I wouldn’t have come if your pussy didn’t feel so amazing.” You smiled at that, wanting to hear more - not just for the benefits to your ego, but because he was sounding less miserable now that you were on this topic. “You left me with no choice. Especially with you on top like that- fucking spectacular.”

“Spectacular?” You repeated.

“Yeah, I would say that’s the correct way to sum it up.” He said.

“Good, I wanna make you feel spectacular.” You said. “You really have no idea how hot it is that you want me so bad you can’t hold off.”

He took his other hand off of his face so that he could stroke your arm. “Well you’re fucking sexy.”

“So are you, Ethan. So are you.” You said, leaning in and kissing him a few times. “And it has nothing to do with expectations or stamina, or any other shit. You just are and you turn me on so much, so stop wasting my time being embarrassed.

“You must be very sensitive.” You said of his dick, still nestled inside of you. “Do you want me to get off?”

“No. I mean, yes, but no.” He said. “Yes, I am sensitive, really sensitive. But no, you don’t need to move off. Obviously you can if that’s what you want. But don’t worry about me when you’re making your decision. If this is how you want to come, then by all means, stay put.”

“It kind of sounds like you’re encouraging me to use your body.” You said.

“Oh, absolutely, I am.” He said, nodding his head.

You grinned as you began to sit up, rocking your body weight down towards your pelvis. “I’ll use you, I’ll use you to make me feel so fucking spectacular.”

“Amazing, that’s exactly what I want.”

You gained your balance and slid yourself further down his shaft. He was done with hiding his face, now his eyes were wide and watching every single thing that you did. You loved his attention, you didn’t shy away from it, too elated for shame. You could see the admiration in his eyes and it was so clear that he was out of his negative headspace, able to enjoy himself now. That made you swell up with pride.

You started to ride him. “I’m gonna use you so hard.”

“Yes.” His voice was quieter now and he put his hands to your hips.

You grinned, you were truly bordering on cocky now. “I’m gonna treat you like one of my toys.”

He bit into his bottom lip, but this did nothing to contain the moan he was making. Watching his eyelids flutter, your face lit up. A blush began coming into his cheeks - this one was meant to be celebrated.

“You like that idea, huh?” You said and he nodded, still appearing slightly bashful. “I like it too.” You put more power into your next swing forward, getting ready to abandon all restraint. “Come on, be a good toy and make me come.”

“Yes.” He said with another moan as you kept moving. “Yes, that’s all I want.”

You were confident in your movements, locking into the need that was so present. You could feel yourself elevating from the tingles that had been populating your body while he captured his orgasm. They had felt good, but you knew there was more you could claim, prompting you to drive yourself harder into him.

You were ready to work yourself to the explosions that would overshadow the tingles altogether. You didn’t struggle to find the right momentum and you put all of your effort towards rutting into him, as quickly as you needed. You were no longer daunted, settling into the ideal speed.

You felt him writhing beneath you, leaving his embarrassment behind as he grinded to meet your persistent pounding. Upon viewing his body from this new perspective, you couldn’t help thinking that you had found a sight more erotic than being beneath him. The power that you felt went directly to your head, wanting to intoxicate you. As you watched his every reaction (they were getting bigger, less restrained), it made you hunger to uncover what else you could draw out of him. How would he feel when you controlled him more?

“Can I rub that clit?” He asked through his laboured breathing.

“Yes.” You answered at once. “Hell yes, baby.”

He propped himself up with his elbows and his gaze went down to your cunt. He reached a hand out, coming at you with his index finger extended. He pushed this between your labia majora, getting at where your clit was already swollen from the surge of blood into this concentrated area. He rubbed the tight bundle of nerves lightly, moving his finger gently up-and-down.

“I miss how it tastes.” He said, playing his finger in a swirl around the hood, before taking it away.

His eyes moved back to your face as he placed the finger into his mouth. You maintained eye contact, fascinated by the way he licked this moisture off of his digit. There was something so seductive in how he was looking at you, letting you enjoy the connection that had been lacking earlier.

Your chest expanded, so full of anticipation, when he returned his finger to your clit. He worked it over with more pressure, maintaining contact and giving you something you could truly sink into.

The intensity was immediate, reaching deeper than his touch. It radiated out, shudders that went straight to your core, where the greatest pleasure could be unlocked.

With the tension increasing inside of you, your walls gripped to him tighter. Your hips gave an excited, unexpected stutter forward. Instead of trying to get back to your momentum, you embraced this new, quicker rhythm. You pummelled into him, giving yourself no time for recovery as the excitement bubbled up, more with each circle his finger completed.

“I- ah, ah…” He gasped, leaning back again. “I think I’m gonna come ah-again…” His hips moved to their own desperate rhythm. “Yep, I’m gonna-gonna, I’m gonna...”

“Yes, yes, do it for me, Ethan.” You said.

He gave a loud whimper to greet his next climax, then fell back entirely. His eyes were shut but no attempts were made to cover his face and you watched how he reacted, the expression on his face relaxing. There weren’t any of the earlier hints of worry, this was clearly a state of bliss.

Even though it appeared that he was tired, ready to just concentrate on his afterglow - he didn’t stop rubbing your clit. This kept you feeling those shudders and it made you unwilling to stop. You eagerly continued working yourself on his dick, still gaining the benefits of this unrelenting tempo.

You were soon in a frenzy, your whole body lit up with powerful stimulations. Your hips snapped endlessly forward and each collision let you feel those shudders harder.

You chased as they became cracks in your composure. Then they were bursting you open, incredible explosions gripping your body. You threw your head back, vocalising your triumph as you got lost in the lust.

You were joyful in your release and you stayed at this height. Beyond your control, and with limited coordination, you continued to move. You were still jackhammering your hips because this momentum was too rewarding to abandon yet, even as the fatigue wanted to creep in.

He came back into your awareness by springing up and wrapping his arms around your body. He was still moving as well, invested in his own pacing. You could feel the reckless nature of his bucking, sacrificing getting his breath back for this rhythm. You wrapped your arms around him, knowing you weren’t in the right state to give him much more - matching him was truly beyond your current capabilities.

“Oh, God…” He moaned, his hot face pressed into your neck. “Oh God, guh-ung. I’m- I’m… ah!”

He almost threw you off with his next energetic spasm, but there was nothing after that. The two of you fell into inactivity, clinging to one another through this quiet.

“Did you… again?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said with a little chuckle. “When does the amount of orgasms get ridiculous?”

“I don’t think there’s a strict rule on that.” You said, running your fingers through his hair. “I asked you not to hold back, and- I guess you’re really enjoying this pussy, eh?”

He leaned back so he could look up at you. “So, so, so, so much.”

You stroked the hair away from his sweaty face, admiring the look he wore. “Maybe I should stay where I am?” His instant response was to tighten his arms around you. “I was thinking about how crazy sensitive you must be, so it seems like the right thing to do- to climb off and give you a chance at recovering.”

He persistently shook his head. “Uh-uh, I don’t want you to move off. I wanna keep you right here, if you’ll let me.”

“Wow, you like this pussy a lot, huh? It’s like you can’t get enough of it.” You said, the flattery glittering in your veins.

“Not yet.” He said and you noticed that he had gently started to thrust again. It was so subtle that you could have missed it, absolutely nothing like his earlier vigour. But the intention was definitely there - he was still so hard inside of you.

“How can you still be so needy?” You asked.

He leaned in closer, lining his mouth up with yours. “You just feel so, so good.”

You smiled after he kissed you. “You need this pussy, don’t you?”

He nodded and you hoped the obedience in his gaze would remain for a while because you weren’t done enjoying it and the way it made your heart flutter.

“Yes, I do.” He answered in a quiet voice.

You kissed him and his pumps were getting to be more persistent. Your hot body rubbed on his, all of these tantalising sensations were the perfect chaser to your orgasm. It wasn’t about pushing yourself to match him, it was about letting him work out the rest of this energy.

Chest-to-chest, you remained sitting on top of him. Your thighs squeezed at his hips as he bucked up into you.

“Do you think you’ve got another one in you?” You asked.

His building pace didn’t falter. “Let’s find out.”

With his eyes shut, he totally missed the way you were staring at him. You couldn’t help it, you loved everything about how he looked right now. It was an infatuation deeper than anything you had experienced before as you felt privileged to behold him in this state. He continued to hold nothing back - something important had been conquered here tonight.

You shifted on top of him as you felt some of his impacts shaking your core. It wasn’t consistent, but it was very enticing each time it happened. It had you starting to lose your breath before you initiated the next kiss. As he took the lead with these movements, he let you take the lead with kissing and soon your tongue was in his mouth.

This endless give and take between your bodies was intoxicating, you understood why he wanted to indulge in it some more.

You felt yourself clenching up again, whimpering against his mouth a little. With more energy coming back to you, you began to think about the possibility of coming with him. You were taken with the idea at once and your hand curled into a fist around his hair as you picked up your own tempo. You didn’t know if a moment so perfect was likely to happen, but you chased it with hungry pumps.

As your lungs burned for air, your mouth left his so that you could just rest your head against his. You let all of your effort go down to your throbbing pussy, which probably wasn’t going to be getting a break soon. You did your best to meet his wild jackhammering.

“Oh, oh, oh…” He let out a choked sob.

Your other hand went into his hair as well, needing something to grip as you found yourself riding that edge again. You wound that thin plait around your finger, unable to resist the urge to tug on his hair a little.

“Ah, ah… here I- yes, fuck, fuck.” He panted, writhing up into you one final time.

Almost immediately after this he was pulling away. You realised that your chance for another climax was gone, but you accepted this as okay, you still had plenty of wonderful sensations swarming your system - the next best thing to an orgasm. There would be opportunities to match him orgasm-for-orgasm in the future. Right now you didn’t want to push him further into exhaustion for something that might not happen, so you lived vicariously through his release.

It hadn’t been enough to just pull out, he had taken it upon himself to reposition entirely. Gasps and other incoherent sounds narrated his every movement. He got himself turned around and to where he could lay his head down on the pillow.

“Oh, I think- I overdid it.” He said. “Holy shit, my cock is too sensitive to be alive right now. Shit… I have never come that many times at once before.”

“Really?” You asked as you eased yourself up closer to him, not wanting to make him feel crowded straight away.

His eyes drifted over to you, but they weren’t entirely focused. “Yeah, four fucking times, that’s crazy.”

You couldn’t help but stroke the inside of his thigh. “This pussy is the only one that can make you come so fucking much, eh? See, we can still have fun. You just have to be open to new experiences.”

His eyes looked a little glassy as he watched you lay down next to his body. “I can’t believe how cool and okay and adaptive you’re being about all of this.”

“Well start believing it, baby.” You said, caressing across his forehead. “I’m not going to let anything keep me from enjoying you as much as possible. I meant every word that I said, Ethan- this is hot as Hell to me.”

“You’re amazing.” He said.

You gave his chest a playful poke. “No, you are amazing. And there’s not a single thing about yourself that you should feel embarrassment over.” You treasured the look on his face, knowing that your words were having an actual impact on him. “So, is that why your technique is always to start with cunnilingus? You wanna get me all worked up and happy, and then I’m so excited about my orgasm that I don’t notice how quote-unquote early yours is?”

“Kinda. But I do genuinely love doing it, and seeing how it’s been working for us has made me wanna keep doing it.” He said.

“Relax, it’s not mandatory. We can have sex any which way, we can experiment with anything you want.” You said. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do things a certain way. You don’t have to do anything extra ‘cause you just being you is amazing enough for me.”

He smiled. “You’re being so sweet and romantic and making me feel so good by saying all of the right things. But I- I actually have nothing to say back. I hope that doesn’t make it sound like I don’t care, ‘cause I do. It’s just- literally all I can think about is that my brain is as drained as my balls.” You couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Is that bad, does that kill the mood? I just really, super overdid it.”

“It’s okay, I promise. I wasn’t saying those things to prompt you into saying anything back, I just wanted you to hear them, you deserve to hear them.” You said. You gave him a kiss on the forehead before you sat up. “You also deserve some water, which I’m gonna go get for you, my little cum-drunk angel.”

You didn’t require his guidance to find your way around the apartment. You fetched a glass and began filling it with chilled water. You weren’t lamenting the way that orgasm had slipped beyond your grasp at seemingly the last second. You were too busy celebrating all the good things that had happened, leading to this strictly positive resolution.

As you walked back to the bedroom, your mind did start to wander. You were thinking about other things you could try out sexually, now that he was willing to break out of his rigidity. What else could you do to pull him even further out of his shell? Surely there was something you could do that would lead him to more moments of feeling obedient - because this was a side you were truly excited to explore.

You didn’t get the chance to share any of these thoughts with him. Upon arriving back to the bedroom, you found him asleep. He didn’t rouse, not even as you sat down on the mattress beside him. You drank the water, feeling perfectly content as you admired him, caressing his smooth forehead from time-to-time.

“If we keep this up, maybe I’ll fuck all of those insecurities out of you.” You said and you leaned down, kissing him on the  cheek. His head turned slightly in your direction, but his eyes remained shut. You laid down, wrapping your arms snugly around him as you soon joined him in slumber.

»»————-　♡　————-««  

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[georgiapeach30513]

https://x.com/BrndnStrssng/status/1842248577587753431?t=i9wanxNVCyt8uG_82_RVaw&s=19

When Mar showed me this the other day I rolled my eyes. Okay, let’s break this down…Chris reportedly was paid $20M for this movie, a Christmas movie was on his bucket list, and correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t Shanna a Dwayne fan? I don’t think it takes a genius to figure this out.

The problem is that his last movies were a goofy romcom with action sequences, and a movie that will be forgotten. I will die on this hill that his performance in Pain Hustlers was solid, but Emily’s was questionable.

Before Ghosted we had TGM and again solid performance, forgettable movie. Lightyear, financially it wasn’t a success, but it’s critically a success and I enjoyed it, but I also knew it wouldn’t do as well as Disney/Pixar wanted it to.

And prior to that were a few cameos but then Defending Jacob. I think that people are forgetting some things. Obviously we’re all aware that Ghosted and PH didn’t do great for various reason, and now he’s got R1 which isn’t a high brow movie (man 2022 was rough for picking and filming movies 🥴)

I’m going to wait and see what he brings to Honey, Don’t, Materialists, and Sacrifice. I’m not judging him on subpar projects, every actor does them. And I don’t think Red One looks bad by family action Christmas movie standards.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXI. “belonging”

parts: previous / next

plot: somehow, you always find your way back home. Batman gets an intriguing lead on John Doe.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, dead body, cancer, confrontation, depression

words: 3.2k

Tears studded your cheeks as you vented to Mar about the morning's happenings. She'd never liked Dr. Vry, and at some point the conversation had exploded into a rant about the subpar character of the woman. "Remember when she accidentally input my A as a C and told me 'fate' must have guided her grade input? Then didn't fucking change it because of fucking, written in the stars bullshit? Fucking tanked my GPA."

"I just don't get it. The email said nothing about him, she said nothing about reporting on him besides being excited he would be there." You collapsed flat on your back in a starfish pose. "It was like she expected me to be starstruck by him or something. Like that was the only course of action." Like everyone else seems to be. The world caters to flashy, superficial things.

"Fuck her! You don't need her!"

You stared at her blankly for a moment. "Except for my housing, my food, my plane tickets back home?"

"How much an hour is it? Like $15?"

"$43."

"Oh fuck, in this economy you should've said you'd suck his dick, too."

Maybe you were spending a little too much time with her. "I feel like alluding to me doing anything with that man should be a crime." You flopped back on your bed and checked the time--it was barely past noon. You hadn't even managed to be at the job until the afternoon... shame threatened to cocoon you faced with such obvious failure. At this point you remembered the check Dr. Vry had sent would arrive today, and a few minutes later you sat inputting the code you'd been mailed to your digital check.

You spent the next twenty minutes listening to Mar continue to rant while you ordered some groceries. By that point she'd gotten a text from one of her friends for their Friday night bar hangout and had dismissed herself, leaving you tethered to your house as you waited to stock your fridge. You watched out the window as she got into an Uber, and after she was gone for sure, and just as the check deposited, you called your mom. Moreso even than the likely imminent firing, the stress of her health threatened to spiral you off the deep end. She picked up on the third ring. She sounded tired.

"Hey, hun." She cleared her throat, then yawned. You heard a small buzzing sound in the background, then heard a small meow. Another night he spent purring and cuddling her. Thanks, Walter. God, you were so glad she had him. "Everything alright? The photos you sent of your apartment were really good, I showed them to Debbie and she couldn't believe it! 'In GOTHAM?' is what she told me!"

To tell or not to tell about the troubles this week held? She yawned again. Not the time. "You sound tired." Your grip tightened around the phone.

She sighed. "My doctors moved my appointment to six thirty in the morning, can you believe that?" She tsk-d.

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Oh just fine. I had to sign a bunch of paperwork and talk to practically everyone in the place." She sounded bored and vaguely annoyed, which she hadn't been before. Irritability a potential side effect?

"Did the shot hurt?" Small talk, but what else was there to discuss? Your likely firing?

"Nope." She began cooing to Walter, who became exponentially louder with his purr.

"How's your arm? Any side effects yet?" God, why did things feel so dry today? Did Gotham really create so much distance already between you and your family? Were you just anxious and overthinking? Was she annoyed?

"My my, they must have you busy with interviewing skills."

You opened your mouth to respond, but she questioned you instead. "When are you coming back hon?"

This question confused you. "Uh, whenever you need me to, but I thought starting next month? For the injections?" You twirled with a frayed end on your blanket. Can I still return this? It's been like a week and it's already tearing apart... she snapped you out of your wandering with her next sentence.

"Sure, your dad and I are going on a cruise this week."

A cruise? Right after her first dose of an experimental cancer drug? With unknown side effects? "Mom, your treatment,"

"Oh we'll only be gone a week. Won't interfere with my next appointment." Walter meowed again. Who would be taking care of him?

"I mean, okay. I just think with not knowing the side effects of your first dose,"

"The way I see it dear is this might be the best I ever get to feel."

That sentence hit like a ton of bricks atop bruised ribs. "Couldn't you wait a week, just see the side effects?"

"The cruise leaves the port tomorrow."

"Mom,"

"We still can't believe that donor. Whoever they are, they really opened our finances up. Your father's been saving for years to try and make that initial bulk payment,"

You recalled the argument they'd had when your mother's cancer was initially found. Your mom wanted to start a payment plan immediately, but your dad thought if he put it into deferment for a few years and made payments to a high yield savings account every month their money would 'go exponentially further'. You hadn't cared much at the time, mostly because money stressed you the hell out, and at the time you were trying to avoid thinking about your mother's prognosis. Before you could decide what to say next, your dad had walked into the room and starting shouting loud enough for you to hear on the phone.

"Hey sweets, how are you and that Wayne guy doing?"

"I don't know how else to tell you guys I don't like him. We don't talk." This conversation was going nowhere, and you could smell an impending argument if you stayed on even another minute. You needed to check on one last thing before hanging up. "Who's looking after Walter?"

"Oh don't worry about that,"

"I am worried. Do you need me to come back to watch him?"

"Debbie will be stopping in throughout the week to check on him."

Walter was never very fond of Debbie; whenever she came over, in fact, he ran and hid. If you knew Debbie any less you might think Walter was placing judgment on her character, but no: she was just very loud, her laugh sounding a bit like a stampede. Walter was never very skittish, but after enough startles, he'd come to hide whenever he heard her come around. His discomfort was all you needed. "Tell her not to come, I'm coming home for the week."

"Hon," your mom began to chastise you, but you refused to let her finish. "No, no, I'm coming home tomorrow and I will stay with him. Case closed." After saying goodbye and lying about having already bought a nonrefundable ticket, you hung up and bought the earliest flight for tomorrow: 11am. You did your best to avoid thoughts of how the thousand Dr. Vry had sent was already disappearing, and filled the rest of your evening (sans figuring out what to do with fresh bags of perishable groceries) packing to head back the next day.

The bat signal hadn't lit since Thursday night. Bruce had been left reeling, kicking himself for not following up with Gordon on the owl debacle. He went out every night, and every few hours would move to the usual meeting place with Gordon to find an empty sky. It was Wednesday night before the signal lit again, and by that point Bruce had nearly gaslit himself into thinking the owls hadn't been there in the first place.

Gordon looked morose, but resolved. "We have the autopsy back for our John Doe." He held up a graphic photo of the man, gray and laid out on stainless steel. His chest and abdominal cavities were peeled open and pinned to keep tension, revealing a normal—yet punctured—chest and abdomen. Gordon confirmed its complete lack of novelty. "Nothing. Couldn't even trace back a name. No one posting about a missing husband, child, brother, nephew, friend." He paused to clear his throat. "However, we did find something unusual in one of his fillings."

"Unusual? How?"

"The coroner said he almost didn't catch it, but he runs the deceased through an MRI machine after especially gruesome cases. Normally fillings don't show up on magnets, but these ones did." He held out his other hand, revealing a few small pieces of chipped silvery metal. The metal was extremely slick and had a mirror finish to its shine. "It's a metallic alloy of sorts. I'll send it to the lab for processing."

He nearly asked to take it back to his own lab, but that would pressure the boundaries. Gordon was in a tight spot being seen with Batman. He couldn't push it. "How long until it's processed?"

Gordon shrugged, his nose scrunched like he was still smelling formaldehyde's stench. Bruce thought he might've caught a whiff off his jacket. "Not more than a coupla days. I'll signal for you." If the city was in a better place, if Gordon was in a better mood, he might have winked.

The pause gave Bruce just enough time to speak. He said it casually, without much fuss, as if it were a rolling breeze. "Did you see what was on the knives' handles?"

Gordon sighed. A good one? A bad one? Bruce's eyes trained on him like a hawk. The cowl felt tight. "Chicken scratch, most of 'em."

"Most?" Say more.

"No traceable logo."

Frustration bled into his tone. "Looked like an owl."

Gordon's eyes focused on no particular point on the back wall, his eyes narrowing. What? He saw it too, right? pounded against his ribs to be heard. After what felt like hours Gordon shook his head. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Was this an elaborate scheme? Did Gordon not see it? Was his, was his mind failing him? It glinted off the light perfectly, the etching was transparent in its shape, the beak, the feathers, the claws...

"You alright?" The Bat was lost in thought, breathing thick and heavy. Bruce nodded. To push, or not to push? Silence hung like smog between them. It was crucial to push it, imperative to reality check his mental faculties. "It didn't resemble an owl to you?"

Gordon shrugged. It gave no information to Bruce, who was close to running out of the room and laying face-down in his pillow the rest of the night while he actively avoided looking further into the death of his great-grandfather. Was his time coming sooner than his had? Was it due to his lack of sociability? Had he been concussed one too many times? His neuronal pathways seized up, the myelin sheaths disintegrated?

"Do you know anything about owls?"

Did Gordon know? Was this a trick question? Wait, he wasn't Bruce. He considered saying he'd seen them in peculiar position throughout town, but moreso than Gordon's rocky relationship with the police force, the man had no idea who Batman was; Bruce had to keep exclusively to formidable behavior due to the weakness of the knot tying them together. A kooky moment, or a Freudian slip could force Gordon to take out some scissors and sever their relationship. Bruce shook his head, and left.

Uber. TSA. Flight. Baggage. Uber. Key. Door. Lock. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. Eat. Sleep. Walter. The past few days had passed in such inconsequential monotony you resisted the conclusion you weren't alive at all. The only moments of reprieve you gathered were when Walter walked up and jumped into bed beside you, tucking his fluffy back against your stomach. He was the only reason you were able to sleep with the anxiety of your job being in limbo, and your mom having fled the town after her first shot. Your mom had left a note saying that the connection would be spotty on the cruise, but they would be back no later than 5pm the following Friday. Now it was Wednesday, and the food your parents had left was starting to dwindle. Your muscles ached to be moved further than the walk from your bed to the bathroom, your bed to the kitchen, or your bed to the living room couch. You put another ice cube into Walter's bowl, grabbed your helmet that was thankfully still in the hallway closet, and took off for a ride to the grocery store on your mom's old bike.

The air was warm, and the sun threatened to burn every centimeter of exposed skin. You'd forgotten just long enough that the stinging sensation was of hot sun piercing onto skin to where you decided against going back for SPF. You didn't have to worry about such basic, human things in Gotham; the sun barely came out, and when it did it was covered by such dense clouds and thick smog you couldn't begin to feel heat against your skin whatsoever. The buildings were hard and cold, the dense metal keeping you chilled no matter the season. Now the sun accosted you, the wheels of the bike running over fresh leaves and the occasional string of hay. You swerved past clumps of clay dirt that lay in the middle of the road, shut your eyes for a few seconds as you coasted, not having to look out for a pedestrian or car every five feet. This was living, this was where you wanted to be. Tears prickled your eyes as you coasted into the dusty parking lot of WinCo, a local grocery store chain to the PNW. You forgot a bike lock, but the city was small and trusted enough that you never heard about bikes getting stolen, anyway. The initial panic was immediately eased, as well as the tight knot in your chest. Maybe you belonged... here?

You walked into the grocery and went straight for the fruit aisle. As you placed apples and oranges and pears in your basket, you absentmindedly flipped through the past. When you were growing up here, it was too boring. You'd wanted nothing more than to leave. You wanted to see skyscrapers, and big cities, and always have something happening around you. Now that you had experienced the worst of what a city could give, this town with its penetrating sun and lofty trees felt like paradise. A paradise that was quickly interrupted, when you accidentally knocked baskets with Lara. "Oh shit,"

"Y/N?" She pulled her basket in and glanced to her left, at someone who you presumed was her exchange boyfriend. She stared at your shoes, you noticed her cheeks going pink. Tension yanked on your shoulders and your stomach flipped. "Hi. I'm watching Walter while my parents are on a cruise."

"No longer in Gotham?" Her boyfriend turned around when she mentioned The Most Feared City, and walked over. "Gotham? That shitshow? I don't know how anyone can live there."

Fucking prick. A strange defensiveness overtook you. "It's not as bad as people make it out to be." Yes it was. "I'm just visiting home, I have a journalism job back there."

"How's Bruce Wayne?" Her tone was mocking, quite unlike Lara, and you figured it had to be Rose and Gabbi's bitter influence in the time you'd been gone that brought this upon her. Mystery Man's eyes lit up, one of the buttons on his shirt threatened to pop like the bulgy vein in his forehead. "You know Bruce Wayne? The Bruce Wayne?"

"She knows him, alright." She side-eyed the guy and giggled. He laughed, which was startling, and shame bolted through your body like a sticky, sharp rod. He leaned into her ear and said, still loud enough for you to hear and likely purposely so, "Her?"

Before shame could fully envelope you, you righted the wrong; in part because the idea of someone believing Bruce had been inside you made you want to sink into the floor, in another wanting to assuage yourself of guilt. "We haven't fucked. Sorry. I was just trying to get back at losers I thought were my friends."

Lara gasped. "I can't believe you!" It rung hollow in your ear just as Dr. Vry had. If someone put their hand over your head they'd feel steam. "You didn't used to be like this, it's fucking disappointing." You spun around and ignored what she was saying behind you, shoving your feet against the ground, making your calves burn with each grief-consumed footstep. It doesn't matter what they think. It doesn't matter what she's saying. Soon enough you made it across the store to the pantry aisle, pretending to inspect some cavatappi noodles in your quivering hands. The cardboard soaked up your bulleted tears, and you tossed it in your basket after catching a glimpse of your reflection in the boxes' plastic window. You fell to your knees and covered it up pretending to inspect the marinara, not trusting your thighs or knees to keep you steady. Everything hit you all at once, panic rising in your chest and narrowing your esophagus. You grabbed a random sauce and ran to the self checkout, ringing up your two items, grabbing a bag, and taking off for home.

The ride home wasn't as quaint as the one there. The sun wasn't at your backside, now it seared into your bleary eyes as it set, making you unable to see a rock in the road, sending you flying overtop the handlebars. When you touched your knees and elbows, they stung and stained your fingertips red. The last ten minutes of the walk was utter misery, as blood dribbled slowly down your knees and down to your wrists. Walter meowed when you came back, but you couldn't pet him. You turned the water as cold as you could manage to wash away the cakey blood and dirt. Your hands hesitated before lathering the shampoo, and when they scrubbed the back of your head you began to cry again. Your face was hot and your body ice cold. You sat on the floor, pulled your knees up, and wrapped your hands around your chest as sobs shrieked out of you. The water ran pink, then pastel, then clear. Being alive hurt. The thought pounded at the back of your corneas, chafed blisters between your thighs, and spiked the ridges in your throat, that you might never, ever, feel "home". Walter meowed at the door, you turned off the shower, and toweled off to open another can of Friskies.

[talesofadragon]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter I - Synopsis: As an Art Professor, Steve Rogers struggles more and more to capture the beauty he's always longed for. The demands of his role and the impassiveness of his students only intensify his struggle. But there's one silver lining in all his discordance: his favorite student, Y/N.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting. 

Genre: Angst | Fluff | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Slow Burn | Age Gap | Teacher/Student

Word Count: 4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐓 was tarnished. Marred by hedonism and distorted by a noxious dose of conformity. If contemporary meant disproportion, then this generation had done wonders in creating subpar avenues for artistic integrity and expression.

Stacks of paper towered over Steve’s desk, mocking his years in the artistic medium. He could count on one hand the number of students who had passed the latest assignment, and he was already experiencing a headache at the additional projects he had to organize so his students wouldn’t walk away with an F by the end of the term.

He wasn’t a harsh teacher; the crying girls exiting Bucky’s office and the boys almost pulling out their hair after his lectures proved Steve’s point. Yet, he was, more often than not, having to do more work than he should to ensure his students achieved the bare minimum.

It was Monday morning, ten minutes till eight. Sunlight delicately penetrated the empty classroom’s window, infusing the serenity of the atmosphere with an angelic glow. None of his ten students had shown up yet. Most of them swapped the first fifteen minutes of class for a few more minutes of sleep as if the Sandman would not visit each of them throughout the lecture either way.

No wonder only three of them had passed.

Steve moved around the lecture hall, placing the reports upside down on each student’s desk. He considered scattering the papers across the front of the room, forcing his students to claim front-row seats. He once implemented a seating chart, which they responded to less than enthusiastically. Today he decided against doing anything, knowing the Dean would never allow him to teach a morning class again.

Steve heard the door open five minutes later after he placed the last of the reports on the desk at the far right of the class.

“Professor Rogers,” his favorite student greeted, her tone delicate and undisturbing as if mindful of the placid environment that surrounded them.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Steve acknowledged, a kind smile lighting up his eyes. His feet carried him to where she stood next to his desk, examining the reports with a frown. “It’s not a pop quiz,” he tried to assure, sensing her rush of nervousness. He stood in front of her now, his tall stature making her look so short and tiny compared to him.

She chewed on her lower lip, gaze lowering to her sneakers. “Are those the reports that were due last session?”

“Yes." 

There was an air of trepidation, a tremor of hesitancy in her voice when she replied, “I didn’t realize you would grade them so quickly, Professor.”

Steve’s blue eyes narrowed on her. She had barely lifted her head when he caught the dark circles under her eyes. His throat bobbed, and his index finger twitched by his side, almost as if her tiredness could command him into some type of action.

It dawned on Steve then, the cause behind her nervousness. He glanced back at the front row, where she usually sat—the only student attentive enough to sit through an hour and fifteen minutes of his lectures without falling asleep.

“You didn’t turn in your report.”

She nodded, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. She searched through its contents, reluctantly pulling out what Steve assumed was her late assignment. She cradled it in her arms, almost scared of his reaction.

“I didn’t have the time to finish it before,” she admitted, bashfully handing him her papers. “I know that the faculty allows us to submit late assignments for a lower grade. But I guess, now that you’ve corrected the reports—”

Her words hovered in the air, unfinished. There was no denying the university policy. With the papers marked and the grades entered into the system, it would be a sacrilege to skim through her work.

But Steve was curious to see what she had produced. This was the first major assignment in two months, accounting for 25% of their grades.

He peeked at the cover page, studying the headline. “You chose Pablo Picasso as your subject,” Steve commented, the confusion in his tone evident.

She hummed, shifting from one leg to another. “Yes.”

Steve neglected to read beyond the artist’s name, raising the papers to her direct line of sight. “The assignment was to reflect on postmodernism art and analyze its role in societal reforms.”

“I know.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Steve challenged, suddenly dubious about her attentiveness in class. “Pablo Picasso is—”

“An artistic luminary,” she interrupted. Dark pink swept across her cheeks. She persisted, undeterred by Steve’s perplexion. “Who has influenced artistic movements even if he were a modernist himself.”

“If you paid enough attention in class to know that he’s a modern artist, then why is your report about him?”

“I never said it was. Not exclusively, at least.”

Steve arched an eyebrow. He unfolded the papers in his hands, reading the headline aloud. “The Purgatory of Modernism Through Pablo Picasso’s Tinted Palette.” The side of her lips upturned, hinting at a dimple on her right cheek. She was proud of that title, her senses lighting up when the words left Steve’s mouth. “What are you exploring in your paper?”

“Postmodernism reflects an artistic era after World War II. More specifically, it spans two decades, between the seventies and the nineties.”

“And what is its relevance to Picasso? He wasn’t alive to see the implications of this era.”

“Except that he was. He died in 1973. Three years after the postmodernist movement made itself pervasive.”

Intrigue rose in Steve’s voice. “So why is he the center of your report?”

“I told you, Professor Rogers, the report doesn’t focus on him.” There wasn’t any bite to her words, even if he merited her frustrations for reiterating his previous fallacy. “In his last years, Pablo Picasso was said to produce more art than he had in his youth. The postmodernist movement deconstructed traditional narratives and forms established in the modernist era, defying societal perceptions and challenging modern art. A wealth of Picasso’s art. My paper explains the impact of this era on his later masterpieces and how his art served as a bridge between two opposing epochs he has lived in and influenced.”

From her first word to her last, Steve leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He listened attentively, more than he’d ever listened to anyone else in his life. There was a reason she was his favorite student. And not just in this class or university. In his decades of teaching, he’d never met anyone as passionate or committed about art.

He scratched at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, smoothing the conspicuous smirk that appeared. “Did you write all of that in your report?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave to hide his emotions.

“Yes, Professor,” she said. “And more.”

Steve’s next words didn’t leave his mouth. Instead, he watched her head swivel toward the door, where his students began to filter in. He acknowledged them with a nod, returning his attention to her after.

Her shoulders sagged, and her teeth sank into her lower lip. She reached for the report, hair framing her face, effectively hiding her dejection. When her gentle fingers brushed the papers, something in Steve snapped in place.

He pulled his hand away, straightening up his posture. He leveled her with his gaze, examining her widened eyes and parted lips.

“I apologize, Miss Y/L/N. You’re right. I’ll revisit your paper and reevaluate your grade,” Steve raised his voice, its tenderness reverberating across the entire room.

He pushed away from the desk, motioning for her to take her seat. A gentle smile graced his features, and he was pleased to find one that equally mirrored his drawn across her face. Two dimples, he noticed, she possessed. One on each cheek.

More students had piled in when he placed her papers in his file to correct. He wondered if he should assign them a passage to read or an artwork to critique while he consumed her words and journeyed through her thoughts.

In the end, he cleared his throat, ready to begin the lecture. But he couldn’t deny that she never evaded his focus throughout it all.

He didn’t see her until the following week. Her paper burned a hole in his folders, calling for attention. She had missed the last class, and he had more to say than an email could adequately express.

When she arrived, another student was sitting in the classroom. That didn’t deter Steve from wanting to approach her. However, her attention was fixed on the easels he had set up, her feet already carrying her to a stool.

She placed her bag on the floor and eagerly examined the empty palette before her. Small paint tubes sat there, four different colors of Steve’s choosing. The blue caught her eye—a dark sapphire she twirled in her hand, mesmerized. Steve had never given much thought to the color blue. It was omnipresent—in the skies, the seas, and the irises of his eyes. He had been so accustomed to it, seeing it every day, that he almost forgot how fascinating it was. That is until he saw it through her eyes.

The class started quickly after. The theme was conceptual art. In response to their earlier results, this activity would be graded—a nudge to their receding grades. But there was a catch. They only had four colors to work with.

Almost everyone asked for Steve’s guidance, raising their hands to inquire about the colors their mix yielded or the process of creating their paintings. All his students asked for his attention, yet she was the only one to whom he offered it without a prior request.

Even as he moved through the rows of easels and stools, his eyes would deviate to catch her pursed lips and placid expression as she painted to her heart’s desire. While her attention never wavered from her work, his followed her movements, tracing the patterns of her wrist and the swirls of her brush against her minimalistic palette.

The class soon came to a halt. He used the few remaining minutes to dismiss those who wished to turn in their work. Students packed up, stumbling over each other to head to their next class while Steve gracefully maneuvered to her side.

"I gave you four colors to choose from," Steve remarked as he set his sights on her painting. She didn’t flinch, unbothered by his presence over her shoulder. "Why haven’t you used them to create others?"

"I have all the colors I need right here," she replied, her brush waltzing across the canvas, leaving behind swirls of silver—like a trail of shooting stars across the midnight sky, which, coincidentally, happened to be the color of her canvas.

"What did you paint there, Miss Y/L/N?" Steve asked, watching her write her name on the edge of her canvas. A small “Y/N�� with the first letter of her last name next to it.

"What do you think this is, Professor Rogers?" she deflected, placing her palette neatly aside but never tearing her eyes away from her work.

"It’s your art, Miss Y/L/N. The right answer lies with you."

"Is there truly ever a right answer when it comes to art?"

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, preventing himself from grinning. "No," he admitted. "And yet, an artist yearns for the rare chance their art whispers all its secrets to someone."

Y/N chuckled, finally taking him in. There were streaks of silver and yellow painted on her face, her fingertips covered in paint. She didn’t seem to mind as she casually reached out for a towel to clean herself. It was almost as if she was the masterpiece herself.

Stop, Steve berated himself mentally, his thought catching him off guard. Why the hell did you think that?

“It’s a memory blueprint,” Y/N’s voice pulled him out of his head. She gestured to the swirls of blue and silver, imperceptible yellow dots glistening like gilded droplets across the canvas.

“Interesting,” Steve hummed. He wondered if he suspected she’d get the highest grade. He had never seen his students reflect so vividly on an experience. “Why conceptualize this?”

Wistfulness illuminated her features, molding her pride into yearning and peace into tumult. She shrugged, refraining from examining her work any longer.

“Blue is my favorite color. I’d like to say there was a thought process behind this piece, but from the first stroke till the last, I don’t believe I was in control of my thoughts nor my emotions.”

Steve hummed, unable to tear himself away from the painting. If the paint had dried, he would’ve traced his fingers across the shapes Y/N had drawn. He’d always been inclined to art, a thirst he would never satiate. But certain works, Steve knew, were best admired from afar. Especially those sparse masterpieces, easily tinted by insensitive hands. Especially her.

“I corrected your report,” Steve swiftly changed the subject. He headed toward his desk, pulling out her report. Y/N followed diligently after him. “What you wrote about was not what I had expected. But it’s very typical of you to challenge expectations, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied shyly, her hunched lashes constricting Steve’s view of her eyes.

He fished out her report, extending it her way. “I like the way you think, Miss Y/L/N. I don’t remember reading such a clever work by any of my students before. This merited an A. But, unfortunately, since this was turned in late—”

“You don’t need to continue, Professor,” Y/N interjected, taking the papers from his hand. Their fingers brushed in her haste. She pulled her hand away as soon as she realized, continuing her previous argument before Steve could process the gentleness of her touch. “I’m very thankful that you corrected my assignment. Other teachers would have failed me for this late of a submission.”

“Still, Miss Y/L/N. You’ve been excelling greatly in my class. You deserve higher than this grade, which is why I want to offer you the chance to assist me for some extra credit.”

“Assist you?” Her brows knitted together. “With what, Sir?”

“The department is hosting an exhibition next week,” Steve began, his tone inviting. “I need a couple of students to volunteer during the evening. I’d highly value your assistance.”

Y/N's expression became troubled. “I can’t, Professor. I won’t be able to make it in the evening,” she replied, her voice soft.

“You didn’t ask what day,” Steve remarked, his head tilted to the side.

Y/N looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t on any day, Professor. I’d be glad to assist you in the morning, but I can’t in the evening.”

Steve studied her for a moment, sensing there was more behind her refusal, but he didn’t press further. He acquiesced, acknowledging her statement with a soft smile. “Understood, Miss Y/L/N. I appreciate your honesty.”

Y/N hugged her papers to her chest and offered a faint smile before turning to leave. She didn’t even glance down at the B+ she had received. The B+ Steve felt bad for giving her.

“I think she’s in trouble,” Steve voiced, his eyes finally leaving the sketch he had been working on in his small sketchbook.

Bucky’s forehead creased while he sipped his iced coffee. Whether he was confused by the remark or the fact that he actually liked a beverage Sam had suggested to him, Steve did not know. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“And we’re talking about?”

“Miss Y/L/N.”

“Ah, the star student,” Bucky realized, clicking his fingers as if he had just come up with the most ingenious idea for his next midterm exam. “She doesn’t have to be in trouble, you know. When she took my Introduction to Ancient World History, I learned that her classes are scheduled between eight in the morning and midday. She’s tied up after. Probably with work.”

“I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Steve,” Bucky elongated the “e,” almost whining.

Steve stood up from his spot on the ground, dusting grass off his cream-colored trousers. “Hear me out. She turned in her last assignment late. She had the chance to get an A if she volunteered for an event, and she refused.”

“An event which took place in the evening when she probably has work. Which, if you think about it, is a plausible reason for her late assignments.”

“If you say she finishes classes at midday, then she has enough time to get to work at night—”

“Maybe she has a shift before that,” Bucky interjected. He sipped his iced coffee and walked ahead, distancing himself from Steve. “And she uses the rest of the evening to study.”

Steve caught up to Bucky. “Look,” he said, placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She skipped two lectures in the past week and a half, and just yesterday, she took a call in the middle of class.”

Bucky gasped, his palm laying flat on his chest where his heart lay beneath his fingertips. “Oh, what a dreadful turn of events. Are you sure you’re teaching art? Because I’m starting to think the early program has led you to sleepwalk your way into the drama department.”

Steve groaned, the sound of his irritation overriding Bucky’s scoff.

“She wanted to take the call. I... I admit I was on edge about her absence and her... inclination to dismiss my class in favor of that call—”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been spending your breaks with Laufeyson. Only the delusional would start treating their lives like a Shakespearean melodrama.”

“What the hell does that even have to do with what I’m saying?”

“On edge about her absence. A sense of yearning for her attention,” Bucky mocked, a shudder overtaking him that had nothing to do with the coffee in his hands.

“Have you even been hearing anything beyond the thoughts in your head?”

“They’re certainly more entertaining than the thoughts in yours.”

The argument was getting tiring. A loud exhale escaped Steve before he rubbed his face. He knew that the subject of this conversation might not have made much sense, but there was something Steve was sensing that Bucky dismissed altogether.

“I told her that if she took the call, she should leave,” Steve explained, turning back to find Bucky’s attention already on him. “It was harsh, but I couldn’t afford to have her so distracted. She returned to her seat, and I thought she would stay. But she gathered her belongings and left the class.”

“There must’ve been an emergency, then. It happens,” Bucky conceded.

“I know. I suppose. I just…” Steve trailed off, uncertain of his next words.

Bucky noticed his sudden silence and spoke up. “You’re an altruistic blockhead, Rogers.” Steve chuckled at the words. “Don’t overthink it. I know you see a lot of potential in her, and she truly is a remarkable student. But maybe you’re reading too much into it.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve admitted, even though, deep down, he didn’t believe it.

“Besides, she’s not even an art student. Clearly, this is just a hobby for her.”

“Wait, what?” Steve spun around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

Bucky had just about finished his coffee, sighing as he looked down at it, realizing he couldn’t distract himself with it any longer. “Don’t you ask your students what they study on the first day of classes?”

Steve gave Bucky a bemused look. “Not in Contemporary Art Practice. It’s a class that only the creative students take. There are several prerequisites for it.”

“Clearly the lawyers have made their way into it if Miss Y/L/N is any indication.”

A sharp gasp escaped Steve before he had the chance to reel it in. He stared dumbfounded at Bucky as if the man had grown two heads. “She’s... she’s a law student?”

Bucky hummed as he casually discarded his empty coffee cup, circumventing children running freely in the park. “She’s a sophomore. In the Law Department with Hill.”

“She doesn’t strike me as a law student. She’s...”

“Gentle? Kind? A battered, tortured soul? Believe me, I was surprised when she told me about her field of study last semester.”

“Back up,” Steve commanded, mind reeling from the influx of the latest information. “She’s a sophomore? But her ID number dates four years back—don’t give me that look. I don’t remember her ID number, but I only have a handful of students in that class, and I know that none of them are supposed to be sophomores. This doesn’t add up.”

The latest revelations left Steve in a haze, his thoughts consuming his mind and leaving him unaware of his surroundings. He reminisced about his interactions with Y/N, his artistic senses flaring at the details inhabiting her being. Her eyes lacked the usual innocent luster etched on the contours of young adults’ irises, and she certainly did not possess the natural naivety and abstraction they were renowned to express.

Y/N was grounded. Mature for her age, yet burdened with both torment and gentleness that painted her with the most enchanting colors.

His mind swirled with images of her, so much so that he wasn’t paying attention as he walked forward. Steve heard a soft gasp, followed by one escaping his own lips. He halted, scanning ahead before slowly peering down to where a young girl stood, her milkshake cup empty and its contents dripping down her lilac shirt.

“I am so sorry,” Steve breathed, rushing to kneel down at the girl’s level. But before he could ask if she was alright, another voice cut in.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?!”

Steve lifted his head, spotting a young man behind the girl. His demeanor was laced with anger, and Steve imagined he would feel just as upset if his daughter had been nearly harmed. If that drink had been anything hotter than a milkshake... Steve didn’t want to think about what might have happened.

He cleared his throat, preparing to apologize to the stranger, when the man harshly tugged the little girl’s hand, causing her to yelp.

“You’ve been walking for three years, and you still bump into people like you just learned to walk yesterday!”

“I...” the child whimpered, her eyes darting around the park until they settled on Steve. “I’m s-sorry.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching. Beside him, Bucky glanced over, his gaze hardening as he observed the scene. Steve’s heart wrenched, unsure if it was the girl’s innocent regret, the man’s sharp rebuke, or a haunting familiarity that stirred within the sweet child’s eyes. He had studied that sadness, etching it into his memory. It seemed indelible now.

“Sure, you are,” the pathetic excuse for a man grumbled. “It’s me who should feel sorry. For myself. Clearly, you get your carelessness from your mother.”

“Better my carelessness than your brashness, Paul.”

If Steve had doubted his instincts before, now he was certain they were right all along. He exchanged glances with Bucky, who shared the bemusement which crossed his face. Tentatively, Steve focused on the scene before him—a distressed young girl, a callous young man, and now, a woman—who seemed poised for conflict and upheaval, even though he had always perceived her as too gentle and delicate to harm anyone.

She squared her shoulders, extending a hand to get the younger girl’s attention. “Hands off Nyla, immediately.” Her lips curled into a defiant smirk, her voice steady yet tinged with underlying turmoil. “Or I will remove your entire arm from its place and make sure you cannot touch anyone, let alone yourself, ever again.”

The man loosened his grip, whether from fear or some other reason, Steve couldn’t tell. As soon as his hold relaxed, the young girl—Nyla—ran to the woman's side.

“Mama!” she cried, just as Bucky uttered a name Steve was too stunned to articulate.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

This has been sitting in my inbox for months! I originally wanted it to be a one-shot, but God knows brevity is not my forte. We're in it for the long haul, baby! (Like 5 parts. Fret not.)

Thank you @crazyunsexycool for this splendid idea!!

This work is also part of my writing celebration.

[firesofdainix]

on the ready to fight scale who in ur au ranks the highest as ‘ready to fight at all times’

On a scale of lowest to highest:

9. Mercury

8. Earth

He wants to fight. Really, he does, to defend and protect the solar system which he was born in. But due to having life, he's equally the strongest and most delicate planet in the solar system, hence him playing a more indefinite role where he does support in the background. So his fighting skills are subpar and unserious and can get him ahead if he catches his opponent off guard, but otherwise... he just sneaks up on them to deliver the final blow. or use his domain, which is considered to be the last resort for all celestial bodies.

7. Mars

6. Saturn

He's not usually a fighter, and he hates having to change his appearance for this. Very versatile, has high endurance and incredible flexibility, mostly because his weapon, the scythe, isn't made for combat at all. and he has the ability to heal himself, hence giving him extra stamina.

5. Jupiter

4. Uranus

Third in the solar system defense. He doesn't fight much anymore, but he is prepped with fighting if need be. He still has an excellent aim with his arrows, but he's pretty bad with close combat unlike before.

3. Pluto

The first to see any outsider or anomaly trying to make it past the Kuiper Belt, he's the first one on the move, getting defensive and unleashing offensive attacks if he so needs to. If the enemy is too much for him to handle, that's where he gets Neptune.

2. Neptune

Being in the outskirts of the main solar system and near the Kuiper Belt can make you battle ready! While he can't remember WHY he was put there, his reflexes and instincts remember what he was made for.

1. Venus

He's passionate, is what he is!

[zfiledh]

Headcanons: The Owl House

In no particular order:

Luz and Camila took Amity, Hunter, Gus and Willow to Comic Con dressed like characters from Cosmic Frontier. They actually got to meet the creator(s) of Cosmic Frontier, who were very bemused by Gus and Hunter asking a multitude of questions and Gus’ warning about the giraffes. Luz and Amity got to hang out with fans of The Good Witch Azura.

After the Collector installed the new portal door, Jacob Hopkins managed to get out of jail and attempted to sneak into the house. The last anyone heard from Jacob, he was trying to set up an online fundraiser to get home from Mars (when he really was sent to a place called Quinhagak, Alaska.)

Months after Belos fell, Alador and Odalia divorced. Odalia tried to revive their original arms business, but it fell flat. Amity, Edric and Emira never spoke to her again.

Masha learned the truth about Vee and the Demon Realm. In fact, they’re one of the first humans to attend Gus’ Human Student Exchange Program.

Some sketchy ex-Coven Heads (the Potions Head, Terra, & Adrian) and Kikimora attempted to take over the Boiling Isles and replace the vacancy left by Belos. This was quickly thwarted by the B.A.T.T.s C.A.T.T.s and the Hexside squad and a thorough investigation and trial took place. Unsurprisingly, Odalia was also implicated in the plot because of the subpar Abomotons that were used. The plotters and Odalia were banished from the Boiling Isles and sent to Titan Trapper Island to live out their sentence. Kikimora worked out a plea deal and that’s how she was found working with Matt Tholomule to rebuild Bonesborough.

Eda and her dad have a better relationship these days, to Gwendolyn’s delight. Dell and Gwendolyn have also doted on King and Hunter. In fact, Eda was the one who introduced Hunter to Dell after Luz mentioned that Hunter wanted to learn how to carve Palismen.

A delegation was sent to Titan Trapper Island, and Bill is no longer the leader there. Tarak was appointed as the new leader and he promised that he and his people will not to go after the last Titan (King). It also helped that The Collector was included in that delegation to seal the deal and promised to build a portal between the two islands if the Titan Trappers behaved...and changed their way of dressing and the name of their island.

Lilith unlocked her harpy form the same way Eda did: with cookies made by Hooty. However, it wasn’t as “smooth” as Eda’s transformation, but with the help from Eda, Gwendolyn, and Camila, she was able to take control of her transformations. Hooty was also temporarily banned from the kitchen. Right after she managed this, Lilith showed off her transformation in front of Flora.

Luz told Eda what Papa Titan told her, and Eda felt honored. Though Eda was a bit offended about the Titan questioning her homemade apple blood recipe.

The Therapy Coven had never been busy after the fall of Belos. Hunter and Raine in particular spent some time with them because of the shared trauma of possession by Belos.

Hunter elected to stay with Darius, though he's always welcome with the Nocedas back in the Human Realm, with the Parks, the Blights (minus Odalia), Eda, and the senior Clawthornes.

Willow introduced Hunter to her dads after Hunter finished gushing about sewing and wolves with Darius and Eberwolf.

Boscha peaked in high school.

The Bat Queen sensed that there was something about Hunter, and Hunter told her about Flapjack’s sacrifice. After that talk, Hunter also became welcome in The Bat Queen’s forest.

Luz and Amity got more “mundane, slice-of-life dates”, both in the human realm and the demon realm.

The Collector visits King from time to time, and the Hexside squad learned to relax around them and teach them about how to approach people and play other games.

There was an attempt to introduce Camila to the food in the Boiling Isles. Suffice to say, she was only able to eat griffin eggs like Luz, though she found the animals there quite fascinating.

Viney and Jerbo eventually became friends again, to Barkus’ relief. (Barkus knew they would become friends, it was a matter of when.)

Principal Bump officially retired as Principal the following year. That was not the end of his love of education because he spent the next year to reach out to Glandus and St. Epiderm about revising their curriculum and offering multiple magic tracks.

[misfortunekeep]

He stood-- near stumbled, really, as an empty feeling settled upon his form. Growing up, Scar has always been the center of attention. A child born with scars (hah!) marring his skin, he was an anomaly to his much older brother who wept in fury at being handed a brother to love and protect already hurt. Cub was given someone to shield having already failed him, and the genius had grown overboard to compensate as if to apologize for his negligence like they had any control over the matter, like Scar's marred skin was of consequence to Cub's subpar brotherly skills. He surrounded Scar with robots, machines designed to monitor his every move, ensuring his safety in ways Cub believed he himself could not. And with Grian's permanent fixture in his life, Scar's only grown more confident with eyes on him. So when he awakened without the distinct feeling of being Watched, well... He was disoriented, Scar reserves his right to panic, just a little bit.

A drabble of a fic I'll probably never write.

[cosmictulips]

A Water & Air Sign PAC

~ If you have strong air and water placements. whether you are a cancer sun, or gemini sun, or a mix of the two, doesn't matter. this is for you ~

What's interesting about all this is that I really want to put this just for the air signs but water signs kept popping in my head so. hello to those people too.

Air and or Water placements! hello! water or air or both combinations in your top six. or if you have strong Mercury or Moon energies, this reading is for you. Doesn't matter if it's sidereal, whole signs, blah blah blah. if you have strong air or water energies! this is for you!

Literally for example ::

You could just have these as your Venus. Or your Mars. You could be a pisces rising. or have a gemini venus. or if you're cool you could be a water rising with air venus. like me. or you could be a triple water. or you could be gemini mars pisces moon. IDC. just have strong water or air your chart!

Pile 1

King of Cups, The Lovers, 05 of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, The High Priestess, Ace of Swords

Wow. hello romantics. My darling air and water signs, it seems like you are creating the life you so dream of. this is a very strong love reading and career reading. the universe is literally like "We got you boo".

I'm seeing that in the beginning...or I guess your current energy is in this state of lack. this could be literal finances, or just how you feel in terms of your job, your money, your relationships, how you feel about yourself.

Like literally if you feel like you're in a good state right now, this might not be for you because the story I am reading is one full of hope because you feel like you aren't getting anywhere. there is a strong strong strong, overlying feeling of "i'm about to give up" and you are being...begged, not to.

While your finances might be feeling a bit subpar, I see them taking a huge turn towards the better. for a lot of you, this is going to be because you're taking a chance on what you very specifically want. there is no more a time to just dive head first into something, then right now.

If you have a sudden urge to apply for that job then go do it. if you have the urge to promote something, do it. if you have the fucking audacity to think of this melody in your head, an artistic idea, a path you want to achieve ... BABY JUST GO DO IT.

You ARE NOT GOING TO FAIL. there' no way in HELL the universe is going to send you these ideas and pound on your door if you ain't meant to fly with it.

this period of lack is meant to show you something and that is to show you what you NEED. What you YEARN for. there is no sense in success if it ain't something you are passionate about.

Now, the love side to this is quite similiar. because you are chosing to put yourself first for once, to adjust that lack you have and address it :: baby you got new love coming in. someone who will raise you, meet you half way and romance the fuck outta you.

You're in a stage of learning right now but the universe wants you to know a couple of things if you need to take something out of this.

will you start trusting your goddamn intuition already? build it if you must. ask me how to start it if you don't have a solid foundation for it yet

You will get some sort of news. either this love confession, this idea that will send you on your journey or bring you back to something. trust it.

YOU ARE LEARNING. be EASY on yourself. this lack could literally be a mental blockage. maybe you're too heavy on yourself. relax bby girl. you are in good hands. trust the people who enter right now. trust yourself and what your ideas are. you are meant to prosper.

Pile 2

05 of wands, 03 of pentacles, The Devil, 09 of Wands, 04 of Wands, The Hanged Man

Why does it feel like this is my pile who has been fighting for what they want. what they need.

The Devil and the Hanged Man are an interesting pair. You're being asked to literally...suspend what you're doing and think. think damn well and hard if this is the argument you want to go down. think damn well and hard about who the fuck is in your life. Why are they constantly fighting you? do they actually have anything worthwhile to tell you or are they just bringing you down?

Now for some of you... you're just being damn cruel to yourself. You're being too excessively hard on yourself or others. If you need ot repeat yourself more than three times, fuck the person and that situation. People are so desperate to hang onto relationships that y'all forget that you need to cater to yourself first. You can't get nothing good if you are surrounded by people who are only trying to fight you.

For others of you, I'm seeing that you're taking a new appraoch to how you do something. You're like, you right Commander, this isn't the fight worth having, but how do I train myself? recognize your triggers. recognize what you need to work on and work on it.

and YOU HAVE BEEN WORKING DAMN HARD. the Devil is something we're so deeply invested in, it almost becomes too toxic for us. it is the chains we carry, the wounds we carry but damn we'll die for them.

and the Hanged Man is saying, hey you don't constantly need to hang on to that. that 03 of pentacles is here for you. let people help you. you cherish the dream that you have, and those triggers I just mentioned might be the reason why you cannot see the help that wants to come in.

so slow down. I get it, you carry that 09 of wands like a blanket. you're tired, exhausted and not rested at all. you've been fighitng a long battle. but Saturn gives to those who learn. you will be rewarded greatly. this time around, those who come in to help you are those you need help from. you are meant to lead pile 2.

your battles are ending, and you are going to be victorious. Just make sure, if those battles are internal, that you give yourself a break. okay?

Within the next month or so... you'll start to see your rewards. just give yourself a dang break and try to see something for what it is.

Pile 3

06 of Swords, 02 of Swords, 07 of Swords, 03 of Wands, Death, The Emperor, Knight of Swords, Page of Wands

Something came swinging at you like a bat. suddenly, without warning, and you aren't too happy about it. but I tell you what, once you decide or decided to let that shit go and flow with it, you step into your power.

Pile 3, I don't know if you had a hard time picking between these piles cause I see a mix of both one and two in here but lemme lay it to you this way ::

You are the creator of your own world. You've been struggling, juggling and carrying the "what if this happens" and the "this or that" options. and the thing is, you're now walking away from it all.

For some of you, I'm literally seeing an "ah-ha" moment. like you realized that you deserve more than what you're getting. that you don't need to lower yourself. that your boundaries, your priorities don't have an expiration date and you don't need to choose between this, that, or the other thing.

for others, this came as a rude awakening. losing something you thought you had, a person you thought you could trust... something got slapped ontop of you and you're like "girl what is thsi shit?"

but everything is a blessing in disugise in hindsight. through this, you're now allowed to explore. and that 07 of swords goes from deception, to a surprise that is actually kind of good. there's no longer a need to tip toe through everything. there's no longer a reason to lie. You're excited again! willing to dive into things! passionate!

and that's how it should be.

stay curious. go down every path. stick to what you know and go forth into this new journey. or... it's more like you're returning to this journey. welcome back. I'm glad you're finding your spark again.

[kluskinoodles]

TO THE SURFACE MASTER POST

Okay okay so the characters are as follows: Redemption Done Subpar: Main Characters: Yi Suchong, Brigid Tenenbaum, Jack Antagonists: Frank Fontaine, Reggie, Fontaine's Goons Background characters: Nurse Chavez, J.S. Steinman, a bunch of Rapture citizens Three's A Crowd: Main Characters: Gilbert Alexander, Eleanor Lamb Supporting Character: Augustus Sinclair Antagonist: Sofia Lamb Background/Side Characters: Stanley Poole, a bunch of Rapture's Citizens and Lamb's Followers, multiple Fontaine Futuristics' Employees Give Me Freedom Or Give Me Death: Main Characters: Kyle Fitzpatrick, Silas Cobb, Martin Finnegan, Hector Rodriguez Supporting Character: Anna Culpepper Antagonist: Sander Cohen Background/Side Characters: Jasmine Jolene, multiple of Fort Frolic performers Note: Characters and locations may change, still working out the kinks

More random headcanons that don't matter but kinda do: -Sinclair legally adopted Jack, Eleanor, and Kyle for tax write offs -Kyle was homeschooled, up until his father took him to Rapture -Down the hill there is this one neighbor that is super suspicious of Sinclair but not Jack who literally has glowing yellow eyes 😭 -Silas got arrested for resisting arrest with violence and assault, Sinclair bailed him out but now he has a court date 😕 -Alexander is super paranoid that his family will track him down like Silas' mother found Silas. He does NOT want to see them, any of them. They are part of the reason he went to Rapture in the first place. Sadly, his family has found his info and whereabouts, and are on their way, send Gil thoughts and prayers cause he's not gonna be mentally well. 😬 -Eleanor does arts and crafts with Martin, the things she creates are a little wonky but Martin keeps all of them on his trinket shelf -Hector taught Eleanor and Jack swears in spanish, he got yelled at by Sinclair -The house is a multi language house hold. The languages that are spoken are Spanish, Korean, German, French, English, and Italian I'LL THINK OF MORE LATER Anyways anyways, NEXT QUESTION "Do the children have nicknames for the adults?" Yes. Jack can't say most of their names but Suchong is Papa, Tenenbaum is Mama (she hates it but is warming up to it). Jack heard Sinclair call Gilbert, Guppy, once and he will NOT STOP CALLING GIL THAT. Like they've tried to get him to stop, albeit he can only say it like "Gubby" (he can't say his P's that well yet) but still. He does stop when he's older. Sinclair is Poppy Auggie or just Poppy. Eleanor is Ellie. Kyle is Ky and Ky-ky, Silas is Sy (pronounced Psy) , Martin is Mari (pronounced Mar-ee), and Hector is fucking Tío (he taught him to say it). Some of these nicknames change after he grows up. Eleanor after a while she started calling Gilbert dad, the first time she called him dad, he sobbed for an hour. Sinclair is Papa Augustus/August. Suchong and Tenenbaum are Uncle and Aunt. Jack is well Jack. And the other 4, she just calls them by their first names. When Silas' mom finds him, Jack calls her Gigi (pronounced Gee-Gee) and Eleanor calls her Grandma Cobb. I will add to this post if need be with reblogs but that's it for now. I am going to grab this au and throw it around like a ragdoll. Me currently vvvv

People-- @js-sexchange-surgeon-steinman @yuro-skell @arsont-t

[strawberrystepmom]

KENDY BESTIE I got my chart read... and my 12th house cancer moon with leo sun 1st house and leo rising is making me insane again...bc wdym i want attention all the time but just not like That

rubbing my hands together heheheheheheheehehheeh

okay let me offer an alternative perspective bc i know it's a struggle to not want to be perceived but to also want to be adored (scorpio moon/leo mars speaking <3)

cancer moon is more protective than people think. i've mentioned it a few times but it's worth mentioning again that imo cancer and virgo are incredibly similar in the way they function for the holder, virgo just tends to have a little less warmth. cancer prides itself on that gentle cushion even when being tough, virgo will just say what needs to be said.

as a leo rising and sun both, you of course desire to be admired and deserve it very much you regal goddess you but an issue some of the leo's i work with run into is sometimes they'll accept subpar treatment as long as someone is meeting the basic tenets of what they desire. that could be they give me gifts, they give me undivided attention when we're together but ignore me the rest of the time, even when we're arguing at least we're obsessed with each other, they're sexy and so am i and we're having fun even if my emotional needs are neglected, just for some examples.

i don't think you are that type of leo at all let me say that but i think cancer in her little shell wants so badly to protect you from the potential of that happening that any perception at all from anyone makes you squirm. the internal processes that come with cancer moon are constantly telling you "no, no, no, no!" and i think sometimes you need to let leo convince her to make that a yes. like ngl sometimes water signs have to be like fully not gaslit but definitely coaxed into allowing their holder to open up. be unafraid to put yourself out there in the way you deserve to be, you are gorgeous and the sun. let her shine!!!! cancer cannot protect you from everything, especially if there isn't anything to be really protected from it's just her nature.

[kalliopii]

okay cause i’m reblogging it here’s my stance on palworld, long ass take under the cut

palworld is creatively lacking, yes, but as is the pokemon franchise itself these days

the ceo of the dev company might be an ai asshole, but there’s no solid proof that ai was used in palworld, but there’s no proof yet that it wasn’t

the assets are not 1:1, but they’re extremely similar. this alone doesn’t make it “bad” though

the designs… yeah, these are blatant ripoffs. which they might be going for, in which case, good job! however, this game can’t be taken seriously with such blatant copying. if palworld is meant to be only a satirical take on pokémon, then it’s perfect. however, if it’s trying to be it’s own thing, this start will make it basically impossible. i also find the blurred lines between inspiration and plagiarism mar this game’s credit. it feels soulless and lacking. there’s clearly a spark here creatively, but the attempts to mock/mimic pokémon killed it.

as far as the morality in the game goes, i can’t say a lot since i haven’t played it. however, those saying it’s bad because it contains darker themes are lacking in media literacy. it’s entirely fictional, and the mechanics in the game don’t endorse the “sweat shop” play style. i personally don’t like the gameplay and “morality” choices made in palworld, but that’s a personal preference and not a blemish on the game. buuut, i’ve seen some people mention the kinda human catching aspect being… iffy. but that’s not my place to talk about.

i also feel like the popularity of palworld can be attributed to the anger and frustration the fan base felt towards gen 9. there’s now something you can point to and say “this is what you should’ve been.” i feel like some people are latching onto it because they want an alternative to the subpar content game freak has put out recently, and that’s okay, but it’s important to keep recency bias in mind. if palworld came out after a widely successful and lauded release like pokémon black and white, would people attach themselves to it the same way?

as it currently stands, palworld is a game that should be acknowledged, explored, and enjoyed by those that have fun with it. if you don’t like it, that’s okay! i don’t really either. but it’s not a moral failing to enjoy the game.

my main hope is that this will open the doors to people making more creative ideas for creature collection, that it might help expand horizons for talented pokémon fan game creators to create original (if not still derivative) work. and maybe game freak will step it up.

in short: palworld is one of the games ever. it’s got problems, but so does everything. let people enjoy it for what they like in it. be critical, but be kind. fuck ai art, and fuck jumping to conclusions.

[kalevalakryze]

Barbs

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Pairings: Sabine Wren/ Ketsu Onyo Characters: Sabine Wren, Ketsu Onyo Warnings: Blood, Injury,  Notes: For Whumptober Day  15, For @sabineweek Day 1 Prompt: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle this myself.” | Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m Fine.” + Imperial Academy  Word Count: 1,419 AO3 Link: Here!

Their very first field exercise came with higher stakes than most; Talk of  Rebellion and Insurgent activity, along with whispers of a ‘Death Watch’ that was credited with the fall of Mandalorian civilization, needed looking into, and the class of rookies in the Imperial Academy seemed like the perfect candidates. 

Sabine had been sent ahead to scout when tripwire sprung; Wire sliced through the cheap plastoid of the subpar armor they’d been supplied with, until the point they were considered to have ‘earned their beskar’. 

Barbs cut through her skin before she could get back in time, feet scrambling in the dirt to avoid the wrap as both ends snapped from the ends of the trap, just avoiding having the trap wind its way around her entire leg. Sabine didn’t want to think about how fast she’d get the boot from the academy and Mandalore, if she would have been taken out so quickly. 

“Karabast!” The young Mandalorian hissed, yanking her bucket from her head and dropping it into the dirt as she dropped, hands moving to squeeze the meat of her thigh above the torn open wound.

The thorns in the wire were made of a beskar alloy; something every Mandalorian was meant to understand, their metal was for armor, to be used to protect themselves, not spill blood, yet here she was, staring at the impure metal where it sat coated in the dark red ichor it had ripped from her body.

There was a crunch of boots nearby, Sabine’s hand flew to her blaster, eyes squinting in the direction of the noise before she caught sight of the Imperial Academy logo on their gear, and the noticeably not regulation helmet. “What do you want, Onyo.” She called with a huff, letting her blaster drop back into the dirt as she focused her attention back on her marred leg.

“Should’a known you’d go and get yourself into a mess,” The older Mandalorian remarked, a smirk pulling onto her lips and a haughty sway in her hips as she eased from the brush to the opening Sabine had gotten herself caught in.

Ketsu dropped to her knees in front of Sabine, brows furrowing even as a teasing smile pulled at her lips. “Gnarly, ‘bine. You need a hand?”

Sure, Sabine knew that Ketsu had been assigned as the recon squadron’s reluctant medic, and that she would have something to ease the stinging pain and the sluggish way blood oozed from her torn thigh, plastoid warped and pressing painfully into her thigh.

“I don’t need you to help me, I can handle this myself.” She insisted stubbornly, lips twisting as she glanced down to the sickening sight of her own leg; It wasn’t her first time seeing an injury, on herself or otherwise, but it was not on her favorites list. 

“Uh-huh,” Ketsu rolled her eyes before firmly plopping herself down on the ground next to the injured Mandalorian. 

“What are you doing?” She huffed, annoyed, golden eyes shifting to their surroundings as Ketsu got comfortable beside her. The ‘revolutionists’ could be anywhere, watching their trap in action.

“Oh, you know; Thought we could use some time away from the kids, just the two of us.” She bit back, mirth and annoyance like a dance in her tone, a smirk pulling at her lips as violet eyes were rolled hard enough that Sabine could feel her growing annoyance. “I’m the assigned medic, di’kut. If I don’t do my job, then we’ll both be scrubbing the latrines over your fuck up.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you care,” Sabine grumbled sarcastically, stubbornly setting her face to stone as she forced herself to poke and prod at her wound, where blood was finally beginning to clot and well up, slowing the flood that pooled into Mandalore’s surface. 

“Come on, Wren. It’s not like that, and you know it.” A closed fist bumped into her shoulder. “Your stubborn ass needs my help though, you know it, I know it; krif, Tarre Viszla himself probably knows it.” 

“I’m fine,” Sabine snapped, weight shifting painfully and forcing a harsh breath to be sucked in between her teeth, eyes snapping shut as the jostle of bone-deep pain. “Alright! Fine! I need help.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” Ketsu answered sweetly, a sickly thing that dripped with false pity, though her hands were gentle when they moved to finally press around Sabine’s thigh, checking to see how far her skin had been torn beneath the armor. The woman shifted to drop her bag from her shoulders, digging through it with a hum. “Had to stitch up the infantry, they got spooked and blasted each other,” Ketsu’s eyes rolled as she shook her head. “How they passed the entrance exams will always be beyond me.”

“That’s probably why I’m out here,” Sabine commented sourly. “Not a combat major, they pulled me from my work for this,” She grumbled, thinking back to her climate controlled lab, and the last pieces that the Duchess needed to be operational. 

“Yeah yeah, you’ve got a brain on you, and a lack of knowing where the tripwires are.” Ketsu started sliding the plastoid from her own arm, working quickly to toss each piece into her bag without care. “Just means you’re the lucky winner who has to wait till we get back in for any bacta or real bandages, less you want me to go scrape some extra off that Eldar kid’s ass,” 

“I’m good,” Sabine shivered and shook her head, forcing her breathing to even out and relax the heavy beating of her heart. 

The Mandalorian slid a blade from a sheathe inside of her shin guard, cleanly slicing through the sleeve of her undersuit and working her arm out of it. “Alright, move your hands,” She ordered, grabbing the remnants of a cleaning solution bottle and dousing their makeshift bandage with it. 

Golden eyes flashed between the gash in her leg and the growing annoyance in violet hued eyes. “Don’t tell me, Sabine Wren is scared.” 

“I’m not!” She snapped back, glowering at the older woman as she finally, slowly, forced her hands away from the wound, hissing out a soft “ah-” at the rush of blood, pain, and the return of too much and too little pressure. Her hands dropped to the dirt, the fingers of her gloves digging indents into the dry outer layer. 

“I’ve seen braver Tookas.” Ketsu remarked dryly as she pushed her way into Sabine’s personal space, making quick work of ruined armor. 

Cutting away the artist’s underlayer brought quiet sounds of barely muffled agony into the space between them as she twisted and writhed, doing her best not to move her leg and avoid adding more pain onto her list. “Dude, do I need to tie you up and gag you, or something?”

Sabine’s brows furrowed immediately as she froze. “What?” She stammered, face flushing as Ketsu used the distraction to cut away the last of the ruined flight suit. 

Chuckling to herself, Ketsu began winding the remains of her sleeve tight around Sabine’s leg, using her fluster to her advantage.

“I’ll have to keep how loud you are in mind for later,” She teased mercilessly after a moment had passed and the younger woman had started to react to the pain again. 

Sabine blanched, mouth opening and closing dumbly; at least the older Mandalorian could say that she made ‘Ms. Overachiever’ dumb and speechless.

“Now come on, I’d rather not leave you behind with these demagolka’s running loose.” 

Ketsu worked Sabine up and off the ground, slinging one of Sabine’s arms around her shoulders as she wrapped an arm securely around the smaller woman’s waist, using her free arm to sling her bag, full of their armor, back over her shoulder, 

“Hey, if we’re lucky, maybe they’ll let you go to medical before they send you out to dust the courtyard.”

“Hmmph, yeah, in a perfect world-”

Grunting as she helped Sabine down a hill (carried was more like it, kid could barely stand on her ruined leg), Ketsu allowed a traitorous thought to form on her tongue. “Would be cool to get out of here, one day. Live like our ancestors, instead of an Imperial lapdog.”

Sabine said nothing to this, but Ketsu could see the gears turning behind the tormented artist’s eyes.  It wasn’t a horrible idea; Bounty hunting and traveling the stars, like Mandalorian’s were meant to do. And.. if Ketsu was at her side, maybe it could even be… nice.

Translations: Di'kut - Idiot Demagolka - Monster

[c64]

How did I not think of this sooner...

Game Review: Lingerie Tycoon (Commodore 64)

8/10

"Lingerie Tycoon," a new addition to the Commodore 64 game library, presents a unique premise centered around the entrepreneurial exploits of Bessie Frontcaps. As an appealing and strong female operative, Bessie shows promise; however, this potential is marred by subpar programming that introduces frustrating gameplay mechanics. A particularly baffling requirement to press the 'G' button randomly disrupts the flow without any apparent purpose, detracting from the overall experience. The side quests, intended to add depth, often feel overly linear and fail to engage the player meaningfully. Additionally, the main challenge of designing and selling lingerie in the in-game store proves to be laboriously tedious rather than creatively stimulating. Despite its ambitious goals, "Lingerie Tycoon" struggles to deliver a cohesive and enjoyable gaming experience.